‘Chinese Democracy’ classic Rose napalm
On “Prostitute,” the number that closes out the longest running punch line in rock ’n’ roll history (aka “Chinese Democracy”), Axl Rose croons “seems like forever and a day.” He ain’t kidding.
“Chinese Democracy” reportedly took 15 cumbersome years to make, 14 studios to record in, $13 million in studio expenses, caused all the other original members of the glorious Guns N’ Roses to split and, in turns, features more hired guns (up to five guitarists on one track doing the job of Slash and Izzy Stradlin) than digitalized Imperial Storm Troopers in “Star Wars: Episode II — Attack of the Clones.”
As a result, Axl’s humongous ego ran amok on an out-of-check vanity project that should have been done in a third of the time and at a fraction of the cost. Not only that, we already should have had the follow-up GNR records, “Soviet Socialism” and “Jihad Justice.” It was getting to the point that the next thing we heard from the man who gave us “Welcome to the Jungle” would be on the lines of “Where is my Geritol?”
Rose is back, and he’s bigger, bloated and has been injected with more Botox that ever with the much delayed and maligned (maligned mostly because of the delays, mind you) “Chinese Democracy.” Now, only time will tell if the last-standing member of the original Guns N’ Roses (the 46-year-old Rose) will be laughed off the planet or be laughing all the way to the bank. For those waiting with bated breath, it’s time to exhale.
Fully cocked and loaded, Rose welcomes us to another kind of jungle on the title track and lead single, “Chinese Democracy.” With his barbed political diatribe falling somewhere between Jello Biafra of The Dead Kennedys and Lisa Simpson from “The Simpsons,” Rose haphazardly attacks tyrannical government practices of ruling with an “iron fist” while “sittin’ in a Chinese stew” (which, unless it’s a reference to “The Iron Chef,” makes no sense to me, either). The song sneaks in like a sonic seek-and-destroy mission waiting to flatten everything in its path. Snarling, shredding guitar riffs resembling a buzz-saw cutting through the trees, followed by locomotive bass lines, thunderous drums and Rose’s unmistakable banshee wail officially kicks the song off into high, head-banging gear. Still sounding fierce and ferocious and spitting his verbal napalm in the face of oppression, Rose wails, “It don’t really matter/Gonna find out for yourself/No it don’t really matter/Gonna leave this thing to/Somebody else.” Surprisingly, it matters much more than it should. It matters a lot.
On the nu-metal opus “Shackler’s Revenge,” Rose promises that “there’ll be hell to pay” and he delivers. Alongside shredding guitar riffs and squalling, shuffling percussion, Rose laments what’s left of his sanity through his signature, throat-shredding vocals and the song’s subsequent snarly guitar solo. The rocker rages, “Don’t ever/Try to tell me/How much you care for me/Don’t ever/Try to tell me/How you are there for me.” We won’t because we’re afraid that you’ll bite our head off, but we do care for this solid rocker.
Even with the luxury of hindsight, a muscular, meaty-sounding Rose realizes that he’s cursed to duplicate the same mistakes of the past on broken-hearted guitar boogie “Better.” Unleashing his tortured falsetto over crunchy guitar riffs and tinny, trashcan beats, Rose confesses, “a broken heart provides the spark for my determination.” He must have suffered a lot to get through the album’s seamlessly endless recording sessions. Before he’s licking his wounds too long, however, Rose snarls out stinging venom and is back to his old, wicked ways, and nothing could be better than that.
Rose is burning like a candle in wind on the Elton John-esque piano ballad, “Street of Dreams.” Not knowing what to do with all the love he has, Rose wanders aimlessly and cries out incessantly about how “All the love in the world couldn’t save you.” Aspiring to be the album’s equivalent to “November Rain,” the song is more drizzle than fizzle with its grandiose piano, lavish strings and a tacked-on Brian May-inspired guitar solo responsible for most of the suds.
With nothing in the world left for him to believe in, Rose relies on the old-standby for disillusioned outsiders everywhere on “Catcher in the Rye.” He carries on like a low-rent Travis Bickle with a taste for Broadway show tunes, surrounding himself with a mix of gooey harmony vocals, classical strings and classic arena rock guitars. Besides being a way too radio-friendly song about someone who is close to a psychotic break and planning to go on a shooting spree at any second, Rose seems to have a pile of rocks to go with the little voices in his head.
Rose stands up for truth, justice and sound bites haphazardly strung together on “Madagascar.” Some of Rose’s virtual friends here include Martin Luther King Jr. (who is represented by excerpts from his “I have a dream” speech) and Strother Martin from “Cool Hand Luke” (reprising his “What we’ve got here is…failure to communicate” speech, which also appeared on GnR’s “Civil War”). Even with the bombastic orchestration and overblown musings about how Rose feels persecuted and oppressed (and aligns himself with real-life and make-believe heroes of the persecuted and the oppressed), somehow, the song works in spite of itself.
“This I Love” is simply bad. Rose comes off as a closet Andrew Lloyd Webber fan with way too much time and money on his hands, sounding as if he’s spoofing “The Phantom of the Opera.” It’s initially funny, but then you realize he’s dead serious. A banal Rose bemoans, “And now I don’t know why/She wouldn’t say goodbye/But then it seems that/I had seen it in her eyes.” This can’t be the same guy that once sang, “I used to love her, but I had to kill her.” With some of his sappiest lyrics to date combined with overpowering strings and rock opera guitars, the song almost single-handedly puts a stake in the heart of Guns N’ Roses’ rich legacy.
On the album’s closer, “Prostitute,” Rose sings about how he’s unwilling to sell his soul for fortune and fame while refusing to apologize for being a misunderstood megalomaniac. His quivering falsetto (one of the rock’s most distinct instruments to come from the ’80s LA rock scene) delivers equal amounts of sensitivity and spite, despite the back-and-forth shift from schmaltzy orchestration to bombastic guitar gestures that emotionally takes the listener out of the rocker’s personal plight.