Review: Guns N' Roses in Osaka

Six songs into Wednesday night’s Guns N’ Roses show at the Kyocera Dome, I wrote the following in my notebook: “I feel sad...and kind of bored.” At nine songs in, during the aptly titled “Sorry,” I scribbled, “This is no longer a good idea.” At the 13-song mark, when Axl ad-libbed “Could someone stop yelling in my fucking ear please?” into “Street of Dreams,” I nearly put my pen down altogether.

It was, as the saying goes, that kind of night for Axl and his band. And then it wasn’t. Sort of. Err...

The first thing that needs to be stated in any review of a current Guns N’ Roses show is this: Axl Rose is old. Maybe not “old” old, given that Rose is only 47, but he looks the part. In leui of a long-drawn description of what I mean by this, I will once again defer to my notes:

Axl enters wearing black ‘Guns’ shirt, checked flannel, diamond cross chain, aviators, and a red bandana. Looks ‘chubby.’

And that’s that. Axl Rose isn’t a freak like Mick Jagger or a time fighter like Steven Tyler, he’s a mortal. Fair enough – that’s part of what drew legions of fans to him to begin with.

However, this unkempt, slightly ‘chubby’ aspect proved telling over most of the show. For the first two minutes of opener “Chinese Democracy,” Rose was at least two bars behind his band. During instrumental breaks he would routinely leave the stage, and for much of the evening he just sort of seemed to appear and disappear at will. The more than capable backing band (or “hired guns,” if you will) was able to carry the music along competently, but let’s face it: you don't go to a Guns N’ Roses concert to see original lineup member Dizzy Reed or some guy named “Bumblefoot.” You go to see Axl Rose. Perhaps you can see then why this has become a problem.

I degress. If this really is the musical version of The Wrestler with Axl playing the Mickey Rourke role, then one would expect the performance to be exceptional. And it was, at times, with caveats. Amongst the 33 songs played (a self-proclaimed record by Rose), the pass-fail ratio was approximately 2/1. Whereas Guns standbys such as “Mr. Brownstone” and “Live and Let Die” labored, it was the night’s more surprising offerings that flourished. Appetite For Destruction “deep cuts” (if there are such things) “Out Ta Get Me” and “Rocket Queen” saw the band ratchet up its intensity, while an impromptu rendition of AC/DC’s “Whole Lotta Rosie” was indisputably the night’s highlight. It was in these moments that Rose’s still incomparable voice truly shone, and in which the mostly tame audience reached the apex of its enthusiasm.

Still, this was a show of two halves, and it would have been impossible to leave the arena without noting the lack of continuity. What I witnessed on Wednesday night was, to paraphrase my notes, something sad, something awkward, and something awesome. And perhaps that’s what Axl Rose and Guns N’ Roses, be it the physical band or the idea, have become. Mid-way through the concert, I wrote this as a premature punch line for what I was sure would be a wholly negative review:

I went to the concert as a critic, but I also went as someone who paid $120 for a seat. Was it worth it? I don’t know.

I now know the answer, but I think this recap is more interesting without it. And maybe that’s something to be said about what happens when we watch our musical idols fall. We pay to see a rock show, and we stay for an idea.