1987.10.08 - Hammersmith Odeon, London, England

The tour concluded with a near-sell out date at London's Hammersmith Odeon, during which Axl spoke at length about a friend of the band's who had recently dies in New York - their roadie Todd Crew. Todd had been with them on their first trip to the UK but had passed out drunk for the whole of that first Marquee gig. Now he had died of a heroin overdose. The band played Bob Dylan's Knockin' On Heaven's Door in his memory [20 Years of Appetite, Classic Rock Magazine, July 2007]

Jack Barron wrote:THIS SONG is my favourite," screams part-man-mostly-dog guitarist Slash, Guns N'Roses' mascot pimple. "It's for all you thrashers out there and it's dedicated to BLOW-jobs and ANAL sex. It's called 'You're F – ing Craaaazeee!'"
The rhythms thunder out like a plutonium powered amplified vibrator. Guns N'Roses skid around the stage like they've got sticks of TNT stuck in every available orifice, and the jammed audience inside Hammersmith Odeon burst apart at the seams like some gigantic hair cushion.
Good Lord. From under what stones have these people crawled?
It never ceases to amaze me how, with a minimum of publicity and virtually no radio play, the new anodised wave of metaloids from the USA continually manage to fill a hall the size of the Odeon. Like it or not – thrashcore rawk is probably the burgeoning underground music of the '80s, even more so than hip-hop.
And to emphasise that they're the heirs to punk's ability to incite through offensiveness, Guns N'Roses took to the stage to the strains of Sid's version of 'My Way'. Vicious had his chorus swiftly amputated by singer W. Axyl Rose who barked "Turn that F – ing row off and let me play my music."
And what of this music? Guns N'Roses are a modern sleaze band of the sort that probably thinking fishnet stockings are for catching mackerel. Yet they're able to slip into all variants of rock – metal, thrash or grunge – with ease and Slash plays the guitar like he's got 500 fingers. In a year, I guarantee, they'll be performing in a stadium near you. The destination of Guns N'Roses is megatropolis.
The reason for such a rash predication is that the band actually have some anthemic songs that ignore the trad themes of lumpenmetal. Instead their ouvre addresses the high and lows, victims and victors, of Grossville USA where people die from ODs as often as Prince shaves. All of this is relayed through the bourbon and crushed glass vocals of W. Axyl.
For once in rawk here's a guy, not quite as daft as his headband, who can sing well except for those occasional moments when his larynx shoots up into the stratosphere to give heart attacks to pilots of passing Jumbos.
So, from under what stones have these people crawled? The Strolling Bags Of Bones. Mick and Keith have a lot to answer for. Their brain-damaged bastard sonic sons are reaping a terrible revenge.