First Listen: Guns N' Roses, Chinese Democracy

Guns N’ Roses




Chinese Democracy





What the fuck?


Fifteen years of false starts, artistic differences, internal warfare, delayed releases, canceled tour dates, million-dollar payoffs from Geffen, Axl’s dreads, Slash’s Snakepit…it all comes down to this: me buying the first Guns N’ Roses studio album in over a decade at a suburban Best Buy, while the Mom in front of me drops $100 on Wii equipment. Best Buy didn’t even carry DVDs until 1997, let alone VR gaming equipment—that was pure fantasy in 1993, the year GNR released their last studio album, The Spaghetti Incident? In a way, the reappearance of GNR on shelves of music stores feels a complete anachronism. It’s an event at the crossroads of time, like Encino Man being unfrozen; Dinosaurs being recreated in Jurassic Park; King Kong coming back to New York. We’re out-of-our-head excited over this, but everyone is aware it could be a complete disaster.

I should admit outright that I was 12 years old when Spaghetti was released (though Appetite for Destruction was one of the first tapes I owned, in 3rd grade). So even though I understand that Guns n’ Roses exists as some sort of unanimously shared American cultural experience, I have always felt somewhat aloof from it. The music has always been there, and obviously brilliant. But as a child of 90’s, I was behind the curve on Axl & co. For people even one or two years older than me, the rise and fall of the band was something personal that they lived through. Meanwhile I was left scratching my head, trying to connect the dots between the naked woman on the cover of my Appetite tape (a formative experience), the beauty of “November Rain,” and, well, Spaghetti.

In other words, Guns N’ Roses has never made great sense to me.

This is not a bad thing. When I heard several years back that Axl was going to (eventually) release an album under the name "Chinese Democracy," I wondered aloud what every reasonable person should have: “What the fuck?” GNR was never particularly political. So if Axl was turning that corner, he sure picked one hell of a stand to make. If it wasn’t political, well, then Axl was treading in some of the most irreverent (and therefore awesome) territory in recent memory. Either way it’s a win.

Now add to that what we knew about Chinese Democracy [basically, very little]: fifteen years in the making, multiple rumored collaborators (including Sebastian Bach), a constantly changing release date, and production shrouded in utter secrecy, not to mention controversy. Earlier this year, a blogger much more serious than me was arrested—but ultimately avoided jail time—for uploading the album’s tracks. To cap it off, when the album was released this week, it received immediate castigation from the Chinese government.

That’s when it hit me that maybe I’m not so far behind the ball. In all likelihood, no one understands Guns n’ Roses. Not even the Chinese government. It’s time to stop thinking, and buy the album. I’m ready for the event. Bring on King Kong.

The album cover is quaint, black & white, with an old bike with a large basket in the foreground. Behind it, on a wall, is tagged “GUNS N’ ROSES.” This is, no doubt, the mark of the burgeoning Chinese Democratic groundswell. The album starts off equally quaint on the first track, with high pitch squeaks and low grumblings (a Chinese city?) surfacing from the background, simmering and ready to blow. The effect is poignant, and a minute and a half in, we get our eardums scorched by the first of Buckethead’s torrential riffs. Then, making the only appropriate entrance that one can make after a 15-year absence, Axl’s voice slides in like the Death Star laser, and blows our quaint little world to pieces.

There is no time to collect your thoughts. I’m sorry, time? You’ve had 15 years to second guess Axl. So let’s get it straight: this is Mr, Rose’s world we’re living in. He wastes no time destroying any lingering doubt, with his trademark scowling voice over thunderous accompaniment: “It don’t really matter/ Gonna find out for yourself/ No it don’t really matter/ Gonna leave this thing to/ Somebody else.” Nice.

...and then it gets slightly weird. “If they were missionaries/ Real time visionaries/ Sittin’ in a Chinese stew/ to view my disinfatuation.” What? I think this is political (song goes on to mention the Falun Gong), but more certainly, I know it is not a complete thought.

I move along. By the end of song 3, “Better” (a standout track) I am awe-struck by what I’m hearing. The lyrics have subdued themselves to simpler, but still poignant, rendering of Axl’s lingering angst. The music is not only great' it’s fresh and complex. There’s a layering of guitars, beats, and background vocals in this song which makes one think of Korn or Linkin Park. Not to suggest that GNR is stealing from the detestable late 90’s rock scene. More like giving a nod to their wayward disciples, and then sounding the rallying cry to reminds us who rules.

The honeymoon is not constant, of course. Track 4, “Street of Dreams” reaches for GNR ballads of the past, but doesn’t get further than some clichés (“So now I wander through my days/And try to find my ways/To the feelings that I felt.”) and—gulp—a hint of voice modulation. Axl’s voice continues to play tricks on the mind for several songs, and the album briefly loses its way in this early middle portion.

This type of meandering is especially unfamiliar to us because albums of this length are so uncommon these days. Only 2 of the 14 tracks are shorter than 4 minutes, and there are no intentional throwaways. I can’t figure out just yet if this is a concept album, but it’s no surprise that after 15 years, every song has been produced in grandiose fashion, with a deliberate attention to detail. It can be exhausting, but this is where Chinese Democracy (the album) lives and dies. Even though Axl is just a voice to the listener, it’s clear that this album represents his powerful vision. The songs are intricately arranged and extremely polished. When they hit the mark, Axl appears a towering figure returning to claim his rightful throne. When songs falter in the slightest way, they appear overproduced and mechanical. Songs on the first half of the album war inconclusively for the listener's sympathy.

The album finds its way again on several understated and well-written songs, including the thoughtful “Catcher in the Rye,” the guitar-blazed “Scraped,” and the chaotic/operatic “Riad N’ the Bedouins” (“Riad N’ the Bedouins/ had a plan and thought they’d win/ But I don’t give a fuck ‘bout them/ Cause I am crazy”).

The album then surges into an improbable climax on the tracks “Sorry” and “I.R.S.” The former, a simple and effective ballad, typifies Axl’s generic emotion on Chinese Democracy: powerful but impersonal. We don’t know who exactly has wronged him, but we’re not inclined to ask. If we heard it alone, this song would be a castoff. Instead, it crystallizes the tone that runs through the rest of the album—an uneasy sadness, an anger, a desire for revenge. Hanging on the final note of "Sorry," we plunge into “I.R.S.” all-in-all the best song on the album. It rides on the shoulders of the best of Guns n’ Roses’ catalog, loud and soft, ear-splitting power chords, crushing rhythm, and Axl sounding 100% vintage for the first time. The lyrics (like most on the album) are unintelligible, but it’s the feeling that speaks most coherently. The solos are even Slash-worthy (gasp). If 15 years was all leading up to this, it seems worth it.

The rest is just dénouement. 71 minutes later, I’m tired, exhausted, beat up, beat down. I didn’t just listen to an album…I feel like I survived something.

And what, exactly? I have no clue. I do know this: the album is absolutely tremendous. It matches its hype and anticipation in both scale and force. I also know this: the album is over-produced, overambitious, and conceptually absurd. But it is unmistakably the work of a genius.