Motörhead were never a punk band. But in terms of velocity and volume, attitude and aggression, they had a lot more to do with punk than many of the chancers who rebranded themselves to cash in on a trend.

This would have been Motörhead ‘s debut single if Stiff Records had released it at the time. I’m not sure why they didn’t. It was all set for release in December 1976 but got delayed for two years, by which time the band had released their debut album on another label.

I saw them a few times, perhaps first in April 1977 at The Roundhouse with The Damned and The Adverts, and they were always loud. Very loud.

And whenever I went down to Portobello Road market, which I did most Saturdays, I would see Lemmy at Henekey’s (or was it Finch’s?) on the Portobello Road, where he would reliably be found on the pinball machine just inside the door on the right.

He was always dressed in his uniform of black biker jacket, black biker boots, black jeans and bullet belt. He was wearing it when I interviewed him 25 years later in LA. I imagine he was buried in it too, with a bottle of Jack and a carton of Marlboro reds at his side.

White Line Fever not only captures Motörhead at their urgent, aggressive best but its title captures everything they represented in just three words.