You have no idea. You really don't. You can't be me (I?), you can't be 9 years old in 1987 and running the walkathon at St. George and having Andrew Meyers, innocent and quiet as they come (I mean, he'd played freaking Woodstock in You're a Good Man Charlie Brown, for someone's sake), handing you a cassette tape he got from his older (and apparently, very COOL older) brother to pass the time on the run. And the tape can't possibly have been wound to the start of side B instead of side A for your virgin experience of this artistry, and there's also no way you listened to Mr. Brownstone (the B-side of Welcome to the Jungle) (on a single cassette) that you got from your friend-for-life Chris for your birthday while your dad drove you around in 1973 Camaro between a screening of the all-time great film FreeJack and an orgasmic visit to Chucky Cheese where you would learn the simplistic yet transcendent pleasures of the game Pengo. You also did not religiously listen to KTFM's top 5 at 9 to hear the #1 song "Welcome to the Jungle" every night for several weeks in a row. You also did not get a full on view of a certain best friend's teenage sister in her lavender underwear and t-shirt while waiting for Paradise City to come on as the #1 MTV Video. You also probably didn't purchase this album in secret at the Houston Galleria and play it at exceedingly low volumes to keep your parents from hearing what you "explicitly" knew they would not like to hear. In short, Homer can scream that rock achieved perfection in 1974, but for this plaid-wearing 1991 tribe member, the pinnacle was most certainly around 1988, when Axl, Slash, Duff, Steve and Izzy rocked my young and impressionable face off.
G'N'R's Appetite for Destruction is often cited as the (insert psychotic amounts of reverb here) *BEST METAL ALBUM OF ALL TIME* (kill reverb), and to me, this has always been akin to saying that Beethoven "was a composer," Einstein was "kinda smart" and that the Beatles "attracted a lot of attention." This is the blues metal raunch n' roll example par excellence, the one that we would be transmitting to outer space if we really wanted aliens to understand our late eighties L.A. culture. It is, on one level, just a fantastic album, great songs top to bottom; on another level, it's amazingly skilled at detailed blues metal on all fronts, complicated interwoven adrenaline drenched licks that make their sister bands of the time look like sisters; on the last level, you hear the artistry and the lyrical content and think, "Hmmmm, Motley Crue were kinda a bunch of pussies." Guns N' Roses took the skill of (dare he say it? Noooooooo!) Led Zeppelin and injected the attitude of every punk band ever plus their disenfranchised brothers. This was the image put forth, anyways, and if 1990's teenagers could be sold depression like shooting fish in a barrel, then late 80's teenage boys could be sold untoward male aggression backed by ballsy blues skill just as easily.At the start of things, the ol' "pop music does not occur in a vacuum" aspect:
Slash, hot damn, was a virtuoso who drank whiskey, smoked cigarettes, kicked ridiculous ass on his axe (and I can't emphasize this enough - he didn't just play loud, he played amazingly fluidly and WELL), and, oh, by the way, had this crazy curly "I couldn't give a shit if I tried" hairdo combined with a *top hat* that all but entirely obscured his face. The mystery laced with the attitude, the demagogue on guitar status combined with the "oh, and by the way, you couldn't possibly approach this" look - Slash was the real deal, no doubt.Axl Rose - you seriously have to put him on the short list with Mick Jagger and Robert Plant of the all time hard rock lead singers. Talent out the wazoo, idiocy to match, and a corn farm bred attitude as well - he took both the performance and the pathos to new extremes. I dressed in flannel for much longer than I should have because of this guy. I still emulate his dancing. His vocal technique was known to shred cords, but that just made it better. The band is just incredibly talented without him; with him, they transcend the metal genre and... oh yeah, they bring the band crashing down and never reach their full potential, too. Double edged sword, I suppose.
The rest of the band - heroin addicts, boozers, IVs with Jack Daniels labels hooked up - they clearly didn't care, they did the entire metal rock star in L.A. trip, but they also had an ineffable edge that took it up seven notches of authenticity. This is possibly the result of highly effective teenage marketing on the part of David Geffen, but still - there is little to no doubt that these guys lived the life of which they played rhythm guitar. And such. And Steve Addler - kicked out of G'N'R (!!!) because he did *too many drugs!?!?!?!* I mean, regardless of your moral inclinations, there's gotta be at least something of a buzz in your seatpants that makes you want to stand up and give the guy a standing ovation.So lest we go crazy - we'll cut to the chase. I'm not 9 years old any more, chronologically speaking. I realize just as well as anyone with ears and a function pre-frontal cortex that G'N'R lyrics treat women... really, the only apt metaphor is that they treat women like G'N'R treat women, which is about as low as you can get. SO how do I, as a 28 year old and now thoroughly developed, mature and tax-paying individual defend myself when I still get a jolt of bliss from hearing that opening digital delay loop from Slash?
Misogyny has no real defense. I mean, of course it does, you could go wack-ass and claim that Eve was put here to serve Adam or whathaveyou, but then you'd probably have trouble getting a prom date. In short, there's no excuse for the baseline hatred and or objectification of women, though "multi-platinum" album might just serve, if not as an excuse, as an obscene justification.The album is o'errun with a dire lack of respect for the fairer sex in its lyrics. It's also run with a haphazard approach at a careless, reckless life (ha ha) - drinking, drinking and driving, heroin, dark sides of the city, prostitution, use-oriented sex (featuring, among other things, a just about as terrible as you can get lyric - I'll let you find it), some kind of Utopic vision where les boys resist the urge to rhyme "city" with "titties," and, among other things, a song that proclaims the male protagonist's right to do "anything." Really, it's just a bold-faced mothers-hide-your-daughters schtick, so why all the hoopla?
Because they sell it; they live it. This is not just "Girls, Girls, Girls;" this is the gleam in the eye that backs up disdain. Something psychologically creeps to this albums surface as painstakingly authentic - truthful in a way that begets "oh damn, I thought they were just kidding." And it is this, I would argue, that not only gives the album its punch, but also makes it great.Say what you will about the ethics contained within - and it's really not that hard to predict what you will say - but Appetite as an art form is the crystal clear rendition of all the angst, testosterone and hatred that simultaneously seeps from and ultimately must be causing that insanity. It's an immature and embarrassing attitude in the hands of accomplished artists, and whether it's a "good thing" or not, they pull it off - and I am drawn to the conclusion that even hatred, idiocy, misogyny and everything else can have a kind of aesthetic beauty as an endroad. Separating the message from its content, Appetite - and I'm trying to drop its nostalgic claims on me here - is a crystalline encapsulated box of brilliance, a stare-you-down rendition of what it means to be ballsy, in charge, ultimately idiotic but very accomplished in your MO of rock. I would never in a million years vote in favor of the aesthetic to which it appeals - the inherent beauty of "panties 'round your knees / with your ass in da breeze" notwithstanding - but I feel compelled to recognize brilliance, a true rendition of an idiotic moral scheme, when I see it. And this is that.
Song by Song:Welcome to the Jungle - High power righteous indictment of the LA scene. Unbelievably great album opener. Axl shines here; a veritable announcing his presence with authority.
It's So Easy - Smug, Hateful Badass. Rock Stars at their Dad-daughter scariest.
Nighttrain - More of the Same. Exploding with hate-thrash energy.
Out ta Get me - Self Righteous Indignation from... what? The guy who just terrified me regarding a daughter I don't have yet? The straight-forward ignorance and adherence to the lifestyle, combined with a WTF self-righteousness, just cranks things up a level.
Mr. Brownstone - Barring "Heroin" by the VU, the best Heroin song out there. Also an incredible polyrhythmic drum track and some borderline funk-nastiness from Slash. Woah.
Paradise City - The perfect metal song? Gloriously triumphant intro/choruses, manically angry verse, transcendent outro solo...
My Michelle - Borderline sympathy for the ones they call sluts. Always been one of my favorites.
Think About You - Only thing resembling a weak spot on the album. Sort of an overly wide-eyed romantic homage to the women he just derided.
Sweet Child - Pantheon Song. A power ballad in essence, it somehow manages to make *Axl Rose's poetry* read like a legit love song.
You're Crazy - I prefer the acoustic version off of Lies, but this successfully gets us back on the FU nastiness track.
Anything Goes - As noted - An ode to sexual experimentation with nary a hint that the female is going to have any input in the decisions. Frightfully blase about the endeavor as well. Scary.
Rocket Queen - WHAT an album closer. Has always been my favorite from the album - this is a hard rocking acknowledgement of the nastiness that takes place with the gall to say "I'm here for you when you need me." An admission that the show, the hatred, is ultimately born from some depraved love. In the bigger context, it's tempting to say it negates the album. But I think it just embraces the irrational - says yes, these things are possible, I can love a woman unconditionally and yet still resort to hatred for her kind when the need serves. The psychological trappings of this are great.
Ubermetal? Misogynist? Masterpiece?
Yep. Yep. Yep.Status: Desert Island Recommended
Nyet's Fave: "Rocket Queen"
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