We all saw this one coming. Lemmy's been dead since 2015, and the tribute album industrial complex doesn't wait for any corpse to grow cold. At least they had the decency to wait nearly a decade. That's practically respectful by music industry standards—though one imagines the wait had more to do with lawyers and licensing than any kind of tasteful mourning period. The man died on December 28, and his death was made public on the 29th. Seventeen memorial playlists were already up on the web by the 30th. We grieve at the speed of fibre optics now.
"Killed By Deaf" does exactly what it says on the tin: fourteen bands cover MOTÖRHEAD songs slightly faster and slightly worse than Motörhead themselves, which is a bit of an achievement considering that Motörhead's entire aesthetic was "What if we just played louder until something broke?" The title's joke is about as subtle as a hammer to the temple—which, as it so happens, is also song nine, covered by THE CASUALTIES with about as much subtlety as said hammer. The cover art features a punk Iron Pig skull. Lemmy's own face was half-skull by the end of it anyway, all those moles and that craggy brilliance, pickled in Jack Daniel's and frozen forever like some sort of alcoholic Han Solo.
It's a veritable who's who of bands your cool uncle saw in basements in 1987, with some younger bands who are there presumably so that this doesn't seem like a complete nostalgia cash-grab. Though let's be real: it completely is, and there's something sort of endearing about how blatant that is. At least they're not attempting to position this as some sort of boundary-pushing art statement.
PENNYWISE – "Ace Of Spades": They kick it off with the most obvious choice possible, both disappointing and inevitable. It's like starting a punk tribute to THE RAMONES with "Blitzkrieg Bop"—you have to, but seriously, really? You can practically hear them going, "How can we make the most overplayed Motörhead song EVEN MORE overplayed?" Mission accomplished, guys. Jim Lindberg's vocals are fine. The guitars are fine. It's all right. Professional, high-energy, and totally predictable. You've heard this song ten thousand times. Now you've heard it ten thousand and one. Progress!
RANCID – "Sex & Death": Thank Christ they didn't attempt "Ace Of Spades" too. Tim Armstrong's voice, that sweet sandpaper-gargling-nails growl, actually suits Motörhead's nihilistic romanticism quite well. There's some poetry in a band that wrote "Ruby Soho" covering a song called "Sex & Death" - the whole emotional spectrum of punk rock summed up in two song titles. They play it fast, loose, and dirty, which is exactly how one should play Motörhead. No complaints to be had here, which is a pity really since half the fun is in the complaining.
THE BRONX – "Over The Top": The Bronx attack this one like it personally insulted their mothers, burned down their childhood homes, and kicked their dogs. It's aggressive to the point of almost being violent, which makes sense for a song that's basically about running into battle and probably dying in some horrific way. Matt Caughthran wails like a man possessed, and the whole thing has this near-out-of-control chaos that suggests the recording session involved at least one broken microphone and some bruised knuckles. This is what the album should sound like—dangerous, unhinged, teetering on the verge of falling over the edge at any given moment. Lemmy would've nodded in approval before telling them they were doing it too slow.
LAGWAGON – "Rock 'N' Roll": Melodic hardcore guys covering Motörhead is a strange choice, and Joey Cape's vocals are more polished than Lemmy's ever were, even when Lemmy was born. But here's the thing: it works. The harmonies are tighter, the production's shinier, and somehow still has that essential Motörhead fuck-you-ness to it. Did we need Lagwagon to tell us that "Rock 'N' Roll" would be an awesome punk song? No. But did they sound like they cared, rather than just cashing a paycheck? Yes. That means something in this cold, dead world.
FEAR – "The Chase Is Better Than The Catch": Lee Ving is approximately one million years old and still sounds like he could gnaw through a steel chain. FEAR doing Motörhead is a no-brainer—they're both bands that trade in ugliness and honesty, never prettying things for the guests. This is raw, ugly, and fantastic. It's also probably the track on here that most resembles the original, which either indicates FEAR knew what they were doing or couldn't be bothered to reinvent the wheel. Either way: effective.
GBH – "Bomber": UK82 legends covering one of the most indefatigable tracks in the Motörhead catalogue. This is a little too on-the-nose. It's akin to asking SLAYER to cover a VENOM song—yeah, of course, it's gonna be a natural fit. Colin Abrahall's bark is different from Lemmy's growl, but they're speaking the same language: pure, undiluted aggression with a hint of working-class rage. The guitar is thicker than a London fog, and the whole record sounds like it was recorded in a bunker during an ongoing air raid. Probably wasn't, but that's what it sounds like.
MURPHY'S LAW – "Stay Clean": New York hardcore guys doing a song about life on the road, staying out of trouble, and predictably managing to do neither. Jimmy G sounds appropriately grizzled here, and there's something odd and poignant about hearing a bunch of guys who sure as hell didn't stay clean sing about trying to stay clean. The irony is so thick you could cut it with a dirty knife you found behind CBGB. Wait, CBGB's gone too. Everything ends. Cheers!
SLAUGHTERHOUSE – "Love Me Like A Reptile": Here's where they throw the new band a bone. Slaughterhouse are the obligatory "up-and-comers"; in there so someone can point out that this album isn't a collection of old punks reliving the glories. And you know what? They do themselves proud. They play it fast and dirty, and they don't have the years of road grime and liver damage that made Motörhead sound like Motörhead, but they do have enthusiasm. Lemmy loved underdogs. This is appropriate. It's also the one you'll probably skip, but that's not their fault.
THE CASUALTIES – "The Hammer": Street punk lifers doing a track that sounds exactly like you'd hope The Casualties covering Motörhead would. It's fine. It exists. They play the notes. The hammer falls. We all take one step closer to death. Next!
ANTI-NOWHERE LEAGUE – "Born To Raise Hell": Another British punk institution tackling a latter-day Motörhead track that nobody remembers is actually great. The ANL have always had a foot in punk and a foot in metal anyway, so this is territory they are well-suited to cover. They sound angry and grizzled, which is their default mode and also the correct way to do it. It's probably the best song on the second half of the album, which is not saying much because we're all getting a bit tired by now. Fourteen songs is excessive. Twelve would've been perfect. But nobody asked me.
LOVE CANAL – "Voices In The Sky": A deep cut! At last! But let's be honest, on a Motörhead tribute album, anything other than "Ace Of Spades" or "Overkill" is a deep cut to everyone. Love Canal inject a bit of the psychedelic into this one, which is odd and almost works. It doesn't, quite, but points for trying something different in the back third of an album that's starting to run together into one endless wall of distortion.
SOLDIERS OF DESTRUCTION – "Overkill": And here's the other required inclusion. You can't do a Motörhead tribute without "Overkill." It's physically impossible. The universe wouldn't allow it. They play it fast—as you have to—and it's exactly adequate. That's the theme of this album's second half: exactly adequate. We're all tired. The bands are tired. You're tired reading this. Lemmy's still dead. Let's just move on.
WISDOM IN CHAINS – "Iron Fist": Pennsylvania hardcore guys doing the title track to one of the grimier Motörhead albums. It's fast, it's angry, and it sounds like it was recorded in somebody's garage, which it very possibly was. The production on the latter half of this album is noticeably worse than the first half, which either adds to the punk points or means they ran out of funds. Could be both. Probably is both.
MOTÖRHEAD & THE DAMNED – "Neat, Neat, Neat": And here's the real reason to buy this thing if you're a completist: a heretofore unreleased 2002 recording of Lemmy sitting in with The Damned to bash out their 1977 classic. It's the only non-Motörhead track on the record, so it's either a real treat or a cynical move to get completists to open their wallets.
Probably both. Definitely both. Lemmy would've approved.
The song itself is exactly what you'd want: sloppy, fast, and celebratory in that particular way that older punks get when they remember they're not dead yet. You can hear the years from 1977 to 2002, all that deterioration and survival, but you can hear that spark that made either band matter in the first place. It's the greatest song on the record by default because it's actual Lemmy, and also because "Neat Neat Neat" is a perfect song that's virtually impossible to screw up.
The fact that it's here at all is a small miracle of archival digging and probably several lawyers negotiating for months. The fact that it's been held back for over two decades and released on a tribute album in 2025 is either respectful timing or calculated marketing. Again: both. Always both.
Motörhead was a punk band who were incorrectly identified as metal because they had long hair and Marshall stacks. That's a fact. That's always been a fact. Lemmy himself stated it a thousand times in interviews. The punks accepted them. The metalheads accepted them. Lemmy accepted the Jack Daniel's and cigarettes and continued with his life.
Yet this tribute album is less a revelation and more a reminder that we all already knew this. The punk-metal divide dissolved decades ago, in large part because of bands like Motörhead who didn't give a shit about genre gatekeeping in the first place. Thrash metal happened. Crossover happened. D-beat happened. Crust happened. Now your average crust punk and your average thrash fan are wearing the same Motörhead back patch and are probably dating one another.
So why this album? Why does it even need to exist? Honestly? Because we're angry. Because Lemmy's dead and we miss him. Because an entire generation of musicians who grew up worshipping at the altar of loud, fast, and don't-give-a-fuck want to say thank you the best way they know how: by playing loud, fast, and not giving a fuck. Is this a cash grab? Yes. Is it also sincere? Also yes. Those two things can coexist. Welcome to late capitalism, where even our grief is commodified but sometimes the feelings are genuine anyway.
Did we need Lagwagon to tell us "Rock 'N' Roll" works as a punk song? Did we need FEAR to tell us "The Chase Is Better Than The Catch" slaps? No. Not ever. We knew. We've always known. But do they do a good job anyway? Yes. Most of the bands here clearly gave a shit, which is more than you can say about a lot of tribute albums where half the bands sound like they recorded their songs during a lunch break and couldn't be bothered. Will it alter your life? No. Nothing's gonna alter your life at this point. You're too old, you're too exhausted, and you've heard too much music. Everything sounds like something else that you heard twenty years ago.
Will it make you miss Lemmy? Yes. Every time you hear that opening riff to "Ace Of Spades" or "Overkill", you're going to remember that there was this guy—this impossibly worn, impossibly cool guy—who just didn't give a damn about anything except playing loud music and speaking the truth. And now he's gone. And we're all still here, getting older and deafening, playing the same songs louder because that's all we know how to do. Is it depressing? You bet your ass it is.
Will you probably put it on at a party anyway and have a perfectly good time? Yeah, probably. You'll crack open whatever poison is your beverage of choice, you'll turn it up too loud, you'll bother the neighbors, and for forty-seven minutes you'll remember what it was like to be young and angry and think that loud guitars could save your life. They couldn't, of course. Nothing's gonna save you. We're all circling the drain, some of us just making a bigger racket about it. But for those forty-seven minutes? You'll be alive. And that'll have to do.
FINAL SCORE: 6.5/10
It's fine. It exists. Lemmy's still dead. We're all going to die someday too. Might as well crank it up while we're here. The first half is a solid 7, the second half a 6, the bonus Damned track bumps it up a peg, and the whole thing is probably better than it has any right to be but not quite good enough to really matter. It's a tribute album. It does tribute album things. Your expectations should be appropriately set.
Play it loud. Lemmy would've wanted it that way. Then go listen to the real Motörhead albums, because they're better.
RECOMMENDED IF YOU LIKE: Being reminded of your own mortality, hearing the same songs played in slightly different manners, supporting the retirement funds of older punk rockers, pretending that you're still dangerous, Jack Daniel's, not hearing your tinnitus, the complete pointlessness of life coupled with loud guitars.
NOT RECOMMENDED IF: You have intact self-preservation instincts, you require tribute albums to have a purpose other than "We liked this band", you're looking for innovation or surprises, you think silence is golden. WORDS: Matt Denny.
"Killed By Deaf" does exactly what it says on the tin: fourteen bands cover MOTÖRHEAD songs slightly faster and slightly worse than Motörhead themselves, which is a bit of an achievement considering that Motörhead's entire aesthetic was "What if we just played louder until something broke?" The title's joke is about as subtle as a hammer to the temple—which, as it so happens, is also song nine, covered by THE CASUALTIES with about as much subtlety as said hammer. The cover art features a punk Iron Pig skull. Lemmy's own face was half-skull by the end of it anyway, all those moles and that craggy brilliance, pickled in Jack Daniel's and frozen forever like some sort of alcoholic Han Solo.
It's a veritable who's who of bands your cool uncle saw in basements in 1987, with some younger bands who are there presumably so that this doesn't seem like a complete nostalgia cash-grab. Though let's be real: it completely is, and there's something sort of endearing about how blatant that is. At least they're not attempting to position this as some sort of boundary-pushing art statement.
PENNYWISE – "Ace Of Spades": They kick it off with the most obvious choice possible, both disappointing and inevitable. It's like starting a punk tribute to THE RAMONES with "Blitzkrieg Bop"—you have to, but seriously, really? You can practically hear them going, "How can we make the most overplayed Motörhead song EVEN MORE overplayed?" Mission accomplished, guys. Jim Lindberg's vocals are fine. The guitars are fine. It's all right. Professional, high-energy, and totally predictable. You've heard this song ten thousand times. Now you've heard it ten thousand and one. Progress!
RANCID – "Sex & Death": Thank Christ they didn't attempt "Ace Of Spades" too. Tim Armstrong's voice, that sweet sandpaper-gargling-nails growl, actually suits Motörhead's nihilistic romanticism quite well. There's some poetry in a band that wrote "Ruby Soho" covering a song called "Sex & Death" - the whole emotional spectrum of punk rock summed up in two song titles. They play it fast, loose, and dirty, which is exactly how one should play Motörhead. No complaints to be had here, which is a pity really since half the fun is in the complaining.
THE BRONX – "Over The Top": The Bronx attack this one like it personally insulted their mothers, burned down their childhood homes, and kicked their dogs. It's aggressive to the point of almost being violent, which makes sense for a song that's basically about running into battle and probably dying in some horrific way. Matt Caughthran wails like a man possessed, and the whole thing has this near-out-of-control chaos that suggests the recording session involved at least one broken microphone and some bruised knuckles. This is what the album should sound like—dangerous, unhinged, teetering on the verge of falling over the edge at any given moment. Lemmy would've nodded in approval before telling them they were doing it too slow.
LAGWAGON – "Rock 'N' Roll": Melodic hardcore guys covering Motörhead is a strange choice, and Joey Cape's vocals are more polished than Lemmy's ever were, even when Lemmy was born. But here's the thing: it works. The harmonies are tighter, the production's shinier, and somehow still has that essential Motörhead fuck-you-ness to it. Did we need Lagwagon to tell us that "Rock 'N' Roll" would be an awesome punk song? No. But did they sound like they cared, rather than just cashing a paycheck? Yes. That means something in this cold, dead world.
FEAR – "The Chase Is Better Than The Catch": Lee Ving is approximately one million years old and still sounds like he could gnaw through a steel chain. FEAR doing Motörhead is a no-brainer—they're both bands that trade in ugliness and honesty, never prettying things for the guests. This is raw, ugly, and fantastic. It's also probably the track on here that most resembles the original, which either indicates FEAR knew what they were doing or couldn't be bothered to reinvent the wheel. Either way: effective.
GBH – "Bomber": UK82 legends covering one of the most indefatigable tracks in the Motörhead catalogue. This is a little too on-the-nose. It's akin to asking SLAYER to cover a VENOM song—yeah, of course, it's gonna be a natural fit. Colin Abrahall's bark is different from Lemmy's growl, but they're speaking the same language: pure, undiluted aggression with a hint of working-class rage. The guitar is thicker than a London fog, and the whole record sounds like it was recorded in a bunker during an ongoing air raid. Probably wasn't, but that's what it sounds like.
MURPHY'S LAW – "Stay Clean": New York hardcore guys doing a song about life on the road, staying out of trouble, and predictably managing to do neither. Jimmy G sounds appropriately grizzled here, and there's something odd and poignant about hearing a bunch of guys who sure as hell didn't stay clean sing about trying to stay clean. The irony is so thick you could cut it with a dirty knife you found behind CBGB. Wait, CBGB's gone too. Everything ends. Cheers!
SLAUGHTERHOUSE – "Love Me Like A Reptile": Here's where they throw the new band a bone. Slaughterhouse are the obligatory "up-and-comers"; in there so someone can point out that this album isn't a collection of old punks reliving the glories. And you know what? They do themselves proud. They play it fast and dirty, and they don't have the years of road grime and liver damage that made Motörhead sound like Motörhead, but they do have enthusiasm. Lemmy loved underdogs. This is appropriate. It's also the one you'll probably skip, but that's not their fault.
THE CASUALTIES – "The Hammer": Street punk lifers doing a track that sounds exactly like you'd hope The Casualties covering Motörhead would. It's fine. It exists. They play the notes. The hammer falls. We all take one step closer to death. Next!
ANTI-NOWHERE LEAGUE – "Born To Raise Hell": Another British punk institution tackling a latter-day Motörhead track that nobody remembers is actually great. The ANL have always had a foot in punk and a foot in metal anyway, so this is territory they are well-suited to cover. They sound angry and grizzled, which is their default mode and also the correct way to do it. It's probably the best song on the second half of the album, which is not saying much because we're all getting a bit tired by now. Fourteen songs is excessive. Twelve would've been perfect. But nobody asked me.
LOVE CANAL – "Voices In The Sky": A deep cut! At last! But let's be honest, on a Motörhead tribute album, anything other than "Ace Of Spades" or "Overkill" is a deep cut to everyone. Love Canal inject a bit of the psychedelic into this one, which is odd and almost works. It doesn't, quite, but points for trying something different in the back third of an album that's starting to run together into one endless wall of distortion.
SOLDIERS OF DESTRUCTION – "Overkill": And here's the other required inclusion. You can't do a Motörhead tribute without "Overkill." It's physically impossible. The universe wouldn't allow it. They play it fast—as you have to—and it's exactly adequate. That's the theme of this album's second half: exactly adequate. We're all tired. The bands are tired. You're tired reading this. Lemmy's still dead. Let's just move on.
WISDOM IN CHAINS – "Iron Fist": Pennsylvania hardcore guys doing the title track to one of the grimier Motörhead albums. It's fast, it's angry, and it sounds like it was recorded in somebody's garage, which it very possibly was. The production on the latter half of this album is noticeably worse than the first half, which either adds to the punk points or means they ran out of funds. Could be both. Probably is both.
MOTÖRHEAD & THE DAMNED – "Neat, Neat, Neat": And here's the real reason to buy this thing if you're a completist: a heretofore unreleased 2002 recording of Lemmy sitting in with The Damned to bash out their 1977 classic. It's the only non-Motörhead track on the record, so it's either a real treat or a cynical move to get completists to open their wallets.
Probably both. Definitely both. Lemmy would've approved.
The song itself is exactly what you'd want: sloppy, fast, and celebratory in that particular way that older punks get when they remember they're not dead yet. You can hear the years from 1977 to 2002, all that deterioration and survival, but you can hear that spark that made either band matter in the first place. It's the greatest song on the record by default because it's actual Lemmy, and also because "Neat Neat Neat" is a perfect song that's virtually impossible to screw up.
The fact that it's here at all is a small miracle of archival digging and probably several lawyers negotiating for months. The fact that it's been held back for over two decades and released on a tribute album in 2025 is either respectful timing or calculated marketing. Again: both. Always both.
Motörhead was a punk band who were incorrectly identified as metal because they had long hair and Marshall stacks. That's a fact. That's always been a fact. Lemmy himself stated it a thousand times in interviews. The punks accepted them. The metalheads accepted them. Lemmy accepted the Jack Daniel's and cigarettes and continued with his life.
Yet this tribute album is less a revelation and more a reminder that we all already knew this. The punk-metal divide dissolved decades ago, in large part because of bands like Motörhead who didn't give a shit about genre gatekeeping in the first place. Thrash metal happened. Crossover happened. D-beat happened. Crust happened. Now your average crust punk and your average thrash fan are wearing the same Motörhead back patch and are probably dating one another.
So why this album? Why does it even need to exist? Honestly? Because we're angry. Because Lemmy's dead and we miss him. Because an entire generation of musicians who grew up worshipping at the altar of loud, fast, and don't-give-a-fuck want to say thank you the best way they know how: by playing loud, fast, and not giving a fuck. Is this a cash grab? Yes. Is it also sincere? Also yes. Those two things can coexist. Welcome to late capitalism, where even our grief is commodified but sometimes the feelings are genuine anyway.
Did we need Lagwagon to tell us "Rock 'N' Roll" works as a punk song? Did we need FEAR to tell us "The Chase Is Better Than The Catch" slaps? No. Not ever. We knew. We've always known. But do they do a good job anyway? Yes. Most of the bands here clearly gave a shit, which is more than you can say about a lot of tribute albums where half the bands sound like they recorded their songs during a lunch break and couldn't be bothered. Will it alter your life? No. Nothing's gonna alter your life at this point. You're too old, you're too exhausted, and you've heard too much music. Everything sounds like something else that you heard twenty years ago.
Will it make you miss Lemmy? Yes. Every time you hear that opening riff to "Ace Of Spades" or "Overkill", you're going to remember that there was this guy—this impossibly worn, impossibly cool guy—who just didn't give a damn about anything except playing loud music and speaking the truth. And now he's gone. And we're all still here, getting older and deafening, playing the same songs louder because that's all we know how to do. Is it depressing? You bet your ass it is.
Will you probably put it on at a party anyway and have a perfectly good time? Yeah, probably. You'll crack open whatever poison is your beverage of choice, you'll turn it up too loud, you'll bother the neighbors, and for forty-seven minutes you'll remember what it was like to be young and angry and think that loud guitars could save your life. They couldn't, of course. Nothing's gonna save you. We're all circling the drain, some of us just making a bigger racket about it. But for those forty-seven minutes? You'll be alive. And that'll have to do.
FINAL SCORE: 6.5/10
It's fine. It exists. Lemmy's still dead. We're all going to die someday too. Might as well crank it up while we're here. The first half is a solid 7, the second half a 6, the bonus Damned track bumps it up a peg, and the whole thing is probably better than it has any right to be but not quite good enough to really matter. It's a tribute album. It does tribute album things. Your expectations should be appropriately set.
Play it loud. Lemmy would've wanted it that way. Then go listen to the real Motörhead albums, because they're better.
RECOMMENDED IF YOU LIKE: Being reminded of your own mortality, hearing the same songs played in slightly different manners, supporting the retirement funds of older punk rockers, pretending that you're still dangerous, Jack Daniel's, not hearing your tinnitus, the complete pointlessness of life coupled with loud guitars.
NOT RECOMMENDED IF: You have intact self-preservation instincts, you require tribute albums to have a purpose other than "We liked this band", you're looking for innovation or surprises, you think silence is golden. WORDS: Matt Denny.
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