Guns N' Roses - Hammersmith Apollo, London

United Kingdom | by Steve Jenner | 07 June 2006

Who do you think you are kidding Mr. Rose?

Fact 1: If it wasn't for Guns N' Roses this website wouldn't exist. The intro to Jungle had stirred a dormant beast deep inside meek teenagers throughout the land and a whole generation of maverick spirits was born, rampaging through life on their own terms, starting up their own websites and turning the established order of things on its head. Over 28 million album sales accounted for the phenomenon...

Fact 2: When the 'new' Guns N' Roses emerged at Leeds Festival in 2002, the pressure on Rose to deliver the goods whilst distracting us from the stadium-sized voids left by his former bandmates was - if anything - even greater than it is today. Incredibly, he pulled it off and this writer raved about it. Axl had put his money where his famously huge mouth was and the world grew warmer to the bonkers (on paper) idea that the band had a future with just the original singer and these new freaks.

It doesn't really matter how good Avenged Sevenfold are tonight. Aside from the fact the sound is so hideously poor that it is virtually impossible to hear what they are doing, everyone (politely) just wants it to be over as soon as possible, so we can get on with re-living 1992. Finally, they leave the stage. And we wait. And wait. And drink. And wait. And drink. And wait. And wait. And wait. The longer we wait, the more we drink.

Then the booing starts. And we wait. Then more booing. And waiting. The foundations are vibrating with all the booing. Surely he won't come out at all now! Then, on the stroke of 10.45pm, "Dang-a-da-dang-a-da... dang-a-da-dang-a-da" - that Jungle intro. The collective beast begins to stir but is then stunned into submission by the entrance of something far more frightening - the stomping apparition of a Vegas-era Mick Hucknall. The greatest riff of all time is suddenly drowned out by a unison of "You fat bastard!". I've never felt more proud to be British. Axl's pupils are blasting him with his own attitude. This bizarre journey has now taken on a new twist that none of us had expected - how on earth will it pan out?

It's So Easy, Mr. Brownstone and Live And Let Die rouse satisfactory nostalgia and we start to enjoy ourselves, to the relief of Rose who, bless him, is demonstrably trying to rock as hard as his bloated frame will allow, to please. Perhaps a little too hard. Then just as the atmosphere is lifting, the first pyro goes off with a... 'pop'. It's hard to tell who is more embarassed - Axl or the crowd. It's textbook Spinal Tap, and there's worse to come.

A brief reprieve comes in the form of Chinese Democracy - the first 'new' song of the night, which benefits from familiarity (despite not yet being released, the song has been performed live for over five years and downloaded extensively) and a fresh injection of gusto in the new band members treading their own ground, rather than rehashing someone else's for a change. It's infectious, anthemic and dramatic - everything a great Guns tune should be.  

Robin Finck takes centre stage for the night's first unaccompanied guitar solo. Back at Leeds in 2002, this fella was a highlight of the triumphant show - gothed up to the nines, mesmerising. How times change. Now he resembles a poor man's Russel Brand - skipping about, his long, wavy locks flowing in his wake. As for the solo, it's neither emotive nor technically impressive. It doesn't bleed into the Godfather Theme and it's not Slash. It's shit, never more palpably than when it segues awkwardly into the Sweet Child of Mine intro. How we miss Slash, a sentiment that only grows more intense throughout the song.

Having disappeared from view for the umteenth time, Axl returns with a fresh costume. Tonight, Mathew, I'm going to be Philip Schofield, apparently. It's an improvement over Hucknall, that's for sure. Then he launches into another new song, received with an enthusiastic chorus of booing. Rightly so, this one's legacy-pissing abysmal and none of us ever wish to have our ears soiled with it again.

You Could Be Mine gets the heads nodding (but little more). Cue more impotent pyros. Presented almost as a last ditch to turn things around, Knocking On Heaven's Door does indeed raise spirits, especially when Axl hands his mic to a bloke in the crowd, who dutifully serenades us with a brilliant Axl impression: "Knock Knock Knockin' on Heaven's Do-er-wor, hay, hay, hay, hay yeah". It's the highlight so far.

This ill-fated flight then takes a serious plunge. Two more strikingly mediocre new songs convince us not to bother waiting any longer for the eventual release of the new record. 84 more ineffectual unaccompanied solos follow. Finck's 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' and 'You're Beautiful' - yes, Christina Aguilera's one - miss the mark whilst new boy Bumblefoot looks so much like Badly Drawn Boy that the crowd boo him right out of his spotlight, poor fellow. Axl introduces Brain, the drummer, who tries to spin his sticks and drops both, to his master's wince. When the songs are not punctuated by solos, the unneccessary duo of keyboardists tap out lift muzac. What the hell is going on?

A split second from impact, rescue comes with the arrival of long time Guns ally Sebastian Bach (now more famous as a rockumentary commentator than the former singer of Skid Row) - to duet on My Michelle. And finally we catch a glimpse of the old Axl - doing his spinning, one-legged stomping dance. With the exception of Robin Finck's unaccompanied 'Nobody Does it Better' solo (salt into wounds) the last third of the concert - Patience, Nightrain and Paradise City - soars to heights of magnificence that only Axl Rose can reach. It's too little too late, though, and paltry recompense for the contempt he has shown his enduring fans here by the late showing tonight - especially those who have already left to catch the last tube home. It's a poor show.