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.