Almost two decades after the event, it's been surprisingly easy to forgive Guns N'Roses of their many crimes. This, lest we forget, was a thoroughly sexist and homophobic group, who spat at "niggers" and "immigrants and faggots" and displayed all of the intelligence of frat boys at a circle jerk.
The cover of their debut album, "Appetite For Destruction", was a cartoon of a woman who had seemingly just been raped, and Axl, Slash and Steven Adler faced domestic violence charges during the Nineties. This was a band of scum and no mistake. The advent of Nirvana couldn't come quick enough.
Now they're no longer a threat or an all-pervasive influence - the metal scene of the mid-80s was a horrific farce that Metallica quickly took to task - we can appreciate the sheer power of the Gunners' songs. They may have been c**ts of the highest order - strike that "may", make it "were" - but they also understood what makes great rock tick: a primal riff built for bars, beer and air guitar; a sh*t-kicking momentum that never threatens to let up for a second; and a singer who knew that the only way to succeed was to live life as a cartoon character, equal parts ego, libido and tortured tonsils.
They ripped-off a lot of their act from the mighty, utterly undervalued Hanoi Rocks, of course. "Welcome To The Jungle" is Hanoi with an extra rock kick, right down to the last guttural groan, but that extra kick was to prove vital. Hanoi were just too poppy for mass consumption, too fu*ked up, too challenging in many ways. Guns N'Roses were instantly understandable: glam hedonists in the vein of the New York Dolls who were nevertheless totally male and heterosexual (as opposed to the straight but androgenous Hanoi singer Mike Monroe) and thus weren't going to put any redneck idiots off their brew.
But it was their moments of original genius that made them legends. The intro to "Sweet Child O'Mine" is a genuine rock landmark, as iconic as anything by Angus Young, and the rest of the song isn't bad either. You only have to listen to the cover version by Luna that's floating around the net to realise that this is a classic love song. Recast as a Spritualized style indie tune, it's uncommonly beautiful. Here in its original version it's pretty gorgeous too. "Paradise City" is awesome too of course. Like Bon Jovi, the Gunners knew how to turn the romance of blue-collar youthfulness into lucrative anthems. If you haven't howled along to this at a bar at some point in your life, you might as well hand in your ears now.
They were ridiculous, naturally. Overblown. Pompous. Unable to hit a subtle note when an over the top gesture lay around the corner. It all reached a peak on "November Rain", which most people remember for that utterly hilarious video, but is actually a fine song on its own. There is a certain unique thrill to be had in well handled melodrama (cf: Muse) and Guns N'Roses were Jilly Cooper with Marshalls. Fu*k, listen to them. There's a bloody flute tootling at the start there, just to show how, cough, sensitive these boys really are, and the strings come straight from the Rent A Poignant Backdrop agency. It's stupid, crass, but still completely glorious, a kitsch, guilty pleasure that's pure rock feelgood.
Ultimately, you have to come to the conclusion that it's a good thing the Gunners are dead and buried. They were poison, both personally and musically. Check out their covers of "Live And Let Die" and "Sympathy For The Devil" to hear what happens when Metal Goes Bad. But for a moment there - mostly on that debut album, thankfully repackaged now with a new cover - they encapsulated the essence of rock like no one else. Buy that, if you have to. Or just go out drinking. That's where this stupid, sorry mess really comes alive.
