2002.11.14 - Target Center, Minneapolis, USA

An Axl To Grind

Guns N' Roses: Dying hard with a vengeance?

By Laura Sinagra

Ghosts N' Ruins. Guitar N' Rasp. Back in 1992, Nirvana may have briefly seemed like the soul of wit. But Dave Grohl's MTV Video Music Awards taunting of Guns N' Roses' dethroned metal man--'Hi Axl. Hi Axl... Where's Axl?'--seemed too cruel even at the time. After all, costume metal was already moribund. It was more fun to decode 'married/buried' riddles than to watch the single-entendre video of a rock star wedding where the frontman's Victoria's Secret model girlfriend ends up in a coffin. And thus, taking Axl down to the Paradise City devolved into just taking him down.

The Honeymoon: For those of us 1980s Classic Radio Rockers too young and brainwashed to slide over to the dark side or be saved by real punk, us who had resisted the hot-tubbing tease of the hair metal and cleaved to the cock-rawkin' authenticity of the moldy oldies that buzzard-like Zoo-jocks fed us, Axl's arrival on the mainstream scene was a godsend. He was pure Hollywood, sure, but not box-office Poison. He wasn't scary, but he definitely wasn't joking around. With his angel face and devil strut he welcomed us to the L.A. jungle with a n-n-n-nuh-nuh-nobody's-fault-but-mine bravura. And for the first time, we considered making some space on the Robert Plant pedestal for a new crooner who dripped more vinegar than honey.

He was hot. He could howl. And during that four-year-long comet blast, before grunge and alt-rock truly squashed him, Axl provided a universal strip-malled under-the-bridge-kegger soundtrack for suburban kids too timid to appropriate hip hop (or too racist to embrace it). (My pal who sang, 'Take me down to the Paradise City/ Where everyone reads Will by G. Gordon Liddy' really nailed a certain segment of GNR's gun-show fan base.)

But ever since his Seattlite trouncing, we seem to care more about where Axl is, how he must feel, what he's cooking up, than we do about any other hair-metal icon. Everybody else is Behind the Music-ed out--Tommy Lee is redecorating fans' houses on MTV and Bret Michaels is whining about his insulin, which makes him sound like your uncle rubbing BenGay on his old football knee. Axl retains some of his mystique. But he was always an odd duck, as Chuck Klosterman points out in his section of Fargo Rock City that ponders Axl's decision in the 'Estranged' video to frolic underwater with dolphins. What could it have meant? Was it some kind of portent? For some reason, we still care. Hell, Spin slapped his mug on the cover twice post-heyday, most recently to bestow upon him the honor of best metal album of all time (with GNR beating out Zeppelin), and in 1999 just to speculate about his whereabouts, physically, artistically, and psychologically. The issues flew off the stands.

Now that crybaby nu metal is beginning its decline, by Axl-ine logic, it's high time for the GNR reunion tour. Maybe that's because the ass-shake boogie of GNR has more in common with the new rock's back bands like the White Stripes than all that broken-home Korn-husking. And at this exact moment of bash-groovy reverie, even the tykes seem to be jumping on the upcoming show tickets--like emo kids reaching back for Weezer, but much weirder and kitschier. They were sweet children themselves when 'Sweet Child o' Mine' played on their older sibs' tape decks, so maybe for them it's like going back to grammar school. (Axl even kind of looked like a creepy old Botoxed marm on MTV's 2002 Video Music Awards show.)

The new record? Well, as you know, he's had Tommy Stinson locked in his basement (delaying the fabled Replacements reunion) just in case Mr. Rose got a flash of inspiration for the tracks of his years-in-the-concepting and now supposedly done Chinese Democracy album. The tour has begun--in China, for real, though nobody still has a clue what illusion he's using, politically speaking. Anyway, he's Gone N' Returned, and there's suddenly a lot of him to go around.

For GNR fans, it took a little patience

By Chris Riemenschneider
Star Tribune Staff Writer

Guns N' Roses fans — or what's left of them — have waited 10 years for the decadent hard-rock band to re-emerge, so what's an extra hour or two?

That may have been the thinking of Guns guru Axl Rose on Thursday, when his wholly reorganized but still notoriously unorganized group was about 70 minutes late taking the stage at the Target Center.

Unlike last week's canceled concert in Vancouver, British Columbia — which resulted in riots and about $100,000 in damage to the arena after Axl's plane was reportedly delayed — the Minneapolis show did go on. But the 6,000 or so fans were forced to wait until 10:40 p.m.

The wait was compounded by the fact that Rose, 40, has been living like a hermit in Los Angeles for the past decade. He has fired all the original members of the band and hired a new crew that includes former Replacements bassist and local boy Tommy Stinson, plus former members of Nine Inch Nails and Primus, as well as the mysterious KFC-bucket-wear-ing guitarist Buckethead. Rose has also delayed release of the band's in-the-works album, “Chinese Democracy,” since 2000.

However unhappy fans had grown, the tension was lifted as Rose took the stage in a Vikings jersey and asked his familiar question, “Do you know where you are?”

That line, from the visceral show opener “Welcome to the Jungle,” was answered confidently as the band tore through two other classics, “It's So Easy” and “Mr. Brownstone.” This was a legitimate GNR concert.

Judging by the first 45 minutes, which also included covers of “Live and Let Die” and “Knocking on Heaven's Door” (songs the band played heavily in its 1988-92 heyday), the greatest thing that can be said of the new Gunners is that they do a great job of mimicking the old ones. “Sweet Child O' Mine,” in particular, raised the nostalgia level to bliss.

Even the two new songs played before this edition of the Star Tribune went to press sounded great but not altogether different from classic GNR. Which forces the question: If that's all there is, then what took so long?

GUNS N' ROSES FAR OFF TARGET

Who: Guns N' Roses
When: Thursday
Where: Target Center, Minneapolis

JOHN NEMO
Special to the Pioneer Press

I stumbled out of Target Center around 12:45 a.m. Friday, eyes bleary and heart weary. I had just seen the equivalent of Michael Jordan missing a layup, Mario Lemieux missing a breakaway or Barry Bonds missing a fastball.

I had just seen what has become of my favorite rock band, Guns N' Roses.

Like millions of teenage boys in the late 1980s and early '90s, I worshiped Axl Rose and his band. But the revamped, bizarre version of Guns N' Roses that showed up on Thursday was painful to witness.

For starters, nobody other than Axl remains from the original cast. A guy wearing a Kentucky Fried Chicken container on his noggin and sporting the name "Buckethead" is now supposed to make us forget Slash. Former Replacement Tommy Stinson plays bass and is so hyperactive he makes us long for that lazy, lovable, loaf Duff McKagan.

Then there's weirdo Robin Finck, formerly of Nine Inch Nails, stomping around while trying (and failing) to copy Slash's leads on guitar. Primus drummer "Brain" plays a particularly poor version of Matt Sorum/Steven Adler, although Richard Fortus does a passable Izzy Stradlin/Gilby Clarke on rhythm guitar. Dizzy Reed (who played with Guns N' Roses in the early 1990s) and Chris Pitman handle the keyboard duties.

There were only 9,000 people at Thursday's show, which left almost the entire upper deck empty. Axl did his best to build the anticipation, making the audience wait until 10:40 p.m. before taking the stage.

GNR put out "Appetite for Destruction" in 1987, the band's debut album spawning major hits like "Paradise City," "Sweet Child O' Mine" and "Welcome to the Jungle," the intro to which is still played at nearly ever sporting event in the country.

Thursdays show started with "Jungle," which had all of us roaring once the lights finally went down. But when a bloated Axl took the stage in black exercise pants and a Vikings jersey with the number 35, it just didn't feel right.

As the band ran through the songs from "Appetite" almost in exact order from the album, then cranked out a few of the biggest hits from the "Use Your Illusion" albums, I felt guilty. It was as if I were somehow letting down Duff, Slash, Izzy and the rest of the original group by watching these yahoos wearing KFC buckets and weird makeup playing GNR classics like some kind of sleazy lounge band.

It didn't help that atrocious acoustics inside the arena rendered the words (even though I knew every single one of them) incomprehensible, as if Axl were singing through a tin bucket. Give the man credit, though. He can still screech with the best of them, and those around me didn't seem to mind Axl running around at what seemed like half speed, fumbling words When the show was finished, I felt better, like I could go home and forget I ever came. This isn't how I wanted to remember Guns N' Roses, a band missing almost all of its ammo and replacing its once lovable characters with scary freaks.

So Michael misses layups. Mario misses breakaways. Barry misses baseballs. And now, as I learned Thursday, Axl misses his former band mates. So do I.

Guns N' Roses, Target Center. Despite their late start, Axl Rose and his new sidemen seemed tight, focused and a tad too professional. (Axl needs a foil onstage.) Minneapolis' own Tommy Stinson (on bass) clearly relished being a rock star, a job for which he's been preparing for two decades.

—Jon Bream, Star Tribune

GUNS OF STEEL

A sign of the times, and maybe an explanation for the 10:40 p.m. start time of Guns N’ Roses two-hour concert at the Target Center last week: The only unusual thing that Axl Rose requested in his contract was a specific kind of exercise bike. Compare that with 1992, when Rose reportedly was host to a cackle of local strippers in his dressing room; that night he took the stage after midnight.

Axl definitely looked as if he’d been pushing the pedals instead of pedaling any pushers at the T.C. this time. He looked trimmer than in photos taken two years ago (he hasn’t allowed photographers at concerts ever since). The singer even felt comfortable enough to joke about his image when introducing himself and his new bandmates: “My name is Fat Bastard, and these are the Yes Men.” (C.R.)

Blackstar wrote:

My name is Fat Bastard and these are the Yes Men. [Onstage at Target Center, Minneapolis, MN, USA, November 14, 2002]