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?”.

106. Axl Is Tardy In Uniondale, NY

Where’s Hitler?
We were due on forty minutes ago.

Fucked if I know, bro.
What we gonna do?

Damn, I tired of this shit.
It’s every other night.

I know, I know.
It’s like we’re his hired hands.

Can you hear them out there?
Those kids paid good money.

We do what we always do.
Sit tight, do shots, give him ten minutes.

Damn, I tired of this shit.
It’s every other night.

I know, I know.
It fucking sucks.

We’re going to have to open
with a blues jam again.

I know, I know.
It fucking sucks.

I mean, imagine Zep opening
with ‘Bonzo's Montreux’?

Ah, fuck it. We’re here aren’t we?
And those fuckers are wasted.

True, true. We could fart on the mics
and they’d still give us gold discs.

Ha! Yeah. What are you going do.
Hey, let’s have some vodka.

Hell yes. Shoot, line them up.
It’s going to be a long night.

Los Angeles, California (warm up)
New York, New York (warm up)
East Troy, Wisconsin
Noblesville, Indiana
Grove City, Ohio

105. Slash Immortal

I don’t fear death.

Death is there to be ignored.
Death is there to be challenged, defeated.
Death is there to be beaten in an arm wrestle

a card game, Russian Roulette, a rusted needle,
whatever.

He’ll let you know when it’s your time sure enough.
In the meantime, why let it concern you?
No. I don’t let death bother me.

If anything I gently mock it.
I prod it and it feels pliable
I shake it between my teeth

I face it with bemusement
but I don’t fear it.

104. Johnny Thunders

They found his body
beneath the bed
bent double like a discarded
paper clip
in a New Orleans flop-house.

Tell the people:
the original NY Doll
the Heartbreaker
the gypsy king who was born too loose
is dead and gone.

Rigor mortis set in and
so did the conspiracy theories.
The roaches were out the wood-work
each with a different version of the same story.
But all I know is

when they carried
out his pale corpse
the body bag was
three feet in length;
and all his guitars were gone.

It’s true what he said:
‘You Can’t Put Your Arms Around A Memory’
but believe me, that night,
high or straight,
each of us tried.

103. Police Escort

It takes sixteen cops cars with sirens
blaring and blue lights spinning to
get us out through the crowds and back
to our hotel twenty miles away.

We all share a dark chuckle about this:
about how the cops are protecting us
from the people, rather than the other
way round. It makes for a nice change.

102. Guns N Roses Mark II: Matt Sorum Debuts In Rio

Unless you’ve been told at three minutes notice you got
to do a drum solo in front of 140,000 people with a
band who’ve never even rehearsed together, you don’t
know the meaning of the phrase ‘in at the deep end’.

101. Tour Prep (May 1991)

Slash calls me up
freaking out yelling
something about blood
something about goblins
incoherent, the ramblings
of a feral man who suddenly
finds he has no reason to
leave the house.

In the background I can
hear what sounds like
a girl laughing or maybe
she’s screaming
or maybe he’s just
playing a porno
on his new widescreen
home cinema.

It’s funny that Slash
has a home cinema
because he doesn’t
have a bed and he
doesn’t have a fridge,
just dozens of snakes.
He keeps his drinks and
frozen mice in an ice bucket.

But I’m done laughing
at Slash’s antics right now
so I dish it to him straight:
Dude, you have to clean up your act
the tour starts in three days
that’s just enough time to detox
the kids have paid good money -
yada yada, the usual spiel.

I really give it to him actually:
you wanna end up like Johnny,
washed-up and strung out to dry
at twenty-five? You wanna be like
Janis, Jimi and Jim man, another
H-wood r ‘n’ r victim, “Fuck yeah,”
he gurgles. “Totally!” then I hear
what sounds like breaking glass

I’m sitting there thinking maybe
an intervention is the only way,
how it won’t be the first time one of us
is dragged kicking and screaming to rehab
in readiness for a stint on the road
when I notice it’s all gone quiet.
I figure maybe Slash has fallen through
his coffee table or something.

I figure there’s no point trying to
talk someone down when they’re reaching
the zenith of a five-day weekend
so I call up management and tell them
that our guitarist needs patching up
and of course they say “which one?”
and I say “the one with the hat – the one
they’re calling the best of his generation”

and the girl who works over there,
the girl who answers the phones
she says to me – get this – she says
wait a second, who’s calling please?
and I say: It’s Axl, sweetie
and she’s like, Oh, OK…Axl who?
and I’m like, it’s Axl Foley from Beverley Hills Cop
who the fuck you think it is?

And while all this is going on
at home Slash is rolling around in shards of glass
laughing and gurgling and trying to get his
zippo to work so he can fire up another pipe
and though I’d dearly love to fire his ass
the fucker has a habit of bouncing back
from these drug jags and either way
another world tour starts in seventy-two hours.

100. Illusions: The Final Cut

Bad Apples
Bad Obsession
Back Off Bitch
Breakdown
Civil War
Coma
Dead Horse
Double Talkin’ Jive
Don’t Cry (Original)
Don’t Cry (Alt. Lyrics)
Don’t Damn Me
Dust N’ Bones
Estranged
14 Years
The Garden
Garden Of Eden
Get In The Ring
Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door
Live And Let Die
Locomotive
My World
November Rain
Pretty Tied Up
Perfect Crime
Right Next Door To Hell
Shotgun Blues
So Fine
Yesterdays
You Ain’t The First
You Could Be Mine

Now let’s go
tour this shit.

99. Axl Leaves A Series of Messages

Hey, it’s Axl.

Listen. I’ve
got the title.

Are you
ready? OK:

Use Your
Illusion.

Pretty cool
isn’t it?

That shit’s timeless,
right there.

And so long as
everyone from

David Geffen
to the band

to the fucking
lighting guy

does exactly
what I say

I think that this
is going to be

awesome.

98. Matt The Drummer Corners Axl Rose In The Studio Parking Lot

- Hey Axl.
- Hey bro. What can I do for you?
- Nothing. I just thought I’d say what’s up?
- Cool, brother. You want an autograph or something?
- Autograph?
- Sure. Should I make it out to you, uh…?
- Matt.
- Excuse me?
- I’m Matt.
- Sorry, bro. Hey, you look really familiar. Have we met before?
- Um, dude. I’m your drummer.
- Shoot! Sorry, man. I’m a little fried right now. It’s the album. Too long in the studio. I’m leaving right now, but you should swing by sometime.
- I did. But, you know, security wouldn’t let me in.
- Did you call ahead?
- No. Management said it would be fine.
- Always call ahead. It’s kind of a rule.
- Even for the band?
- Only for the band.
- OK. So, um, do you need me to come do my drum parts.
- Nah.
- No?
- Nah.
- How come?
- It’s in hand. Don’t you worry about it. You know, I don’t want to hex it or anything, but I really think this is a classic album we’ve made together. Good vibes. You know?
- Right. I mean, I’d love to hear it.
- Dude, you totally will. All being well, it’s being released next September.
- I don’t get to hear it beforehand?
- Better not.
- Why not?
- Dude, I can’t just go playing it to anyone. It might get bootlegged, then I’d have to take out a bunch of law-suits.
- But I am…you know, kind of in the band.
- So? I’m in the band too, but I don’t hassle you about your drumming.
- Sure, sure bro. But, I mean, you’ve not actually heard me drum yet.
- That’s cool.
- So you’ll let me hear it?
- Nah.
- OK. I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, when do we get to jam?
- I’ll let you know bro. Just sit tight and wait for the call.
- You told me that six months ago, guy.
- I did? Are you sure?
- Definitely.
- Are you working right now?
- Only for you.
- Cool, cool. Well, you know, maybe you might want to think about getting a little part-time work.
- Won’t that look a little funny though? I mean, I am in Guns N Roses: the worlds’ biggest rock band.
- And baddest. You forgot baddest.
- I mean, I’m in Guns N Roses: the world’s biggest and baddest rock band.
- You are? Oh, right, yeah – the drummer! Sorry. I keep forgetting. I’m a little fried right now. It’s the album. Too long in the studio. Um. So can you play drums?
- Sure. I’m the best in the business. I eat drums for breakfast.
- Great. Congratulations then dude, you’re in.
- In?
- The band. You’re in Guns N Roses, dude! Welcome to the brotherhood. How do you feel?
- Pretty good…I guess.
- Awesome.
- So when do we get to jam?
- Soon, dude. Soon. Any day. I’ve just got about ninety-odd songs to finish off first. Then we’ll do some shows. That cool?
- I...I guess.
- Awesome. Nice talking to you Mitch. See you around dude. Keep living the dream.

97. Love Thy Neighbour

“Rock star Axl Rose put on a personalised leather jacket
as he left jail for freedom in the early hour of today.

The lead singer of the rock band Guns N’ Roses allegedly
slammed a wine bottle into a woman neighbours’ head.

“I live next door to a psycho,” said Rose.

Rose and 37 year old Gabriella Kantor both live on the
twelfth floor of this condominium in West Hollywood.

Deputies say Rose confronted Cantor in a hallway, threw
her keys over his balcony and then hit her with the bottle.

Cantor called the sheriff’s department and paramedics
took her to the medical center. She was treated for bruises

and then released three hour later, coincidentally about
the same time Rose’s manager posted $5000 bond securing

his release from jail. Rose delights in maintaining a
‘bad boy’ image. Profanity is part of his act, and not

just on stage - he also cursed on a live national television
music awards programme. Axl Rose, chauffered away

is to appear in Beverley Hills municipal court, November 19.”


(Extracts from NBC News Report, October 31 1990)

96. Dizzy Speaks

Man, it sure would be
great to meet Axl.

95. Slash Works With Dylan

I grew up on Dylan
but, man, what a drag.

He was just this weird little
guy who looked like an
Eskimo, dressed in a wool
sweater, leather gloves and
a baseball cap even though
it was 90 out. He was also
really impolite and there’s
nothing I hate more than that.

After I’d recorded my solo
he took it off the record anyway
because apparently – I quote –
“it sounds too much like
Guns N Roses.” Yeah? And?
Nah, I didn’t dig Dylan at all.
But, you know, maybe he was
just having one of those days?