“We’re Motörhead, and we are rock and roll.”

Synonymous with their musical style that articulates defiance and aggression, Motörhead were embarking on a tour with Black Sabbath in support of Sacrifice, an album that was still two weeks from release. Lemmy’s sneering, off-handed introduction to the audience at Toad’s Place on the inaugural night of the tour just may have been the definitive summation of what rock and roll is all about.

Sacrifice and its subsequent tour are monumental for the band. Not only is Sacrifice arguably the best Motörhead disc to date, it’s also their nineteenth album overall and the first to be released on CMC International. And, 1995 marks the band’s twentieth anniversary.

The brainchild of former Hendrix roadie Lemmy Kilmister, Motörhead was formed in London during 1975 following the bassist’s untimely departure from Hawkwind. Featuring Fast Eddie Clarke on guitar and drummer Philthy Animal Taylor, Motörhead began its ascending climb of the British charts with albums such as Bomber and Overkill. Essentially an underground phenomenon in America, the one-two punch of Ace Of Spades and the live No Sleep ‘Til Hammersmith finally began to command attention in the United States.

Legal complications with their record company and personnel changes marked the early 80’s as a turbulent period for Motörhead. Guitarist Brian Robertson stepped in when Clarke left to form Fastway, but left soon after the recording of Another Perfect Day. Auditions in 1984 subsequently introduced Phil Campbell and Wurzel, and Motörhead became a two-guitar band. Meanwhile, Taylor abdicated his position to Pete Gill, who remained as the band’s drummer until Philthy returned following Eat The Rich. Working primarily as a lyricist with various musicians such as Lita Ford and Ozzy Osbourne during his band’s transitional period, Lemmy persevered and became tantamount with the Motörhead name.

The 90’s appeared to offer nothing but promise for Motörhead. Following a Grammy nomination for the album 1916, Mikkey Dee (who previously worked with King Diamond, Don Dokken, and World War III) easily provided the band with its strongest drummer ever by lending his talents to March Or Die, marking Taylor’s final departure from Motörhead. Following a prestigious, unprecedented appearance on The Tonight Show, it seemed that Motörhead were finally poised on the brink of unconditional acceptance in the United States... until they were dropped by their record company. Rather than crumble in the face of adversity, Motörhead released Bastards on an independent label and returned to the road with the likes of Black Sabbath and the Ramones. Now, with the return to the original format of a trio, Motörhead finally seems to possess all the cards to come to prominence in the United States.

If Lemmy bears its blackened soul, then Phil Campbell and Mikkey Dee are musically the heart of Motörhead. Specifically, in the case of Sacrifice, “me and Phil probably wrote nine riffs out of eleven,” says Mikkey of the band’s current album. “We gotta start somewhere, and that start is usually me and Phil.”

“We do most of it,” Phil agrees. “We leave Lem to the lyrics, bits and pieces.” Pausing to light a cigarette, Phil adds, “He doesn’t like rehearsing or going in on writing [with] us. He just lets us get on with it because he’s lazy, y’know? Just any excuse for a day off. We’ll put it down, and he comes in and does his bit. It’s like a team, but it’s [got] different stages.”

“Right,” Mikkey says, noting that, “it works out good.”

Phil’s musical demeanor within the context of Motörhead belies his unobtrusive manner, as does his nickname — ”Zoom.” A guitarist characterized by performances that are aggressive and violently loud, Phil’s nature is actually unassuming and helps him maintain his anonymity, in spite of his surroundings. To find him casually lingering at the back of a club is not uncommon. Following both of Motörhead’s recent Connecticut performances at Toad’s Place and the Sting, Phil stood back watching Black Sabbath as people unknowingly wandered past, not realizing that he was largely responsible for the ringing that would permeate their hearing the following day. Quiet and polite, he is quick to offer a drink or to light someone’s cigarette — not to mention thoughtful enough to mail a postcard to the photographer who took the time to befriend him at the first show of the current tour.

“Mikkey, whatever you do, just take it easy on me!” Motörhead’s production coordinator, Danny Renteria, is recollecting Mikkey’s last outburst for the several people appreciating a break from the summertime humidity on the air conditioned tour bus. “He smashed the window of the bus with his wine bottle,” Phil elaborates.

“It didn’t crash,” Mikkey continues. “[The window] was folded out from inside. And the fuckin’ bottle didn’t break — hit our merchandiser in the fuckin’ back of his head, spilled wine all over Danny...”

Mikkey Dee is the epitome of rock and roll drummers — carefree, and perhaps a bit insane. Without consciously trying, he puts people at ease with his affable sense of humor, laughing about everything from the idea of Go To Bed With Motörhead condoms to being asleep the previous night, as opposed to reveling in rock and roll fanfare.

“I was in my fuckin’ bunk before twelve,” he laughs, “sleeping like a puppy! That’s how rock and roll I was last night. Oh, Mikkey, you gonna party tonight? Yeah, sure! I’ll see you guys later. Zoooom. Straight to the bunk, y’know — brushed my teeth and went to bed.”

“It was a fun day, yesterday,” Phil offers sarcastically. “Hampton Beach Casino we played — it was red hot there. It was like, a hundred degrees that day.”

“It was not good,” Mikkey agrees. “I took a shower, drank about five gallons of water, and went to bed. That’s how much fucking rock and rolling I did.”

Despite the joking, Mikkey is serious about his craft. First receiving attention as the drummer with Mercyful Fate’s King Diamond, Mikkey went on to work with Don Dokken following the mid-80’s demise of Dokken. Despite his prominence within the musical community, as well as a number of albums that offer testament to his talent, he maintains that if he had joined Motörhead any earlier, he would have been incapable of making his current contributions.

“Kids come up today and they go, ‘You should’ve been in the band fifteen years ago.’ Yeah, it would’ve been great, but I could not have contributed what I do today.”

“When I was in King Diamond,” he continues, “we were a bunch of kids that didn’t fucking know what we were doing. Suddenly, I start reading in the drum [polls], like, Neil Peart, the best drummer; Mikkey Dee, second. And kids come up and go, ‘You’re my greatest inspiration and you’re one of the best drummers in the world.’ I had no idea what kind of effect it had. I mean, I was so flattered — Dean Castranova, Eric Singer... great drummers. Vinny and Carmine [Appice] — suddenly, I was in a different level."

Does Mikkey feel that being considered within the category as such notable drummers increases the pressure upon him?

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. Swallowing a mouthful of Pepsi, he continues. “It was a lot of pressure because with King Diamond, in the end, I felt really [like] a shit drummer, compared with what everyone made me out to be; I felt really narrow as a drummer. I mean, the only think I could do was just a million technical things, and time changes and weird shit. I couldn’t really sit down and groove. So I panicked a little bit. I go, Fuck, I’m horrible and everyone loves me — what’s the deal?!”

“He learned to groove, that guy,” Phil interjects with a nod toward his bandmate.

“Yeah. And I joined Don ‘cause that’s exactly what I wanted to do — go more commercial and just sit down and do just a regular rock beat. And that was the best college I went through. We had a great time over the years I played with Don, and it was fantastic. I grew so much as a drummer.”

“I just realized I’m not a pop drummer,” he continues, analyzing his days with Don Dokken. “I [had] to join a real heavy band again. And then I heard from the boys again.”

“I think he was born to rock with us,” says Phil.

“Twenty-five minutes,” Phil jokes in his dry sense of humor about the length of the creative process preceding Sacrifice. “Do you remember the first week?” he asks Mikkey. “Didn’t we have a crap start?”

“Ahh... first two weeks, nothin’ happened!” Mikkey laughs, recalling the five-week process that resulted in the eleven tracks that compose Sacrifice. “Bastards took two weeks, too, before we even started thinking about writing a song.”

“Out of five weeks, two is a joke and three is harder than you’ve ever seen anyone work,” Mikkey claims, recalling “a sweaty producer hangin’ over our fuckin’ heads; management calling every night, screaming — it’s from one extreme to the other, which is quite fantastic.”

Already established as being responsible for writing the majority of the music contained on Sacrifice, it’s interesting to hear Mikkey and Phil describe the details behind some of Motörhead’s best music to date. Perhaps the reason that the album is easy to enjoy is because the music is a direct result of emotion and instinct, rather than months of calculating.

“I remember when we worked on “Sacrifice,” Mikkey begins.

“Started off with that Latin thing,” says Phil.

“That’s like, a drum beat I had made, basically during a drum solo with [Don] Dokken,” explains Mikkey. "We recorded it, just guitars and drums, and then played it for Howard and Lem and said,  ‘Alright, just sit down and just take a deep breath, and see what you think about this.’ And I remember Lem said, ‘What the hell is this?!’”

Similarly, the two-minute “Sex And Death” was an after-thought resulting from excess studio time, much like Black Sabbath’s classic “Paranoid.” Producer Howard Benson sat in with the band at a brainstorming session that resulted with one of the three new songs that Motörhead debuted during their two Connecticut appearances.

“I was done in a day-and-a-half in the studio, and we had some time left, right?” says Mikkey. “And we went in and did this fucker in twenty minutes!”

“It took twenty minutes to write,” Phil explains.

“Right,” Mikkey says, “and then when we had what we wanted, I went in and did all the drums and we built it from there.”

Considering its time constraints, Sacrifice shouldn’t be as enjoyable as it is. The actual recording of Mikkey’s drum tracks lasted a mere day-and-a-half. Rather than sounding like an album that was recorded in less than three months, Sacrifice is a collection of memorable guitar riffs that scream over a solid rhythm, proving that Mikkey was successful in learning to groove on the drums. In comparison to the band’s earlier efforts, Sacrifice prevails due to clearer production and renewed enthusiasm and motivation.

“I’ll tell ya,” says Mikkey, “my motivation, what I dream about is, Would you like fries with that burger, sir? That keeps me motivated,” he laughs. “It’s not hard to motivate yourself, because what we do is a must — I have to be on the road. This is my life; I love it. What motivates me now is that we have a good record. I wouldn’t be out here doing this shit if I didn’t have a good record in my ass to promote. Even if the circumstances around the show are crap, at least we have a good record to promote.”

“You won’t get a better album than ours. Listened to it last night, here on the bus,” says Phil.

With Sacrifice finally available, Motörhead are back on the road with plans to tour for the rest of 1995, concentrating on Europe and South America where the new album is already being received extremely favorably. Then, in early 1996, Mikkey hopes the band will return to the United States for a headlining trek aimed at elevating the band to the status they deserve.

“When it comes to America,” Mikkey explains, “it’s a bit harder for us — no big deal. It’s a challenge, too. And, as I said, the big thing is we have a good record and we really need to start over from the beginning with Motörhead here in America, y’know?”