Waiting 17 Years for Disappointment
A week or two ago I was in the comfort of my own home, watching the Colbert Report and having a tasty beverage when I heard news made my heart race, my ears perk, and my…well, good things happened. Colbert broke the news, for me anyway. The new Guns N’ Roses album would be released the following Sunday. Holy Crap!! Could it be true? Seriously? After seventeen years of holding my breath, checking music web sites, asking people behind the counters at music stores that no longer exist when it would arrive, it would finally come. (Funny how Axl survived longer than music store chains, isn’t it? Maybe a little scary. Can you find the one that sold his soul to the devil? It would explain the braids.)
I didn’t really believe the news. I was excited, but I thought it was a prank. It had to be. But that Sunday, I ran to the nearest Best Buy to pick up the album. By the time I arrived, there was a table set up that had been picked nearly clean of clear plastic cases holding the CD of goodness that I was anticipating. I picked it up, held it to my chest and wept. After being tapped on the shoulder by the far more rational employee of the company and being escorted to the register, I purchased my long anticipated love, smiling like a child on Christmas morn, which wasn’t far off considering Christmas was just two weeks away. Isn’t Axl a marketing genius when it comes to the 30-40 age demographic? Man can’t keep a band together, but he knows when to release an album.
On my way to the car I remembered all the fond GNR moments of my life. I remembered being in high school, owning my first car, and blasting an Appetite for Destruction cassette tape with the windows open. (I don’t know what the worst part of that last sentence was: cassette tape or that my first car could blast anything other than a valve.) It reminded me of walkmans in class during exams and making love for the first time, even though I had no clue what I was doing in either case. I thought about skipping school and going to the beach, shooting pool, hanging out at some dude’s house even though I didn’t know who he was (still don’t) just because some chick was there that was hot. I was hanging with the guys, enjoying my first addictive cigarette, tasting my first funny cigarette, and getting shit faced drunk for the first time ever. I remembered good times, great times, and some of the best times with some of the best people.
I got in my car, threw the CD into the player, and pulled out of the parking lot. I never could pinpoint why I loved this band more than others. I guess it was partly because they sounded badass, but you could still understand them. Maybe it was because they had a great flow to the lyrics while keeping them simple. Possibly it was because they sounded like classic rock with some blues thrown in for effect. It was probably because they dressed in leather, had long hair, smoked, drank, and shot heroin. You know, the kinds of heroes any young man needs. Whatever the reason, they were good. And you know it too.
I turn onto the road as the new CD plays. It’s different. I drive down the road, trying to get a feel for the new sound. It’s different. I flip through a couple of songs, letting half of it play, listening to the lyrics and Axl’s scream before going on to the next tune. It’s different. I get through the whole album and tell people it’s pretty good. Then I listen to it again. I continue to promote it. I get home and play it on the stereo there. I look over at my half lab\half beagle puppy who looks up at the speakers and then at me as if to say, “It’s different, mister.” I tell him he’s right and give him a treat for appreciating music. And really, it’s not bad. If it were any other band, it would be good. A little whiny for my taste, but good. The problem is, it’s not Guns N’ Roses, and I’m not seventeen. A bad combination. The memories connected with this album aren’t going to last. Chinese Democracy won’t define my thirties the way Appetite and Use Your Illusions defined my teens. But that’s ok. I’ve listened to a lot of other great music. Pearl Jam, STP, Rage Against the Machine, and even Nickelback with their simply constructed Canadian lyrics. And I’m ok with GNR not being around. I can still listen to them and remember the old stuff. And I can listen to new stuff and remember the good times now.
I didn’t really believe the news. I was excited, but I thought it was a prank. It had to be. But that Sunday, I ran to the nearest Best Buy to pick up the album. By the time I arrived, there was a table set up that had been picked nearly clean of clear plastic cases holding the CD of goodness that I was anticipating. I picked it up, held it to my chest and wept. After being tapped on the shoulder by the far more rational employee of the company and being escorted to the register, I purchased my long anticipated love, smiling like a child on Christmas morn, which wasn’t far off considering Christmas was just two weeks away. Isn’t Axl a marketing genius when it comes to the 30-40 age demographic? Man can’t keep a band together, but he knows when to release an album.
On my way to the car I remembered all the fond GNR moments of my life. I remembered being in high school, owning my first car, and blasting an Appetite for Destruction cassette tape with the windows open. (I don’t know what the worst part of that last sentence was: cassette tape or that my first car could blast anything other than a valve.) It reminded me of walkmans in class during exams and making love for the first time, even though I had no clue what I was doing in either case. I thought about skipping school and going to the beach, shooting pool, hanging out at some dude’s house even though I didn’t know who he was (still don’t) just because some chick was there that was hot. I was hanging with the guys, enjoying my first addictive cigarette, tasting my first funny cigarette, and getting shit faced drunk for the first time ever. I remembered good times, great times, and some of the best times with some of the best people.
I got in my car, threw the CD into the player, and pulled out of the parking lot. I never could pinpoint why I loved this band more than others. I guess it was partly because they sounded badass, but you could still understand them. Maybe it was because they had a great flow to the lyrics while keeping them simple. Possibly it was because they sounded like classic rock with some blues thrown in for effect. It was probably because they dressed in leather, had long hair, smoked, drank, and shot heroin. You know, the kinds of heroes any young man needs. Whatever the reason, they were good. And you know it too.
I turn onto the road as the new CD plays. It’s different. I drive down the road, trying to get a feel for the new sound. It’s different. I flip through a couple of songs, letting half of it play, listening to the lyrics and Axl’s scream before going on to the next tune. It’s different. I get through the whole album and tell people it’s pretty good. Then I listen to it again. I continue to promote it. I get home and play it on the stereo there. I look over at my half lab\half beagle puppy who looks up at the speakers and then at me as if to say, “It’s different, mister.” I tell him he’s right and give him a treat for appreciating music. And really, it’s not bad. If it were any other band, it would be good. A little whiny for my taste, but good. The problem is, it’s not Guns N’ Roses, and I’m not seventeen. A bad combination. The memories connected with this album aren’t going to last. Chinese Democracy won’t define my thirties the way Appetite and Use Your Illusions defined my teens. But that’s ok. I’ve listened to a lot of other great music. Pearl Jam, STP, Rage Against the Machine, and even Nickelback with their simply constructed Canadian lyrics. And I’m ok with GNR not being around. I can still listen to them and remember the old stuff. And I can listen to new stuff and remember the good times now.
posted by James White | 6:48 PM
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