Review

It takes a band with the grit of Motörhead to exhume the ghost of its own legend and make the damn thing dance. *The Manticore Tapes*, the latest posthumous release bearing the band’s snarl-and-leather insignia, is not so much an album as it is a war cry from the beyond. Compiled from long-rumoured studio outtakes, rehearsal reels, and the odd bloodied bootleg, the record offers a bruising glimpse into the raw machinery that kept Lemmy Kilmister’s hell-train rattling for decades. Let’s get one thing straight — this isn’t Motörhead for the faint of heart or the Spotify-shuffling dilettante. *The Manticore Tapes* is ragged, unrepentant, and gloriously unpolished. The opening track, “Iron Coffin Sermon,” lurches forth like a tank on square wheels, Lemmy’s bass growl and that death-rattle vocal dragging the rest of the band through the sonic carnage. It’s all there — the whisky-sodden riffs, the clattering percussion that sounds like someone kicking over a rack of cymbals in a biker chapel. There’s a delightful sense of danger throughout. “Hell’s Vendor” is a grimy, previously unreleased studio jam from the Orgasmatron era, and it's so thunderously alive you half expect Lemmy to stagger out of your speakers in aviators and an attitude. Meanwhile, “She-Wolf in Chrome” could pass as a distant cousin to “Killed by Death” — all gallows humour and jet-fuel rhythm — only rougher around the edges, like it was duct-taped together in a biker’s garage somewhere in the Midlands. That said, the album's lo-fi nature may alienate those seeking polish. The production is often chaotic, the vocals sometimes swallowed by the din — but to criticise The Manticore Tapes for its chaos is to miss the point. This is Motörhead distilled to its feral essence. No polish, no compromise — just sweat, noise, and the stubborn refusal to die quietly. Closing track “Manticore Rising” — a snarling dirge that builds into a full-blown aural inferno — feels like the band’s last stand, and perhaps, fittingly so. Lemmy’s final growled line — “You don’t tame the beast, you ride it into hell” — lands like a prophecy fulfilled. Ultimately, The Manticore Tapes is a treasure trove for the faithful and a boot to the teeth for anyone expecting something neat and tidy. It's Motörhead — loud, filthy, and defiantly alive, even in death. God bless 'em.

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