128. The Axl-Slash Dynamic

I love Slash like a brother
and like brothers we fight.

We’re polar opposites;
two energies in collision.

It’s a star sign thing.
A yin and yang thing.

We’ve had so many run-in’s
it’s pretty much laughable.

The last time was during
a show in Dayton, Ohio.

I’d cut my hand open and
was backstage fixing it up

when I thought I heard him
take a pot-shot at me on the mic.

So I ran out with my bandaged
hand and I confronted him

in front of twenty thousand people.
I think I told him I’d kick his ass

and I actually meant it because
I knew I could, no contest.

Of course, I’d misheard so now
I was the dick and I apologised.

Slash just stood there, sloppy and
unflappable behind his Les Paul.

We carried on playing and
delivered another killer Guns show.

And that’s the root of our success:
the anger, interplay, the spark.

Well, anyway. That’s just one incident.
It wasn’t the worst. It won’t be the last.

But I think it illustrates your point -
the fact that we’re still just crazy fuckers.

Worcester, Massachusetts
Madison Square Garden, New York
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
St Petersburg, Florida
Miami, Florida (New Year's Eve Show 1991)
Baton Rouge Louisiana
Biloxi, Mississippi
Memphis, Tennessee
Houston, Texas
Dayton, Ohio
Minneapolis, Minneapolis,
Les Vegas, Nevada

127. Postcard From Rehab

Fuck,

Rehab sucks. I miss smack. I miss my snakes.
They got me on the good old 12-step programme.
They said I had to put faith in a higher power
so I chose Axl. I couldn’t think of anyone else
as powerful and almighty as our divine leader.
If he can’t help, then what hope does God have?

Send some smokes. They only got Lucky’s here.

Your pal,
Slosh Hudson

126. Six-String Wish List

In order of preference:

Keith Richards
Jimmy Page
Joe Perry
Dave Navarro
John Frusciante
Ronnie Wood
Brian May
Lenny Kravitz
Wayne Kramer
Steve Jones
Sylvain Sylvain
Pat Smear
Rich Robinson
Brad Whitford
Andy McCoy
Big Sick Ugly Jim Martin
Gilby Clarke.

125. Pulling Teeth

Getting Izzy to do anything was like
pulling teeth.

When he showed up he’d decide to play
in another key;

we’d say “Play it again” and he’d say
“Why?”

He just wasn’t raising his game
enough for me.

He’d become this really selfish user,
a loser.

He was strung out and not exactly easy
with fame.

It was real, real shitty when he left.
My oldest friend

trying to turn my brothers against me
with a power-play.

The lies the guy came out with just aren’t
worth repeating.

He tried to divide and conquer but it
all backfired.

Suffice to say the band knew who really
holds the power.

And Homeboy found himself left out
in the cold.

The day he drove over to tell me he
was quitting

I wouldn’t even let him in my house.
I just knew.

Friends don’t do that. Friends don’t shit
on friends.

And that was that, Izzy was out. Because
no man

is bigger than this band, not even me.
Yeah. It sucked.

But what can you do? Cry over splilled milk?
Nah. We soldiered on.

So, another warrior fell but the world war
continued.

Guns N Roses lived to fight
another day.

124. Exit Izzy

After six years I wanted to get off the ride
It was making me dizzy. It was making me
sick.

Being a rock star was everything I expected
The only surprise was how little I enjoyed it
all.

I suppose you could say I enjoyed the pussy
and I enjoyed the drugs, but did I, did I
really?

123. Mass

Fifty thousand mouths agape
one hundred thousands fists raised

a Sargasso sea of blood and bodies
borderless, it spreads itself wide

a flash-flood of energy and expectation
a collective yearning for a makeshift community;

ritualistic, it belongs to age-old traditions
of communal gatherings and catharsis

stretching way back to pre-recorded religions.
Wordless, it is more a mass recognition

of man’s right to worship idols of
their imagination’s own making -

catholic in the original sense of the word, this
mass knows no name, follows no concrete doctrines

rejects such as ideas as immaculate conception
or divine intervention and instead places onus

on the moment, the simplicity of volume and rage;
a brief sense that anything can happen in the next hour

and it is here in the moment when the devotees
feel closest to some sort of God, an entity

whose divine presence is recognizable when as
parts seas with a wordless wave of the hand.

122. Tour Poster, August 1991

Guns N' F____g Roses
Wembley F____g Stadium
Sold F____g Out

Paris, France
Mannheim, Germany
Helsinki, Finland
Copenhagen, Denmark
Cologne, Germany
Berlin, Germany

121. Europe's Finest Hotel (1991 tour)

I don’t like this
wallpaper.

The view is
bullshit.

That’s not a
bed it’s

a fucking postage
stamp.

The air-con
sucks

or maybe it
blows

either way – lose
it.

There’s no
absinthe

in the mini
bar

I don’t like that
concierge

he looks like
a narc

there’s only two
jacuzzis

where’s the
third?

The ceilings are
too low

or maybe the
floor

is just too
high

either way – change
them.

You could only
fit four

people in that tub
at a squeeze

is this some sort
of joke?

I’m tired. I don’t
need this.

Is this place
east-facing?

I specifically asked
for east-facing.

What’s that
smell?

It smells
like ass – lose it.

No white truffle
omelettes?

This room service is
a joke.

Those curtains are
fag curtains,

the tap water is
too cold

the gym equipments is
useless

the elevator is
too small

I don’t like the
architect

can we
sue?

I guess I’ll do
what

I always
do:

suffer in silence
because

some asshole in the
organisation

couldn’t be bothered
to find

something more suited
to my tastes

because it’s too
late

to change, because
I’ve got

a show to
do.

I mean what
city are

we in
anyway?

120. Guy In Front Of Queue For Tower Records On Sunset

I’ve been here for twenty hours
and I’d wait twenty more just
to get my hands on Illusion I
and II. I slept out here all night.
Look, I brought a sleeping bag
and a flask of soup and my girl
Trudy. Say hi Trudy. Trudy’s
kind of shy, except when she’s
in the sack, heh heh. Why am I
here? Because I love Guns N
Roses of course and because I
love rock ‘n’ roll and because
I want to be able to say I was one
of the first people in the world to
hear the new record. Where do I
live? In the suburbs, about three
hours drive from here. No, I only
have a radio in the car. What do
you mean? Oh, like how am I going
to listen actually listen to the record?
On my turntable at home, blazin’ a
J, of course! So what’s the point
of queuing all night if I’m not one
of the first to hear the records? Well…
Well, shoot. You got me there. I
hadn’t really though of it like that.
Damn, man, now you’ve got me
thinking about maybe I could have
just stayed in bed and bought the
record at my local store when it
opens in the morning. Oh, man. Shoot.
Well, we’re here now. One of us
might aswell stay and pick up the
records. Hey Trudy, I’ll pick you up
back here in the morning OK? You’ll
be alright – there’s still some soup in
the flask and if you get cold there’s that
Salvation Army place about ten blocks
from here. Watch out for the weirdo’s
though. It’s Hollywood. It’s fucked up.
But it’s worth it for Guns man. Yeah!

119. Axl Jumps The Shark

Flame-haired,
sharp-tongued,

egomaniacal
primadonna.

White lycra
bulging vulgar -

goodbye danger,
“hello sailor”.

118. Note from Axl To Slash

Don’t
over
dose
big
nose.

Dallas, Texas
Denver, Colorado
Englewood, Colorado
Salt Lake City, Utah
Tacoma, Washington
Mountain View, California
Sacramento, California
Costa Mesa, California
Inglewood, California

117. Head Of Marketing

Pardon my French but
Axl Rose is fucking insane.

His ideas are totally unrealistic.
completely untenable, unworkable.

He’ll walk into a meeting and say things like:
‘The new record will have 100 song songs on it

it’ll be released on seven-inch picture disc only
One hundred singles in a box-set. It’ll retail for

$16.99 because Guns are all about value for money
and because unlike Crue, we don’t rip off the kids.’

And I’d have to say, ‘That’s an awesome idea brother,
but it might not be financially do-able, you know?

Maybe we could put it out as a double album and
save the rest of B-sides and a rarities albums?’

at which point he’d flip out, break something,
curse us all out, then disappear on tour for three months.

Meanwhile we’re left here scratching our heads
holding a bunch of songs, thinking what the hell?

So eventually compromises have to be made.
Hundreds of faxes are sent and received.

Many late night conference calls are made because
Axl doesn’t surface during daylight hours.

Threats are issued and unrealistic demands made
We learn to ignore them, not take it personal.

The word from the top comes down ‘Axl is a genius, no:
asshole, no: genius’; either way, he’s our most bank-able artist.

So tasks are delegated, weekly meetings held with the
marketing guys, the publicity people, and key retailers.

More compromises are made, decisions in reached in abstentia.
We decide on two double-album, released on consecutive days.

Opinion is divided: some think it’s a stroke of marketing genius
others think it is the plastic personification of a raging ego.

Me, I don’t care so long as I get to keep my job; so long
as I don’t have to see in another meeting with Mr W. Axl Rose.

116. The St Louis Riot

What?

Some guy, some asshole
thinks just because he paid his
fifty bucks he can film me
from down in the front row.

Nah.

That shit don’t roll with me, homes.
And I warn him, I tell him, get
that camera out my face, bitch
before I bust your chrome dome.

Shit.

Then the fucker has the nerve to flip me
off while the security retards are just
standing around scratching their balls,
doing nothing but vibe on the free music.

So.

Of course I have to handle it myself as per usual.
Like I haven’t got enough to do, what with
delivering the music and the rigourous
physical demands of fronting a kick-ass band.

Blood.

That’s what I think they want sometimes
only this time I flip it, decide to give them
blood. So I do what anyone would do when
their soul is being stolen by assholes. Serious.

Yeah.

So I take a running dive into the throng head-first
and the crowd parts like the sea of Galillee
for Moses or whatever and I bust that fool on the
chops. Of course, I take my hat off first though.

Then

then the security finally decide to jump in before
I bitch-slap 15,000 fools one by one and I
climb back on stage and I’m all, like, “Thanks
to the lame ass security, I'm going home.”

Bang!

I throw my mic down and it sounds likes a gun
going off and I exit stage left while the band
are just standing around but by this point I’m
so beyond giving a fuck it’s almost funny.

Crazy.

Then I’m the limo, in my robe, towel round my neck,
drink in hand, cruising back to the hotel, and
everything is silent apart from the crackle of the
radio reporting a riot at a show in St Louis.

St Louis?

Fucking St. Shit-hole more like. City of Barbarians.
It’s months later when the cops arrest me for ‘incitement’
but they’ve got nothing on me because they know
I’m Axl Rose, and Axl always takes care of business, baby.

Landover, Maryland
Hampton, Virginia
Charlotte, North Carolina
Greenboro, North Carolina
Knoxville, Tennessee
Lexington, Kentucky
Birmingham, Alabama
St Louis, Michigan

115. Slash On Semantics

Unless
all
the
girls
I’ve
ever
known
have
been
doing
something
wrong
I
still
don’t
understood
why
they’re
called
blow-jobs.

114. A Succession Of Glances

Duff glances over at Izzy
and raises an eyebrow;
Izzy shrugs a thin shoulder
readjusts his guitar strap
cocks his hat; Slash takes
a shot, fiddles with his amp,
catches Sorum’s eye
who sighs and glances
at Duff who tips the faintest
of nods to their leader then,
with his back to the
audience, tucked behind
the speakers, he throws
a comical seig heil.
Suppressing laughter, they
lurch into another song:
“A-one, a-two,
a-one two three four…”

This nightly ritual
is the only thing that
still unites them;
the only thing that
makes them feel
like they are
still a band.

113. Plea

“Yo, listen. This is serious.
I want to tell you something.
I want you to do me a favour tonight.
If you see anyone throwing shit at me
I want you to beat the living fuck out of them.
OK?
You have my permission.
Suckerpunch those motherfuckers
I’m serious.
‘Cos if you keep throwing shit I won’t
throw shit back. I’ll just leave.
I have that power within me.
This one’s called…”

112. Note Handed To Axl From Demure Underage Fan In Corridor

Dear Mr Rose,

I want to have your babies. I want to kidnap you and
bring you home. I want you to do stuff to me I’ve never
done before. I want you to kiss and bite my neck and
pull on my titty ends. I want you to lick me and fist me
and force your cock down my throat. I want you to
hold me down, piss in my face and tell I’m a dirty cunt
bitch whore. I want you to tie me up with leather belts
then squat over me and squeeze out a link.

I want you to film it all and take Polaroids
so that we could never forget a moment.

Call me.

111. Tour Catering

Sum up Axl’s
eating habits
in five words
or less?

Oh, that’s easy.

Bacon bits
and grits.

He can’t get
enough of
that shit.

Toledo, Ohio
Richfield, Ohio
Toronto, Ontario
Saratoga Springs, New York.
Hershey, Pennsylvania
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

110. Grunge?

It sounds like
something I’d
scrape out my ass.

Looks like
something I’d
scrape out my ass too.

109. We Are The Road Crew

Out here
it’s a dog’s life, dawg

First up in the morning for load-in
last to bed with ears ringing
and nostrils stinging;
there is no leisure time
or sight-seeing for
the road crew.

No first class
no primo ass
just cast-off skanks
and crooked spines
from humping gear
and dodging guitars.

Seventh generation herpes scabs
and the dust off the speaker cabs
is the best we can hope for -
an album thanks
free daily catering and a
well-stamped passport at best.

But we don’t do this for the money
or even the drugs or chicks
we do it for the music
we do it because
like the band, without it
it’s either prison or death for people like us.

It’s a dog’s life, dawg
and it’s a good job we’re all road dogs.

108. Out On The Road, Duff’s Patience Is Tested

If I see another
backstage platter
of crudités and dips
I swear man,
I’m gonna flip.

107. Axl Finally Arrives (An Exercise In Victimhood)

“Yeah, I know it sucks.
If you got any real complaints,
you could do me a favor though.

You could write a little letter
on how much that sucked
and send it to Geffen Records.

Tell those people
to get the fuck
out of my ass.

The new record will be delayed again.
Geffen Records decided they wanted
to change the contract and I'm deciding:

fuck you. And since I don't have time to
both go back there and argue
and bitch with them and be on tour,

I guess we'll just be on tour and
have a good time and fuck them.
It's a shame but we'll play a lot

of the new shit tonight
and it really
doesn't matter does it?”.