1988.09.17 - Texas Stadium, Irving, USA

Slash: You have to give the kids, you know, or the people that comes to gigs, you gotta give them their moneys' worth. And you gotta be your best and be conscientious about the whole thing as a whole, and that's real important with us. When we do a crappy gig, we do like, get bummed out and go through...Sometimes it's funny. There's been funny things happening...

Duff: In Texas, yeah.

Slash: It was so bad, it wasn't...

Duff: It was just... This kid, I don't know if you saw this, it says like... Cause we played at like seven. This kid went home and said 10.15 Saturday night. 10.15 PM. He sent us a broken tape of ours. He broke it in half and sent this letter "I just got back from your gig and you guys sucked. I'll never buy a tape or come and see you guys again". OK...

Slash: If he'd known exactly what had gone on... I mean, see that's the things. There's no excuses, you know. If he'd known really what happened, maybe he'd understand.

Duff: Right. It was just the worst circumstances for a band, any band, that day, we went through. And the hurricane was like, 60 miles south. So, we played Texas stadium, where they have the... not a roof, but it's like, open. So the rain started... just pouring rain. And it came up on the stage and we're falling on our ass. The sound just... was terrible.

Slash: The sound was horrible.

Duff: It was horrible.

Slash: The vibe was bad. I mean, we were playing with somebody we didn't really like. And afterwards people were coming and saying "Great concert, man". And I was like, "Come on".

Duff: Give me a break.

Slash: It was like, the only thing about that was like, a bummer 'cause it was the last gig of the tour. [...]

Duff: Just like, put a needle in a balloon.

Slash: And the thing is... The main thing about that gig, it was, the ax were so diverse that it just didn't yell. The crowd was confused, the bands were confused.

Duff: And we had to walk like, miles to the stage.

Slash: 15 miles to the stage.

Duff: It was miles, you know. So, like you said, that kid, that's the only time...

Slash: I wish you hadn't told me that. That's a drag.

Duff: It was a real... I was at the office when the package came. It was like, "OK" [Interview with Duff and Slash, October 1988]

Texas Stadium, Dallas, and not a 10-gallon in sight. Back in the concrete bowels of the arena, where leathered rockers and their roadies confab with pot-bellied security guards and limo drivers, the sound from the stage is a blotch of noise. Out on the field it's about the same, only louder.
It's a hot afternoon with a tease of fain, like a barbeque pit that occasionally sizzles. Forty thousand kids are having a wind-ding, sampling an international pop smorgasbord that includes reggae prince Ziggy Marley, perennial cult icon Iggy Pop and Australians INXS, the headliners.
Running second on the bill this day is Hollywood garage band Guns N' Roses, whose debut album Appetite for Destruction has rather unexpectedly sold over six million copies, and whose "Sweet Child of Mind" is currently the nation's top-selling single. It's their last gig at the end of a nine-month tour, a chance to go out in a blaze of concert glory. There's just one problem: The band doesn't want to be here. They're wasted, they're cranky, they hate INXS. And, as usual, they're very upfront about their feelings. "What are they gonna do," cracks guitarist Izzy Stradlin, "kick us off the tour?"
The afterthought of Hurricane Gilbert begins to drizzle over the multitudes as the five members of Guns N' Roses - Axl, Izzy, lead guitarist Slash, bassist Duff McKagan and drummer Steve Adler - crank into "It's So Easy," their paean to the wild life; it's all they can do to move around without falling on the slippery stage. The band can't hear through their monitors as they slog through "Mr. Brownstone," Izzy's "little ditty about heroin," a ballad called "Patience" - "guess I could use a little, huh?" Axl says by way of introduction - a bluesy instrumental rave-up from Slash, and the band anthem, "Welcome to the Jungle."
It's a mess, but it works. Back in the bleachers, the faithful are singing along to every indecipherable word. Girls - and there are many - in Guns N' Roses wear scream like in old Beatles movies while their guys pump their fists forward. Is that static electricity in the air, or just plain sex?
Back onstage, the band's still pissed. "Guess nobody wants to play today," Axl admits, before taking soccer practice with one of the monitors. Next up is "Sweet Child," the crowd singing "where do we go?" with gospel fervor, as if Axl knew the answer. Then it's "Paradise City" and as quickly as they came the band is out of here, Duff smashing his bass in frustration, Slash cursing because he doesn't have a guitar to smash; "they forgot to bring a cheap one." It's less than 40 minutes into a scheduled 75-minute set. "Does it get any worse than this?" someone asks backstage, missing the point. Even at their worst, Guns N' Roses are real, and it connects. On the field the crowd is still cheering.

Mention of Los Angeles and Bily Idol brings us on to Guns N' Roses' Axl Rose. "He wouldn't last ten minutes in a Melbourne bar," scoffs Tim. "All that macho, tough guy shit. He'd get killed."

"Axl's problem," says Hutchence tucking into his duck, "is that he's always looking for a fight. It's not just that he won't walk away, he actively looks for trouble. When Guns N' Roses were supporting us, his monitors weren't working properly so he came looking for me. He wanted to fight me! I was just thinking, Oh, Axl, grow up!"