If the above mentioned lineup doesn't appeal to you more than holding a brand new glass pipe packed with super green Afghan weed, then you're fucked up. If it does, keep reading.
The day before, both bands played in Dekalb, IL, a college town about an hour fifteen minutes outside of Chicago at a tiny dive bar called Ottos. A uniquely designed multi-level shit hole, this place reeked of dropouts majoring in the 'Getting Drunk' Bachelors Degree Program. Not a bad view of the stage anywhere you stood and after Morbid Angel finished, obtaining a front railing spot for Motörhead was inevitable. Out came Lemmy wearing off-white cowboy boots, a shiny bullet belt, and round aviator glasses followed by Phil Campbell & Mikkey Dee. The luxury of headbanging within an arm length of the band was not just the best part, but witnessing a twenty minute drum solo totally defined a true spirited metal show. How I ended up leaving the place not going deaf amazes me to this day.
I went to the HOB show solo and being in a professional venue has its advantages sound wise, but opposite view wise. It was sold out and this time I was about 150 arm lengths away from the band. The real gig was the night before, simply for being so old school.
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