Guns n' Roses

The first and only time I saw Guns n' Roses was in 1991 at Wembley Stadium back in London. I was a youthful 17-year old, and I was with two of my best friends. 70,000 people joined us on that day to watch the original Roses line-up and massive support acts Nine Inch Nails and Skid Row. It was a stunning day that commenced at 2pm in a hot London summer, with the entire crowd making it their mission to get as drunk as possible. Lusty cameramen panned the crowds, girls popped their boobs out on the giant screens either side of the stage and suicidal rockers built human pyramids up to seven people tall. It was one of the defining moments of my concert-going career.

16 years later, at Brisbane Entertainment Centre, Boondall, a cold, soulless venue more akin to a prison camp than its primary naming purpose, on an even colder Tuesday night in June, provided another defining moment.

There were only two similarities between the two gigs – one was Axl Rose, the other was the fact that he was late coming to the stage. In 1991, it took him over extra two hours to find the on switch, and a projected kick-off time of 8pm, turned out to be 10.20pm. In 2007, the 10.30pm start time turned out to be midnight. I estimate that by 2055, he’ll be coming out on stage on time.

Axl Rose has always been a brash, difficult, antagonistic love/hate figure. A song-writing genius on a par with the best of the 20^th centaury, he has the ability to not only polarise the general public, but most of the people he’s ever worked with. And unfortunately, they only tend to polarise their opinion of him in a less than favourable direction.

Even with the opening bars of “Welcome To The Jungle” straining in the audience’s ears, a well-aimed half-full cup of Coke came pirouetting out of the audience, glanced off the top of Axl’s head and splashed him with liquid. Like a driver spotting a speed camera, Axl slammed the brakes on and stopped the music.

With a steely stare and a very angry demeanour, Axl leans over the crowd at the front of the stage.

“Is this the way it’s going to be?”

He’s clearly very pissed off – he’s been hit by a cup so who can blame him? But then so are the crowd. He’s an hour and a half late and they’re sober. At least if you could get a drink in the BEC that would have been some comfort.

“Because if it is, it’s going to be a very long fucking night for all of us.”

The crowd shift uneasily. There are the odd murmurs of ‘Sorry, Mr Rose’ and a few other people are bravely flicking him the bird from the shadows. No-one else says anything else. There’s a bit of a Mexican stand-off going on here.

“Well, let’s try this one more fucking time.”

Instantly the band burst back into life and back we go again with the opening song. Disaster averted for the moment.

But it’s clear within the first four songs that Axl just isn’t happy. He sulks about the stage singing and delivering what he has to with the least possible effort, and after ‘Mr. Brownstone’, ‘It’s So Easy’ and ‘Out Ta Get Me’, he decides it’s time for a break and he disappears off stage to leave us with a mind-numbingly tedious guitar solo.

Post-solo, we welcome back the new and improved Axl Rose. Maybe he’s just had a talking to from his tour manager, maybe he’s shoved half of Columbia up his nose. But either way, his manner is improving and it’s actually becoming a bit more enjoyable to watch.

We’re subjected to a butchered version of ‘Sweet Child O’Mine’ with a riff that’s played without any of the passion and swagger that Slash used to bring to it, and when the Gunners bring in a couple of their new tracks, you start to actually realise how bad the sound for this gig actually is. With three guitarists and two keyboard players, the tracks are so multi-layered that all you can hear is a distorted wheeze. Axl’s vocals are drowned by this, and with his mumbling there’s little coming across at you other than a blank wall of noise.

This problem becomes even more apparent when Gilby Clarke delivers his piano solo. (Honestly, this is rock and/or roll and we’re getting a piano solo?) During his time on stage there’s a low humming and clicking from the main bank of speakers on the right which manages to distract just about everyone throughout his whole piece. Thankfully, it wasn’t interrupting anything important.

Four guitar solos, more sound tragedy through ‘November Rain’ and then a blistering version of ‘You Could Be Mine’ and a duet with Sebastian Bach on ‘My Michelle’ and then the show begins to approach the end. Of course the encore finishes with ‘Paradise City’ with the new ‘Madagascar’ leading into it.

The final two acts leave the crowd as bemused as perhaps the start of the show did.

With the lights coming on, Axl comes back onto the stage with the band and takes a bow. Like this was a theatre and they’d just done Shakespeare. As he leaves, he grabs his trademark red microphone and throws it into the crowd – grabbing a second microphone to issue a warning to security.

“Security: leave them alone and let them take that fucking mic home.”

Everyone looks totally confused at each other. Has the crowd just witnessed the madness of a true genius, or the genius of a true madman? Either way, I sense the chances of it being another 16 years before I see Axl again, are high.