Post by ashesofroses on May 27, 2009 13:04:45 GMT -3
Axl Rose: The Rolling Stone Interview
Edicion 627 (Abril de 1992)
Edicion 627 (Abril de 1992)
Only a few minutes ago, Axl Rose, sprawled on the floor of his Las Vegas hotel villa, mentioned his lack of privacy. Now, as if to prove his point, someone knocks on the door. Rose gets up to answer it, peering out into the darkness to find two breathless, carefully made-up fans who've somehow breached Guns n' Roses' security.
"I hope you know we went to a lot of trouble just to say hello to you," the first girl says. "I'm only here because she dragged me here," says the second. "I'm not a very big Guns n' Roses fan or anything."
Given Rose's reputation as a hothead, the predictable reaction would be irritation - or at the very least a wry, "see what I mean" smile. But Rose greets the giggly pair like a homeowner welcoming a group of trick-or-treaters. He invites them in and, smiling, begins asking them questions: Do you live here? What are your names? How did you find out where I was? As the story unravels - it turns out the two posed as call girls to extract his room number from a tight-lipped hotel clerk - Rose seems genuinely charmed. As do his visitors. They stick around for nearly an hour, and Rose is the perfect host - cracking jokes, offering them dinner, even laughing off their occasional barbs ("So, are you going on on time tomorrow, or what?"). By the time they leave, they've been made to feel as if it were the most natural thing in the world to barge in uninvited on a total stranger.
It's the evening before a sold-out show in late January, and Rose is in an extremely good mood. Catching the singer in this frame of mind at the scheduled time for an interview can seem like a blessing from above if you've ever been around him in the other mood. When Rose is feeling pressured or angry, talking to him is a lot like dodging bullets. He tends to rant, barely stopping for breath, and even the most innocent of comments can set him on edge. It is a distinctly uncomfortable feeling to be in a room alone with Axl Rose and see storm clouds suddenly gather on his face because of something you've just said. It is a feeling of wanting to get out, fast.
But Rose can be a disarming - and formidable - conversationalist if you catch him at the right time. When he is relaxed, he seems to delight in the challenge an interview presents, and it is all but impossible to rattle him. Tell him that much of the public views him as spoiled, and he'll surprise you by agreeing. Inform him that a character in Stephen King's latest novel describes him as an asshole, and he'll ask, ever hopeful, "Was it a good character or a bad character?'" The thornier the issue, the more conviction Rose displays in offering his opinion.
During this conversation, Rose covered some especially rocky terrain. He talked about rhythm guitarist Izzy Stradlin's resignation from Guns n' Roses late last year. He addressed his tardiness to shows, his ongoing war with the media, his reputation as a misogynist, a homophobe, a bigot. Rose also talked in detail for the first time about childhood traumas that likely played a large part in shaping his volatile nature. He spoke about some highly disturbing memories involving his biological father that were dredged up in regression therapy and also leveled serious charges at his stepfather. (Rose's natural father could not be found for comment on the issues raised in this story; his relatives believe him to be dead. Rose's brother, his sister and a family friend corroborated the allegations concerning his stepfather. Rose's mother and stepfather declined comment.)
In talking about this early years, Rose grew soft-spoken and contemplative, displaying the rarely seen vulnerability that once prompted Sinead O'Connor to remark that Rose made you want to "bring him home and give him a bowl of soup." Perhaps more than anything else, it is this surprising air of fragility, coupled with the hair-trigger temper that has all but become Rose's personal trademark, that makes him such a compelling figure.
The same evening this interview took place, Rose's sister, Amy, strolling through the Mirage Hotel, stopped to look at the royal white tigers the hotel keeps on display. She remarked how fascinating it was that a creature could be at once so ferocious and so gentle.
"Just like Axl," someone said absent-mindedly.
Amy laughed, realizing that she had unintentionally described her brother as well.
What do you think people are thinking about you these days?
I know it's a love-hate thing. There are people that are big fans and people that really hate me.
Do you get a sense that public opinion of you has changed?
A majority of what's in the press is negative. But I think that we're also gaining more fans, people of all different ages that really like what we're doing. There's a really good vibe in the crowd, a warm vibe.
What about St. Louis? After the riot, Rolling Stone got letters from people saying that they were fed up with your attitude and that you don't care about your fans anymore.
And that's why the riot happened? Is that what they're saying?
No. But I think the riot was a turning point in terms of public opinion of you.
Well, I think that the way the media covered it made me look completely responsible for it. I don't think I was the last straw. I think that the people who decided to start throwing stuff were the last straw. We have a big problem with the people that were at that concert. We gave them a ninety-minute show. We gave them what we were contracted to do, and we gave it good. They wanted more, and they felt that they could just have it, regardless of what happened to us or how we felt about it. When we say, "Fuck St. Louis," we're talking about the people that tore up the place. They know who they are - we're not talking about anybody else. Whether I jumped off the stage for a camera or not, that's not a good enough reason to tear the place down. It was announced that we would come back onstage, and they were more into the riot than even the band playing.
One thing that has people exasperated is the late show times. Why do you go on so late?
I pretty much follow my own internal clock, and I perform better later at night. Nothing seems to work out for me until later at night. And it is our show. I don't want to make people sit around and wait - it drives me nuts. That hour-and-a-half or two-hour time period that I'm late going onstage is living hell, because I'm wishing there was any way on earth I could get out of where I am and knowing I'm not going to be able to make it. I'm late to everything. I've always wanted to have it written in my will that when I die, the coffin shows up a half-hour late and says on the side, like in gold, SORRY I'M LATE.
What goes on before you take the stage? What actually makes you late?
The chiropractor we work with on the road tapes my ankles professionally. I kept twisting my ankles during shows, and it still happens now and then. I have weak ankles, always have. I used to run cross-country, and that was one of the things that got in the way of that. So I work with a chiropractor. I work with a massage therapist, because I put a lot of stress in my lower back, and with what I do onstage, there's a lot of rebuilding that has to be done. There's operatic voice exercises. And I started therapy in February [1991] and, Jesus, I'm right in the middle of stuff. I mean, if a heavy emotional issue surfaces and you've got a show in four hours, you have to figure out how to get that sorted out really quick before you get onstage so that you're not in the middle of "Jungle'' and have a breakdown. The pressure of having to do the show when whatever else is going on in my life is hard to get past. We did a show in Finland where I just couldn't understand why I was doing what I was doing. I sat down while I was singing "Civil War,'' and I was kind of looking at my lips while I was singing and looking at the microphone and looking at the roadies, and everything just shut off. Well, that doesn't make for a very good show. We're out there to win at what we do. And if that means going on two hours late and doing a good show, I'm gonna do it. I take what I do very seriously.
Do you think that your fans take your problems seriously? Sometimes people relate to celebrities not as people but as objects or possessions - admiring the music or art isn't enough anymore. People have to feel as if they own you.
Yeah. That's a strange beast. And they don't like it when I let them know that they don't own me. Sometimes I don't even own myself [laughs].
Let's say a fan stopped you on the street and said: "Listen, I bought all your records, but I'm sick of your bullshit. I come to a show and you're two hours late, and I have to work the next day. You don't give a fuck about me."
If I didn't give a fuck about them, I'd come out and do a shitty show. I'd come out and tell 'em to fuck off. I'd sit down, sing the songs off-key and just not care. But I do care, and I also care too much about myself to do that. It's confusing to me that people go, "Well, I have to work in the morning." If you were getting laid, you wouldn't be so worried about what time it was. I know it's complicated, but so is getting onstage. And I'm sorry. I try to make it up by coming out and doing a good show and explaining as much as I can about what was going on in my head and why we weren't there.
Does it ever bother you, when you're onstage talking about something that's really eating at you, to think that the crowd would respond the same way no matter what you were saying?
Yeah. I approached it a bit differently when we did the first show in Dayton, Ohio. We'd been told we're the perfect house band for David Duke's America. And it's like, fuck David Duke, I don't like being associated with that. I asked the crowd: "Is that what you get out of this, that we're racists and you're supporting it? 'Cause that's not the case." I asked: "Is that all you're getting out of the record - 'Do cocaine and party'? 'Cause if that's the case, I'm gonna go home. That's not why we're here." I asked the crowd about those things. I got some real interesting responses. The way they reacted was a little bit different than normal. There was silence in different places and cheering in others. You could tell that they were thinking for a minute.
A lot of people think: "Axl is incredibly rich and famous and pampered. He shouldn't have anything to complain about, but he's throwing a tantrum every time you see him. He's a spoiled brat."
That's true.
You think so?
Sometimes, yeah. Yeah, I'm real spoiled. I've spoiled myself. I'll get better at dealing with that, though. I mean, it's still new. Then again, there are a lot of things I complain about that everybody else complains about but won't do it publicly.
Like what?
Like having somebody thrown out who is causing a commotion and basically obstructing the show. Most performers would go to a security person in their organization, and it would just be done very quietly. I'll confront the person, stop the song: "Guess what: You wasted your money, you get to leave." If a person is trying to egg me on, like "Come on out here, motherfucker, I'm gonna kick your ass," it's like "No, you're not going to kick my ass, you're going to go home. We're doing a show, there's 20,000 other people here, and you're not going to ruin it. You're leaving." Because if I jump in and get in a fight and then there's no show, the crowd's gonna love that.
Why would you feel you had to jump in? Why couldn't you just ignore it?
Why should I ignore it?
Why should you give someone like that the time of day?
Why shouldn't I deal with it? And why shouldn't I deal with it publicly? It's a distraction. I don't go see a band just because they suck. And if someone comes to a G n' R show for that, it's like "Go home, we don't want you here." I mean, if you throw a party at your house and somebody comes to your party just to tell you you suck all night, you are going to ask them to leave your house. And while we're onstage, that's our house and those are our guests. I've been accused of thinking my shit doesn't stink. And it does, and maybe sometimes it stinks a lot worse than other people's. But I'm not gonna say I'm wrong until I'm shown I'm wrong. Just because someone else believes they're right doesn't mean that they've shown me I'm wrong.
You told me recently that you hate performing.
I just think it's a really weird job. I'm not saying it's a bad job, I'm not saying it's a great job. But you know, it's just the work that goes into being that athletic. I mean, do you want to go out every night and jump off, like, your car? And have to do that? It's like it becomes your job. That doesn't take away the sincerity or the honesty of it, but it is a job. And sometimes I'd rather be doing something else.
You obviously have to be getting something out of it to keep doing it. What do you get out of it?
The release of the energy. Being able to express myself as I choose. There's a certain pride in knowing that you achieved what you came to do. Sometimes there'll be a little flicker of communication between you and somebody that you never really communicated with. One night when I was bummed, Matt [Sorum, G n' R's drummer] came around and put his hand on me: "It's all right, man." Those little things are really special. With the new band and the new people, it's the first time I've really felt at home. It used to be just the five of us against the world. Now we've brought some of the outside world into the band. The first night we played with the new band, I was sitting at the piano during "November Rain," just looking at this and feeling really glad that I was a part of this thing.
I've talked to people who liked the band better when it was stripped down. You've added the horn section and the backup singers and a second keyboard player - the shows are becoming a lot more professional and polished.
But I don't think it's losing any of its energy. There's a lot more energy now. I think that before, people were seeing the potential.
There are purists who prefer the raw vibe that bands like the Sex Pistols had and that Guns n' Roses had in the early days.
Yeah, well, there are people who like a girl that had the same haircut she had ten years ago, too. I understand that. I understand that a lot. But it's like, we're evolving, and it's us. I read a quote where David Bowie was saying that Pink Floyd was Syd Barrett to him. I'm like "Yeah, but to deny anything that Pink Floyd's done after that?" Certain elements of our music and our performance and our attitude are still there, but we're not the same people we were then. Maybe it would've been best for the purists if we'd died or broken up. Then they'd get to keep it the way they liked it.
We haven't talked about Izzy. Why did he leave the band?
To get a clear answer, you'd have to ask Izzy. My personal belief is that Izzy never really wanted something this big. There were responsibilities that Izzy didn't want to deal with. He didn't want to work at the standards that Slash and I set for ourselves.
Can you give me some examples?
He didn't want to do videos.
Did he say why?
He just wasn't into it. Getting Izzy to work on his own songs on this record was like pulling teeth. When Izzy had 'em on a four-track, they were done. I mean, I like tapes like that, but we'd just get destroyed if we came out with a garage tape. People want a high-quality album. And it was really hard to get Izzy to do that, even on his own material. Izzy's songs were on the record because I wanted them on the record, not because Izzy gave a shit either way. If people think I don't respect Izzy or acknowledge his talent, they're sadly mistaken. He was my friend. I haven't always been right. Sometimes I've been massively wrong, and Izzy's been the one to help steer me back to the things that were right. But I know that I wanted to get as big as we possibly could from Day One, and that wasn't Izzy's intention at all. I think he's ready to do like an X-Pensive Winos [Keith Richards's band] thing. So maybe the world'll get another really cool band. I know that I'll be trying to get an advance tape, just like everybody else.
Can you really fault someone for getting out of something if he didn't feel it was right for him?
No, not at all. But I can fault someone, in the same way someone can fault me, for being an asshole about the way he went about it. A comic book says how Izzy comes to me and says, "You know, I just don't feel I'm up to this," and I go, "Yeah, and you're scared, too, aw, shit." Well, that ain't the way it went down.
How did it go down?
We were filming "Don't Cry," and he had to be there. Instead, he sent a really short, cold letter and didn't show up. We got this letter saying, "This changes, this changes, and maybe I'll tour in January." And they were ridiculous demands that weren't going to be met. I talked to Izzy for four and a half hours on the phone. At some points, I was crying, and I was begging. I was doing everything I could to keep him in the band. There were stipulations, though. If he was going to do like the old Izzy did, he wasn't going to make as much money. It was like "You're not giving an equal share." Slash and I were having to do too much work to keep the attention and the energy up in the crowd. You're onstage going, "This is really hard, and I'm into it and I'm doing it, but that guy just gets to stand there.'"
But there's a certain charisma to that. It was just one more thing to get off on about Guns n' Roses. There were five distinct personalities on the stage.
That's okay. But when the guy's getting up at six thirty in the morning and riding bicycles and motorcycles and buying toy airplanes, and he's donating all this energy to something else, and it's taking 100 percent of our energy to do what we're doing on the stage, we were getting ripped off. I'm hoping Izzy's new album rocks. But at the same time, it'll be like "Why couldn't he do that with us?" He wouldn't do anything.
So you're angry with him because he didn't want to be what you wanted him to be?
No. That's not it. I'm angry with him because he left in a very shitty way, and he tries to act like everything's cool. He put his trust in people that I consider my enemies. People like [former G n' R manager] Alan Niven, who I think is his manager now. I don't need Alan Niven knowing jack shit about Guns n' Roses. Everybody has a lot of good and bad, and with Alan, I just got sick of his fucking combo platter. It's like "If you're involved with these people, we can't talk to you."