“Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen!” Sebastian Bach said into his mic as he stood at the lip of the stage of the Target Center, waving to the crowds filling the first two levels of seating, “Be sure to rock with Helmet and Guns ‘N Roses!”
Helmet?
Guns ‘N Roses, yes. That’s who I, and most of those aforementioned folks were expecting to see next. I then wondered, and perhaps some of the other folks did too, whether the erstwhile lead singer of Skid Row and star of revivals of “Rocky Horror”, “Jeckyl and Hyde” and “Jesus Christ, Superstar” actually said, “Be sure to wear a helmet with Guns ‘n Roses!”
“But”, as the late John Belushi would say, “no.” Fifteen minutes later, a band of four reedy twenty-something dudes in T-shirts and shorts took the stage with their respective musical utensils and proceeded to spend the next forty minutes playing what appeared to be the same forty-minute song, punctuated by brief breaks to allow the front man to catch his breath and quickly blurt out “One-two-three-four!” These were about the only intelligible words the guy uttered, as each lyric, grunt and growl was obscured by the incessant thrash of guitars, bass and drums. This wall-to-wall carpeting of speed metal only amounted to background music, for the majority of the audience ignored them as they talked, checked their cell phones (which were earlier used as replacements for cigarette lighters to accompany one number by Bach, who requested a mass YouTube recording) or bought overpriced refreshments in the vending areas encircling the auditorium.
The fact that the headlining band was taking its time to get rolling, though, shouldn’t have come as a huge surprise to those of us present. Axl Rose, the only original member of what was once the biggest and one of the most dangerous bands on earth, is a man who could adopt the word “late” just like he did his first name. In fact, on two occasions this current tour, the former WIlliam Bruce Rose was so very late he never showed up at all - though, at least, this time around, he had the decency to alert ticket holders ahead of time and, in one case, offer free tickets to upcoming shows in nearby cities. During his last national haul, in 2002, Axl, upset over having been refused admittance to a New York club because they did not allow patrons to wear fur products like the pelt he was sporting, felt the best way to get back at the club owners was to not show up at the band’s next gig in Philadelphia, and not bother telling anyone ahead of time. This led to a riot by the frustrated Philly crowd and the cancellation of the rest of the tour.
But where lateness really enters the picture is in regards to the album this year’s junket was supporting. That album, as even casual music buffs know, is “Chinese Democracy” and, while its start in 1994 is well established, its completion time is not quite so certain, as it has yet to see the light of an official release. Many such dates have gone by, starting in 1999 and including this past November, but nothing besides a few illegal, online downloads from the twelve-plus years of recording have reached the ears of concerned fans. More numerously, if one counts all the original G ‘n R members - the last of whom left the fold in 1997 to look for a band that was actually planning to finish a recorded work in his lifetime - and the many replacements who have come and gone since, the opus has easily seen at least fifty-score musicians involved in its creation. But the most meaningful number, and the one that is causing Rose to take his current crew on the road this year, is the dollar amount of $13 million the production has so far racked up, making it one of the most expensive albums ever made. Or, as The New York Times’ excellent 2005 account of “Democracy’s” creation calls it, the most expensive album NEVER made (see bottom for a link to this piece, written by Jeff Leeds).
Though hopeful fans and critics have made not-completely-unfounded predictions on a release date - and this past April Fool’s Day, Chuck Klosterman wrote a pointed mock review of the “finished” product (yeah, there’s a link to that, too) - in my opinion, only a fortune-depriving lawsuit against its chief creator or his demise is going to lead to an authorized release of the completed work. There may very well be samples from the record - which, I’m quite sure, will not be put out by the time China, itself, becomes a full-fledged democracy - included on future compilations and soundtracks. Even in regards to this I’m doubtful, as Rose was none too happy at the indifference shown to the one and only track from the sessions he has ever officially unveiled, the forgettable “Oh, My God” from the score to the even more forgettable Arnold Schwartzenegger flick, “End of Days.”
And then there were the two samples he provided to those of us who attended his shows, making us VIP’s to a very special event. But, frankly, the brand spanking new numbers from “Chinese Democracy” - the title tune and “I.R.S.” - he and the band treated us to were far less impressive than those they hauled out from the now fifteen-year old G ‘n R catalog. The opener, as the Lord (or that other guy) intended it to be, was “Welcome to the Jungle” which kicked off the show at 11:45 pm, a time when, based on my twenty-two years of concert going, most arena acts wrap up. As the roaring, fist-pumping crowd forgot all about their hour spent with Helmet, and the two spent with the long-haired Canadian geezer who takes his name from the bewigged German composer, Axl strolled out onto stage to the strains of a guitar chord that helped make Saul “Slash” Hudson a household name.
Of course, tonight, that chord was being played by somebody else: former Nine Inch Nails tour guitarist Robin Finck. Though Finck did not sport Slash’s distinctive black super mop and top hat, he proved to be every bit as worthy a plucker, and was roughly the same height, to boot. The same - in terms of expertise, not tallness - goes for the rest of the lineup, which included Twin Cities native and former Replacements member Tommy Stinson who, as bassist, bore absolutely no physical resemblance to original Gunner bass man Duff McKagen. In fact, even the lead singer for this combo did not much resemble that of the archetypal Guns ‘n Roses. This was partly due to the fact that the middle-aged man on stage tonight, though slightly heavyset, looked considerably better than the scrawny, pale, bandana-sporting screamer from the days of yore. In fact, he was downright dapper in his shades and black leather shirt.
The other difference had to do with the warm and friendly manner with which he dealt the crowd throughout the three-hour set, even going so far as to shake hands with those seated closest to the stage. This was a far cry from the fist fights that seemed to erupt on a nightly basis during the legendary tours of 1988-1989 and 1992-1994, with Rose taking a swing at any audience member who so much looked at him funny. In fact, Axl was such a pain in the butt that he has long held a spot on my list of Top Ten Assholes of Rock. For those curious to see where he stands and who else made the list, I offer the following, in order of, uh, “assholosity”:
1. Courtney Love
2. Ted Nugent
3. Gene Simmons
4. Axl Rose
5. Jim Morrison
6. Jerry Lee Lewis
7. Rick James
8. Sebastian Bach
9. Ronnie Van Zant
10. The Singing Senators
As I digress here, please keep in mind that, like Axl, these artists are all tremendously talented and, in a number of cases, have enjoyed live shows by them. But, in regards to their public foibles and personalities, I have regarded them with nothing but revulsion.
Courtney takes the number one spot because, though I don’t think she murdered hubby Kurt Cobain as some have speculated, she has devoted her career to threatening any journalist or other individual who dares criticize her, showing up when she damn well pleases for concerts and film shoots, and promoting heroin as a fun way to spend time. Nugent and Simmons, though they have admirably steered clear of drugs and alcohol, are such egotistical blowhards who are so proud of the fact that they care for nothing but money and pussy that their sobriety gives them even less excuse to be jerks. Jim Morrison, Ronnie Van Zant and Rick James may be dead, but consistently treating your fans, band members and handlers like crap, as Morrison did, wrapping yourself in the Confederate flag, as Van Zant and his band Lynard Skynard did, and kidnapping and torturing women, as James did, does not make one any more dearly departed. Jerry Lee, of course, may have gone one step further than Rick by possibly murdering a woman, but since there has been no definitive link made between Lewis and the drowning death of one of his many wives, I will have to make do with The Killer’s accidentally shooting his bass player, threatening to kill Elvis and marrying his thirteen-year-old cousin.
It is an interesting coincidence that another entry on this decidedly un-Casey-Kassem -like countdown opened the show covered in this piece, and, I gotta say, Sebastian Bach did perform some kickass renditions of his solo songs and his former band, Skid Row’s, brilliant hit, “18 and Life.” But, as rockologists should recall, during his days with The Row, he appeared at a 1989 concert wearing a T-shirt that read “AIDS: Kills Fags Dead!” Though the former Sebastian Bierk has many times apologized for his choice in stage wear, and gave $12,000 of his personal funds to fight AIDS, he has forever earned a place on the list up above ... and another being’s list down below. Speaking of Satan, The Singing Senators are, of course, a group and not an individual, but I felt it would be unfair for its members - Senators Trent Lott, John Ashcroft, Jim Jeffords and Larry Craig - to take spots away from other worthy contenders. And while there may be some dispute as to whether, being a barbershop quartet that released only one album, and whose singers made their reputations outside of music, they qualify as rock ... they definitely qualify as assholes.
As for Axl, though he has behaved himself so far this tour and was respectful to those of us at the Target Center, he will probably remain forever on the “A” list thanks to the unforgivable audacity he exhibited in recording and releasing the notorious ballad of hate, “One in a Million.” That track, which closed the 1989 compilation “G ‘n R Lies”, took the point of view of a “small town white boy” who arrives in Los Angeles to find himself fending off African-Americans, homosexuals and immigrants - and using terms for these groups that are a wee less complimentary than the ones I use here. Though Axl has long insisted that the piece does not endorse said “white boy’s” views, and has since partly sutured the wounds he caused, by promoting black artists like Living Color and Ice Tea and collaborating with the openly gay Elton John on a tribute to the not quite so openly gay Freddie Mercury (and, of course, continuing to work for several more years with the half-black, half-Jewish Slash), it was many years before I would consider even listening to a G ‘n R song on the radio, let alone buy an album or see one of their concerts.
To date, I have no warmer feelings about “One in a Million”, which has never been played live and was wisely not included on a 1999 reissue of “G ‘n R Lies”, than I do about Michael Richards’ racially charged excoriation of two comedy club patrons who had the temerity to order drinks during his set, I can’t deny that Guns ‘n Roses is an exemplary band that put out at least one great album. That album, “Appetite for Destruction”, appeared to be played almost in its entirety during the Target Center gig, whose set took occasional excursions into the band’s other official releases. Two slightly more savory numbers from “G ‘n R Lies” were trotted out: the okay ballad “Patience”, and that bit of musical black humor, “Used to Love Her”, which somehow manages to be a lively, toe-tapping tune despite sounding like it was written by the author of “If I Did It.” The band’s cover of Paul McCartney’s “Live and Let Die”, which, the way they perform it, sounds as if it was written specifically for G ‘n R rather than Roger Moore, along with “November Rain” and the Elton-John-dedicated “You Could Be Mine”, represented the best picks from the otherwise wretched “Use Your Illusions I and II.” “Down on the Farm” was the lone representative of the original band’s very last record, their underrated 1994 tribute to bebop, punk rock and Charlie Manson, “The Spaghetti Incident?” And then there is their classic tear into Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” which, now that I think about it, I have no idea what, if any, album that comes from.
But, truly, the best stuff was from what may end up being Guns ‘n Roses only truly classic collection of tunes. With “Welcome to the Jungle” being the natural winner in the show, close runners-up were “It’s So Easy”, a rocker so catchy it’s amazing it never became a hit, “Out Ta Get Me”, which must warm the hearts of the many G ‘n R fans who must at some point another do time, and “Mr. Brownstone”, a song about heroin Axl sings so convincingly one would think it was about him and not original rhythm guitarist Izzy Stradlin. Punctuating the concert were two long piano solos, one by Rose, himself, and another by Chris Pitman and guitar solos each from Robin Finck and the two other axe men, Richard Fortus and Bumbleboot (who, following the departure of Slash’s previous replacement, Buckethead, is fulfilling Axl’s need to have at least one person on hand who goes by one single, absurd name). Though it was awesome to see Axl exhibit so much generosity in giving his new mates a chance to shine, I think this altruism dragged the already late running show far longer than it needed to be. In fact, by the time “Paradise City” made its appearance towards the end of the set, I was long gone, having hauled my collapsing ass out twenty minutes before. As much as I would have loved seeing another favorite “Appetite” classic get the live treatment, my aching, forty-two-year-old body, which gets up out of bed much earlier than Axl’s forty-five year old one, was ready to tumble back into said sack.
Still, this concert, which may very well be the last one I ever attend after twenty-some years of arena shows of all shapes, sizes, genres and qualities (though I still plan on hobbling to the occasional bar or club gig), ranked among the very best I’d ever seen. This was not just because of the good seating I shelled out for, and cool pyrotechnics the technicians employed, but because the band, and Axl - despite his holding the number three spot on John Ervin’s Top Ten Assholes of Rock (which, perhaps, one day, he’ll expand to a more general Top Fifty, or Top One-Hundred, Assholes of Show Biz) and despite being so reluctant to put out an album that cannot be nearly as bad as he fears, or, frankly, as good as I and others hope - knows the two most important rules of rock and roll. The number one rule is kick ass. The number two rule is make no apologies ... unless, of course, you record a racist, homophobic song or wear a T-shirt comparing AIDS victims to cockroaches.
For Jeff Leed’s authoritative account of the saga behind “Chinese Democracy”:
www.nytimes.com
For Chuck Klosterman’s April Fool’s Day “review” of “Chinese Democracy”:
www.spin.com
