|
Page 5 of 5 Arriving late is all part of his discreet charm and rockstar allure. But perhaps Axl forgets that the public has been waiting for his ass for fourteen years. Where the band truly suffers is on the instrumental side. Despite Bumblefoot’s best efforts, Mr. Finck’s and Mr. Fortus’ solos are truly lacking and uninspired. I promise not to mention the S-word again, but if the hysterical crowd hadn’t been starved for fourteen years of live GN’R, they may have been slightly more critical and a little less appreciative. Lucky for the Gunners, most of the time you couldn’t hear the lousy guitar noodling over the screams of adoring fans. And although this was show number eighty-something with this current formation, it goes to show you can’t easily replace the 10+ years of chemistry and personality that you had with an original band; you know, the ones that wrote, played and evolved the songs (and the fantastic special intros!) along with Axl and Izzy Stradlin (the oft-forgotten original fifth member and co-composer of many of their greatest hits) into well-honed perfection. As the Culinary Idiot himself so eloquently stated in Mexico City, “this is the best Guns N’ Roses cover band I’ve ever seen.”
 |
I was so excited during the Guadalajara show that I didn’t bother writing down the set list for this article. Luckily, Axl and company were kind enough to REPEAT the entire setlist, song for song, solo for solo, wardrobe change for wardrobe change, in Mexico City two nights later. Ironic, considering Axl so proudly stated during the St. Louis Riot Show (1991) that “we’re not one of those bands that plays the same set each night in each city we visit.” This time Axl and associates must have received a verbal (or perhaps monetary) warning from the Mexico City promoters who of course had witnessed first hand or received quick wind of the Monterrey and Guadalajara shows. Rest assured, if Axl didn’t show up to play until 1:00am, the chilangos wouldn’t be quite as patient, polite and well behaved. There were actually signs outside the stadium entrances warning the audience that the headliners would not play before 11:30pm. After the opening acts finished up around 10:00pm or 10:30pm the Rebound Palace cleverly projected the Mexico vs. Paraguay soccer match onto the Jumbotron, instantly pacifying and rendering the crowd of over 21,000 completely docile, who even forgot (maybe for just a few minutes) they were there to see GN’R. Who ever thought of that BRILLIANT idea definitely deserves a raise! Once the match was over, the lights went out and the band promptly took the stage and once again we heard the opening hypnotic licks of “Welcome to the Jungle”. From there on forward, they were basically painting by numbers, on automatic pilot. And the audience was just as sick and pleased and grateful for the nearly identical performance.
When you’re young you look up to these larger than life characters because of the tremendous impact their music may have had on you during your adolescence. They’re all over the media, they are on the world’s biggest stages and you think they are gods. In high school Stephen Davis’ Hammer of the Gods was my rock bible. The legendary (and many say fabricated) exploits of Led Zeppelin during the 1970s were enough to inspire and convince any young man, who might have even a remote inkling towards a career in rock n’ roll, to sign their soul over to Aleister Crowley right there on back of that worn paperback. Not having any sort of musical talent (or sense of rhythm) I never considered myself to be a candidate. But you grow up your entire life imagining what it must be like to be a rockstar, and you thank god that GN’R—even this somewhat lame imitation of GN’R—still exist to carry on this important mantle through these difficult times. That is, until that disappointing moment when you discover they don’t even have a single backstage groupie amongst the lot of them!
So we must asks ourselves, “How far has rock declined?”
Where are the wild hotel room parties?
Where are the massive orgies?
Where are the Mudsharks?
Where are the feasts we were promised?
Where is the wine?
The New Wine.
Dying on the vine.
The sad realization that the rock n’ roll mythos we had worshiped for generations may now only exists in storybooks such Hammer of the Gods is almost too much to bare. The lesson here is: don’t meet your idols, kids, you’ll only be disappointed. Or at least, don’t meet them when they’re 14 years past their prime and have been largely replaced by imposters. With all due respect to the current players, take me back to the paradise city that was the Hartford Civic Center.
Last update : 04-11-2007 12:07
|
|
|
(0 vote)
