I visited the heavy metal yakitori restaurant in Tokyo in January, 2015
‘Lemmy is not dead,’ he kept saying. ‘Not dead.’ He kept eating and drinking while talking, washing large bites of yakitori down with large sips of bear. ‘Not dead.’
I kept smiling, a bit uncomfortably, not sure what to say. It was as he was living in denial. This big, tough bloke, leather jacket, skinny black jeans, piercings, he looked almost in tears at the thought of losing Lemmy. Like the death of Lemmy had taken away his meaning in life. I knew of only one thing to do.