When I interviewed Lemmy in LA, it was over a Jack and Coke – at 10 o’clock in the morning. Nobody seemed to find that unusual, least of all Lemmy. Yet when the conversation turned to Bon Scott, he sounded less like a rock star remembering another rock star, more like a witness recalling what everyone else missed.
The first time Lemmy saw AC/DC, they were playing a London pub. He’d gone along with a girl to see what all the fuss was about. Bon was charging around the stage with Angus on his shoulders, creating the sort of chaos that would later become their trademark.
“It was obvious they were huge then, although they weren’t huge then,” he recalled.
Lemmy had spent his life watching bands come and go, and few people were better qualified to recognise the difference between a good band and a phenomenon. “Some bands you see and you just know. The Beatles were one. The Stones were one. AC/DC were one of those bands.”
What stayed with him, however, wasn’t the spectacle. It wasn’t the drinking, the lyrics or the mythology that would later surround Bon. It was the give-everything effort, that Bon put into every single show. “He always looked knackered, because he gave everything in the stage show,” Lemmy remembered.
Then came an image that seemed to summarise Bon Scott in a single scene: “I remember seeing him come on stage and, in between songs, fall down, then get up and get pushed back on.”
To Lemmy, this wasn’t recklessness. It was commitment. “He really gave it all. That’s how you should do it.”
Coming from anyone else, it might have sounded like praise. Coming from Lemmy, it sounded more like a code. Both men belonged to a generation that treated the stage as a place to empty the tank every night, and deal with the consequences later. “It’s a workout,” Lemmy said with a laugh. Perhaps that’s why Bon resonated with him so strongly. You showed up. You delivered. You left everything on that stage.
Tellingly, when asked to name his favourite AC/DC songs, every one of Lemmy’s choices came from the Bon Scott years.
“There are so many great songs, but I’ve always loved Can I Sit Next To You Girl, Whole Lotta Rosie and It’s A Long Way To The Top,” he said. The live version of Rosie was a particular favourite, he said, but it was It’s A Long Way To The Top that seemed to capture something essential.
Years later, Lemmy would record his own version of the song, with former AC/DC drummer Simon Wright helping bring the connection full circle. He wasn’t entirely happy with the mix that was eventually released, and insisted he had a better version at home. It felt less like a cover than a salute between fellow road warriors. Of all Bon’s songs, it might have been the one Lemmy understood best. Asked why, he offered the explanation: “It’s A Long Way To The Top is just a great song. It’s that simple.”
Near the end of our conversation, Lemmy’s tone softened ever so slightly when he talked about something he wished he had done. “I would have liked to get to know the guys better, and I would have liked to meet them earlier on.” It wasn’t regret. Not quite. More an acknowledgment that some connections arrive a little too late.
What Lemmy saw when looked at Bon Scott wasn’t a legend, a pirate, a poet or some larger-than-life character, he saw something he understood instinctively and respected deeply: a fellow road warrior. A man who every time he stepped on to a stage gave everything he had. And in Lemmy’s world there wasn’t a higher compliment than that.
Birds of a feather don’t always fly together.
This feature appears in the brand new issue of Classic Rock, which is dedicated to Bon Scott on what would have been his 80th birthday. But the issue online and have it delivered straight to your door
