Guns N'Roses + Bullet for My Valentine + Towers of London
Glasgow SECC, 21st July 2006
'The problem with Axl Rose is that all his fans hate
him. Yes, he may be the frontman of the greatest band of the 1980s,
but that doesn't stop him being a complete arse. Perhaps we could
forgive him for jealously guarding the mighty GN'R legacy like a
miser, acting as if his former band members were entirely disposable
and throwing hissy fits if anyone so much as looks at him the wrong
way, if only his live appearances were less sporadic, liable to
cancellation and, when they do take place, always, always running
It's therefore no great surprise to discover when we turn up at the SECC on Friday that tonight's show is likely to run late. Those relying on public transport can get their money back, they're told. Now they've already here. To make matters worse, doors open at the ridiculously early time of six o'clock (don't they realise some of us have to work? And put on lots of make-up before we drive over to Glasgow in Friday rush hour traffic?) and we miss most of the first set, which is a real shame, as 21st century baby glam rockers Towers of London are really rather fine and deserve our full attention. With a definite whiff of the Ramones via Hanoi Rocks, these bleach blonde streaks of hairspray are right up my alley, and it's disappointing to catch only their last three songs – including a rather splendid cover of 'Freebird'. Note to self: see these guys again, as soon as possible.
Rather less up my alley – in fact defiantly heading away from my musical neighbourhood - are teeny bop nu metallers Bullet for My Valentine. Sadly their appealing, swirly gothic skulls'n'roses logo is completely at odds with their headbanging sound, whereby Maiden meets Megadeth but forgets to write a tune. They try very hard, bless 'em, but they're really not my bag.
With no Seb Bach on the bill tonight (shame! Although if his live album is anything to go by, not necessarily…) that just leaves Axl, and the burning question, how late is late?
An hour and half later, that's how late. Which I guess by Axl's standards isn't that bad, but bearing in mind that I have a six thirty start the next morning to get to the Wickerman Festival and still have to make it back to Edinburgh, it's enough to piss me off. After all, it's hot in the SECC. And my feet hurt. And I'm driving so can't have a pint. And Axl's a spoilt fat ginger diva who should think of his fans for once. And, and, and…
And oh my God. Like a clarion call to rock, the dirty, menacing opening riff to 'Welcome to the Jungle' cuts through the pompous intro music (and the building chorus of boos as we wait in the heat – as I said, all Axl's fans hate him, it's not just me). And Axl may be a spoilt fat ginger diva but he's also the frontman of the greatest band of the 1980s - and we're in his presence. And for anyone who learnt to dance at the snake-hipped shrine of the Rose, it's utterly thrilling to see our god in the hunch-shouldered, snake-walking, sideways-crab-hopping flesh. 'It's So Easy', 'Mr Brownstone', 'Live and Let Die' – now that's what I call music. Even the new stuff sounds pretty good, if a bit chaotic.
And then we come to a long, drawn out and somewhat lacklustre version of 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door' and things start to slide.
Suddenly, we're into solo territory. Now sure, Axl has surrounded himself with some truly talented musicians, but four guitar solos? Is that really necessary? Fortunately we're spared a drum solo, but we do get a piano piece from Use Your Illusion keyboard maestro Dizzy Reed, although I won't knock that cuz it was pretty impressive. Is this Axl's way of showing us he's not a limelight hogging diva after all, or does he just need time to change into another horrible shirt?
'You can't have it your way,' he spits as we get restless during an exceedingly widdly intro to pomp rock soap opera 'November Rain'. Why not? We've paid nearly fifty quid each for the privilege of waiting what amounts to four hours for the band to hit the stage – I think that actually we're entitled to some entertainment.
All we need is just a little patience? And that's exactly what we get, with the appearance of 'special guest' Izzy Stradlin, looking as if he'd give Keith Richards a run for his money in the raddled old rock star stakes. (Perhaps he could play Captain Jack Sparrow's father if Keef has to bow out?) The classic Lies ballad follows on from 'Rocket Queen' and is capped by a rousing rendition of 'Used to Love Her', then it's 'Nighttrain' and the obligatory break before the finale: a third new track (Axl goes Jim Steinman on our ass with a giant slice of piano pomposity), another effing guitar solo, and then the inevitable, glorious, full on, four guitar, aural assault of 'Paradise City'. Fireworks explode, glitter descends, and then it's all over.
Axl W Rose is perhaps the ultimate rock star, a man who gives a two-fingered salute to the world and expects it to fall at his feet in return. He's a tragic little twat with Mick Hucknall's hair, but he holds the key to some of the greatest, most influential rock music ever written, And tonight he delivered possibly one of the best and at the same time worst gigs I've ever attended. Axl, I hate you. But I can't help loving you too.
