Gather around, children, and I will tell you the tale of what it was like in the time before time. When the world was a vast emptiness waiting for a spark to ignite the torch of hope and rock and roll.

If you are a heavy metal fan, Motörhead’s live show is one of those pinnacle “must-haves.” While Lemmy and his cohorts continue to insist that they are nothing more than a rock and roll band, seeing Motörhead live is watching a living oral history of the genesis of heavy metal.

Asking Alexandria was technically asked to open the main stage, but in reality, they were ex post facto to Anthrax, and began performing as soon as the veteran band had finished.

Not so different from the halcyon days of Ozzfest or Lollapalooza, Gigantour has become an annual staple in the music community. At the same time, the tour is among the last of a dying breed.

Nothing is more metal than Lemmy Kilmister, and nothing says pure kick ass than Motorhead.

Lemmy. The name alone invokes the stereotype of the man himself. His image is ubiquitous; the cowboy hat, the leather boots, the Marlboro reds, the swaggering visage.

Lemmy. One of the Fathers of Metal. A lifelong legacy of unflinching dedication to rock and roll. A pillar of the music community since the heady days of Hawkwind. An archetype unto himself. Lemmy isn’t “like” anyone. Rather, people try to be “like” him. They usually fall short.

Lemmy. As Lars Ulrich is quick to point out in this new documentary, the name itself “should be a verb.”

Among the fan circles of hard rock and heavy metal, only two names imply the kind of ultimate, all encompassing, you-know-what-to-expect legacy that is earned through a career of unflinching consistency. AC/DC, the forever hard-charging and ageless band from Australia is one.