Guns N' Roses Chronicles Part V: They're Really That Good

I can’t claim to remember the first time I listened to Appetite for Destruction, because it took me at least a month to get through the whole album. It’s not because I didn’t like it, mind you. Quite the opposite in fact. I loved every song so much that I would listen to each track over and over before moving onto the next one. It didn’t matter that I was borrowing my brother’s copy temporarily. I just couldn’t bring myself to rush through Appetite.

 This was the era of the cassette tape, and rewinding/forwarding to specific songs was kind of a pain, so with Appetite I chose to just rewind each song over and over to fully absorb every note. Each song blew me away more than the next and when I finally got to “Paradise City,” they were well on their way to becoming my all time favorite band. Eventually, I became acquainted enough with the “Guns” side of the record to move on and flip the cassette, though I got stuck on “My Michelle” which I spent days listening to again and again.

 Finally, I got to “Sweet Child O’ Mine.”

 Over the years, certain songs have impacted me enough that I can remember how I felt when I first heard them, even if I don’t remember exactly when/where I was at the time. With “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” I remember it all. It was a Saturday afternoon and I was in my bedroom, tidying up. Appetite was playing and I was so absorbed in my task that I decided to just let the record play past “My Michelle.” I dug “Think About You,” but wasn’t balled over enough to hit rewind. And then…

 That opening riff of “Sweet Child” ran up my spine like an ice pick. I was frozen in place as I stared at my stereo, completely in shock by what I was hearing. By the time the first verse started, I had dropped to my knees and laid my head on the bed. I silently listened, thinking it was the most achingly beautiful song I had ever heard. It seemed to go on forever, which was fine with me. When the song ended, it was decided. Guns N’ Roses was and would forever be my favorite band.

 Needless to say, I listened to “Sweet Child” non-stop after that, never moving past it before my brother asked for his cassette back. At the time, he was living with our dad in Orange County and I was in the San Gabriel Valley with Mom, so on weekends he would come and pick me up and we would listen to Appetite during the long drives. It was on the 57 Freeway, in between Diamond Bar and Brea that I would first hear “Rocket Queen” and was stunned that there could be a song almost as memorable as “Sweet Child.”

A year later, Guns N’ Roses would be one of the biggest bands in the world, but in August of 1987, they were my band. I don’t know exactly why their music resonated so deeply. As a kid I the suburbs, I couldn’t exactly relate to the lyrics which largely focused on the drug infested Hollywood “jungle” (it was irritating how much I could related to the lyrics of the Smiths, my best friend’s favorite band). After four years of obsessing over Mötley Crüe, GN’R’s bad boy image was tiring. When they appeared on the Headbanger’s Ball in late 1987 and trashed the set at the prompting of the VJ (was his name Smash?), I rolled my eyes. Ultimately, the music was just that good. Also, it was pretty cool to be the only kid at Sandburg Middle School who knew who Guns N’ Roses was.

 For the next four years, Appetite for Destruction would be my rock. As I endured he hell of being a teenager in an unstable household, I would constantly turn to Appetite for solace and listened to it every single day until the Illusions were released. When I was fifteen and had to be rushed into the operating room for an emergency appendectomy, the last words I said to my Mom were, “Don’t forget to pack my Walkman and Appetite.” Later on when I lay in the hospital for two days, alone and homesick as hell, wanting to cry my eyes out, it was Appetite that calmed me down. As my relationship with my stepdad deteriorated beyond repair and sent me on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Appetite would stop me from going completely crazy.

 At one point, I played Appetite for my mom for no other reason than I figured she would hate it and I thought it would be hilarious. After the album ended she paused for a few moments and then said, “What’s that singer’s name?”

 “W. Axl Rose.”

 “I don’t know about that name, but at least he can sing on key. They’re good.  If they can stay off the drugs they could actually be really big.”

 What? This was coming from the same woman we had been able to easily torture with Mötley Crüe and Metallica? While no self respecting 13-year-old actually wants their parents to like their music, my mother is actually a talented musician, so deep down I really did respect her opinion. I fact, I remember beaming with pride at her comments. It wasn’t just me, Guns N’ Roses were really that good.