Reviewed by John Aizlewood, Evening Standard (8 June 2006)
Two hours may be a blink of an eye to a group without an album of original material since 1991, but in a sweltering Hammersmith Apollo, two hours was an eternity. Scheduled to come on stage at 8.45, Guns N'Roses finally emerged at 10.45.
If that and the sludgy sound that the road crew had had ample time to perfect, were not sufficient contempt for the audience, I'm far from convinced I actually saw Guns N'Roses.
Singer Axl Rose was certainly present. With his ginger dreadlocks tied into an unruly ponytail, a half-hearted goatee and a succession of tasteless shirts unbuttoned to reveal, somehow reassuringly, a sunburnt chest, he resembled nothing less than a Stars In Their Eyes Mick Hucknall
Behind Rose, though, were seven thorns. With the arguable exceptions of long-standing keyboardist Dizzy Reed and terrific drummer Brain, they were no more Guns N'Roses than they were potholers.
Rose found it necessary to employ three lead guitarists. Collectively (let alone individually), they were not worthy of tuning the strings of Slash, the band's spirit and direction until he fled in 1996.
Disastrously, Rose permitted all three solo stage time as he changed outfits. After the first five minutes of Richard Fortus's mind-numbing efforts, I lost the will to live.
Even so, Rose's duet with Skid Row's Sebastian Bach on My Michelle was thrilling and Sweet Child O'Mine still sends shivers down the sternest of spines, but November Rain, so breathtaking on record, was more June Drizzle, while the confetti and shower of sparks that accompanied the closing Paradise City could not obscure the fact that this band have surrendered almost everything that once made them great.
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