Guns N’ Roses played “Pretty Tied Up” about half an hour into this mammoth set. As they did, a thought struck me: if you asked me what I reviewed last week, I’d struggle to remember. I haven’t listened to “…Up” for 20 years and I knew every word.
Which might say more about me than the brilliant music I write about every night, but nonetheless, it also underlines why I am here.
Guns N’ Roses matter. Their debut album is probably my favourite ever. The “Use Your Illusion” pair would be—if it was one record and not overlong and self-indulgent. Those last two words might feature again.
And here’s the other thing: Guns N’ Roses gigs are a stress. What will Axl sound like? What time will he be on? Stuff like that. I’ve only seen them twice before—once in 2010 at the NEC, which was one of the worst gigs I’ve ever been to. Then in 2017, with Slash and Duff back, they were sensational at West Ham’s ground.
This one was somewhere between the two.
The sound wasn’t great for either the first or last songs—a problem when they’re “Welcome to the Jungle” and “Paradise City” respectively—and if that’s not their fault, then the bloated nature of things is.
There will be people who love three-hour-plus sets. I’m not one of them. And on the grounds that I paid for this and am under no obligation to review it, I’ll reserve my right to say what I like.
When they’re good—and they frequently are—as on “Bad Obsession”, “Mr. Brownstone” and “Chinese Democracy” (to name just three of the early ones), they are brilliant: exciting and thrilling. But they always seem to lose momentum. Like, did you know they put three songs out in 2022 and 2023? Me neither. Would you want to hear them again?
“You Could Be Mine” spits venom, and Rose’s voice is good—even on testers like “Estranged”. “Reckless Life” is almost perfect, and “Civil War” seems even more important than it did in 1991. Guns N’ Roses are still one of the best ever. Listen to “Coma”—it’s utterly batshit but utterly magnificent.
Duff McKagan and Slash are two of the coolest men to ever lace on guitar straps, and Duff keeps the punk real on “I Wanna Be Your Dog”. But the point about momentum needs making again—I’m not sure anyone came here tonight desperate to hear “Catcher in the Rye”, nor would they care if they ever heard it again, I’d wager.
“Sweet Child O’ Mine” is the type of hit that gets you in stadiums (and the two women in front of me film it all and then leave), and “November Rain” is unmistakably grandiose. It still stuns. Then they spoil it with an awful and pointless cover of “Wichita Lineman”.
What it means is whatever momentum they manage to build—and my God, balladry will never improve on “Patience” and rock will never be better than “Rocket Queen”—is never carried on to a crescendo like in a usual stadium show. “Better” is way too late in the set, for example. And whether the show benefits from UK Subs’ “Down on the Farm” is a question.
The last two, “Nightrain” and my favourite song, the aforementioned “…City”, are beautiful—they really are—and then they’re gone.
No encore. Bonus points from me. Some boos elsewhere. Although what they could have played, God knows. Hell, they’d played every song recorded in the history of the world. (This might be a slight exaggeration.)
What is true, though, is this: it’s long, and it’s bloated. It’s self-indulgent, and it’s weird.
If you love that, then all the best. Hats off. And I remain certain that I love Guns N’ Roses—but also that less would have been so much more.
