2013.07.14 - Métropolis, Montréal, Canada

Live Review: Guns N’ Roses, Métropolis, Sunday, July 14
July 15, 2013. 2:16 am

Patience is a virtue. Patience is a grace.

Patience is two hours and 20 minutes-plus into a Guns N’ Roses epic in Métropolis on a Sunday night, and conjures now-receding memories of other numbers. Like the 15-year delay between albums and 8 guys onstage doing the work of 5 druggies from 1990 and…

But why dwell on those when Axl Rose and his band – really, the more accurate designation despite the hits catalogue and the brand name – had come to a club to unload an arena in it.

An initial start time of 11 p.m. had been dialed back to 10:15 by promoters and yeah, there were the numerals again and some eye-rolling from the vets in the crowd… but lo, here was Chinese Democrazy – sorry, Democracy – crunching out of DJ Ashba’s amp and here was the star in broad-brimmed hat, ripped jeans and leather jacket in the hot, hot heat of Métropolis. And all bets were off, because they were on.

Questions: would Axl dial down the pyro from the Dresden saturation-bombing of the Bell Centre show 2½ years ago, given we were in, you know, an enclosed space roughly 1/10th the size? Kaboom-wise, yes, but not in scope and length of the set list. Because here was Ashba in his Slash-lite hat cueing the stutter-riff to Welcome to the Jungle. So relax (an anagram, I’m afraid, but it was late).

Or ignite, as the crowd did, when It’s So Easy and Mr. Brownstone followed in short order, and 28 million global copies sold of Appetite were in the house. Initially, it was hard to tell how Axl’s voice was holding up, simply because the packed house was singing every lyric. A video backdrop behind the drum riser, another on it, and one each behind bassist/stage general Tommy Stinson stage left and guitarist Richard Fortus stage right broadcast the visuals, but Axl was front and centre anyway, executing a wider-stanced snakehips slide on the monitors and clearly at ease. Little banter, lots of three-guitar attack.

You could hear the lingering half-life of the original band’s lurid gutter allure in those three songs, and then you would learn that Axl’s version of pacing is actually spacing. There would be many mini-exits by the singer, and longer ones as each axeman took a solo turn. Welcome to the Jumble.

The crowd may have loved the bombast of Richard Fortus shredding frets somewhere between Rocket Queen and Live and Let Die, but by the time keyboardist Dizzy Reed had wheeled out his own version of No Quarter, one wearily wanted a sprint rather than a marathon. Each of those stage-crafted breaks only meant the momentum had to be rekindled. And when Rose took to the piano in a purple Liberace jacket to ease from Pink Floyd and Elton into November Rain (3 keyboards, 3 guitars…), when he covered Neil’s Don’t Let it Bring You Down before Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door, when the axemen went acoustic with Angie into Patience, you realized the goal here.

All those classics were meant to remind everyone who hadn’t noticed that Axl insists he and his GnR belong among the Colossi of Rawk. Listen as the crowd howls Sweet Child O’ Mine. Listen to concert highlights You Could Be Mine and Night Train, revealing the voice is indeed still there, if tempered. But still there. Watch as he refuses to go jacketless, which was kind of heroic in that heat. A music biz guy referred, affectionately, to “sweatin’ to the oldies.” Listen and listen as this epic-length show eventually promises to pull into Paradise City as many of these folks risk missing the last train home. And as Axl outlasts the world to win something on his terms. The most interesting truth here is that this 160-minute show housed a 110-minute one that would have better cemented his rep.

Soulmonster wrote:Thanks, Uli, for updating in my absence.

Uli wrote:

Soulmonster wrote:Thanks, Uli, for updating in my absence.

My pleasure.  

It's gone very quiet now the dates are over. Let's hope for rumours.
Next time you better plan your absence in accordance to the band touring!