Guns N’ Roses! Guns…N’…Roses! They evoked a chant from the ravenous, inebriated puffed, riot inducing, high decibel volubly wired craniums that formed the electoral support for the stage.
Axl Rose is an acronym for Oral Sex and Slash is a Nigerian-Jewish-Brit hybrid, but enough of their trivialities. They were anti-establishment, anti-anti even. They screeched their existence, and then added heavy drumming and the electric streamed through their fingers and said “You’re in a jungle, baby. Wake Up! Time to die!”
The world hasn’t changed much. They were the notified punks of the 80’s, the era’s brand ambassadors. They spoke about that time, how grunge it was, how intoxicating it was, how loud it was, how nostalgic it would be, and a stark reminder of how empty it is now.
Axl’s hoarse shrieking laid low setting up as a precursor to the enticing runaway solos by Slash; mix it with a balladic piano of Dizzy Reed, the bass of Duff McKagan, might it be added; heavily underrated, the rhythms of Izzy Stradlin, the percussions of the discarded Steven Adler and his replacement Matt Sorum.
Guns N’ Roses, like most of the bands of the 80’s, were known for their on-stage antics, from the St. Louis riots in 1991 to the sane pleas of pacifying the crowds “we don’t want people passing out and having to go to the hospital” (Mr. Brownstone from Live Era ’87-‘93).
The rift that was between Axl Rose and the original band, currently Velvet Revolver sans the lead singer Scott Weiland, is still on a high and will collude against a reunion. Communism has fallen and so has the band, the voracious appetite for era is now just a grand illusion.
