More G n' R

I've been thinking about Guns n' Roses a lot over the past few weeks - obviously because of the new album. I haven't bought it yet, but I have bought the single. It's not very good. Watching this interview, it struck me what a strange and contradictory man Axl Rose is. Praising his record label, seemingly genuine and warmly patriarchal over his band, the only time he slips up is his smugness over a silly incident in a hotel. He's obviously one of these characters (like Roy Keane, topically) who has a strong sense of 'integrity,' or rather a bunch of firmly held beliefs, not all correct, that he's lumped together into integrity. My favourite moment is in part 2 of the interview, when Axl very carefully describes his tattoos and how much thought went into them, and then comes back in, very deliberately, to tell any viewers not to get tattoos unless they've really thought about it.

That's obviously the same, somewhat nannying sense that later bloomed into the ludicrous, egotistical behaviour seen in the Argentinian shows on youtube.

Whatever became of Axl, Appetite for Destruction really stands up as a great hard rock album, the greatest of its day. There't not many records now, ever, where only three tracks aren't astonishingly good.

Music for the people, not by the people.

We live in a time often heralded as the golden age of creative democracy. Due to that most profoundly affecting of inventions, the internet, people can now not only express themselves, they can expose themselves too. Nowhere is this truer than in music.
Cheap, easy to use software such as Reason or Fruity Loops has proliferated over recent years, often as a result of piracy mirroring that within music itself. Combine this with the resultant ‘unsigned bands’ and social networking sites, plus thousands of music blogs, and people can stop dreaming about being a musician and actually become one.
All very well, you might think. All those undiscovered stars in their bedrooms, finally given voice. The reality is rather less romantic. Despite claims, there hasn’t been a flurry of new internet stars. Lily Allen was signed well before her label cleverly used Myspace as a marketing tool, and the story of Sandi Thom is too well worn to repeat. Instead, there is now a glut of third-rate music clogging up bandwidth, and ironically making it harder for singular voices to be heard.
One important thing has been forgotten in this new era, namely; that it being difficult to be a musician is part of the point. Artistry involves as much nous as it does talent, and having the vision, drive and determination to make it to the top, to find the exposure and to distinguish oneself, are part of what makes artists great. In a perfect world, art and politics are alike. Either by votes or hard earned cash, we elect those voices that ring truest, that speak to and about us in the most eloquent manner. In neither arena should everyone be talking at once.
When music has been democratised to the nth degree, the results haven’t been pretty. Punk – a movement close to my heart – encouraged anyone who fancied a go to pick up a guitar whether they sounded good or not. As a result, for every Sex Pistols or X-Ray Spex there were a hundred Generation X’s.
More recently, the visceral brilliance of grime quickly sunk under the weight of flabby, 15-strong crews, massed around and envious of their single talented member, eager to claw the microphone from them. Kano and Jammer came from N.A.S.T.Y crew; I’d be hard pressed to name another musician from the entourage.
If this all sounds a bit negative, there is good reason. The value of music has plummeted in this saturated market. Visit any fashionable blog and you’ll find a plethora of oh-so-current but entirely forgettable songs, re-edits and bootlegs, all available for free as MP3s. Like cheap sweets, they’re empty of artistry, providing a quick thrill before they sink into oblivion and leave a bad taste in the mouth. Addictive and unsatisfying, they’re good enough to download but not good enough to buy.
Worst of all, they spread the idea that music is disposable and thus should be free. The truth is that real artists are worth every penny.

G'n'fckn'R

For the first time ever I’ve found myself searching the internet for illegal downloads. I’ve failed miserably, having never done it before, and that’s probably for the best. The thing is, I wasn’t searching for some highly anticipated 12” release from Philadelphia or Baltimore, nor some unreleased grime track or hard to find hip-hop anthem. I was searching for the new songs by Guns n’ Roses.
I have a history with the band you see. Between the approximate ages of 8 to 11 (before I discovered N.W.A and became interested in little else) I was utterly obsessed with the greatest rock band of the day: the scariest, the most foul-mouthed, the most rebellious band from the vividly imagined world of Los Angeles. Filthier than Bon Jovi, more relevant than Aerosmith and just better than Metallica, I was head over heels in love with Guns N Roses. I remember bitter arguments over removing, for any special occasion, the Appetite for Destruction t-shirt I virtually lived in, and tantrums over whether or not I could actually listen to the record once my father overheard its use of language.
Even then, I like to think, I could detect the real deal. I could sense when a band, as John Lydon put it, ‘meant it.’ Guns N Roses certainly did. I knew nothing of drugs, drink and rock n roll, but I could tell they did. Appetite for Destruction was scary as well as brilliant, packed with memorable classics of their day; ‘Paradise City,’ ‘Mr Brownstone,’ ‘Nighttrain’ and, of course, ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’ The jacket carried a picture of a woman being sexually assaulted by an evil-looking robot, and the band members as skulls. Axl Rose traversed stages like a running military insignia: an eagle punching across stadiums. It was rebellion in a tin. A band full of characters and a destructive narrative that clutched my heart.
Later, post N.W.A, I fell headlong into grunge. Ever the musical ideologue, I looked back at Guns n’ Roses as synonymous with everything that was wrong with rock. Bloated, theatrical, misogynist, homophobic. In other words, I was sucked into the narrative that came directly from the mouth of Kurt Cobain. As a result, I destroyed my collection of Gn’R records, and confused my parents by telling them what a nasty man Axl Rose was.
Now, of course, I can listen to and enjoy both bands, although they’re both guilty pleasures I wouldn’t play in the office. That said, I’ll probably buy the new album when it finally comes out, even though it’ll be rubbish. When I do so, I’ll have to make sure I tell my parents.

Big up Libby

Quite right.