I've never left a gig feeling so angry. I had a migraine, stank of cigarette smoke and was seething at my Golden Circle experience.
The omens in hindsight were unmistakable...
The first sign was the weather forecast: rain (though that didn't spoil the night).
The traffic on the way was awful. We were delayed by a police incident near the Hurlet (a car had lost control and crashed into the trees), and then we were further slowed by a broken-down bus at the lights on Crookston Road. Paisley Road West was down to a crawl too so I ended up grabbing the first space I could find on one of the side streets in Cardonald. I thought Bellahouston Park was closer, not a forty-minute walk away.
We passed over a hundred other free parking spots closer to the venue. With every new space, my irritation grew, turning as dark as the clouds.
We hadn't had dinner so paid the extortionate prices for two chicken burgers, a coffee and a bottle of water (£25). Gourmet it was not. At Hyde Park, they at least buttered the rolls. They didn't just shove the pre-heated burger between two dry roll halves and point to the rack of sauces. It felt like I was the victim of an Apprentice profit task.
We did arrive on time to see The Pretenders set. The longer they played, the less excited I became. By the end, I was truly bored. I even volunteered to do a drink run during their set, figuring listening to the performance was sufficient. It was a huge stage and they looked like a tiny band, with their static backdrop. Chrissie Hynde may be a cool, bonafide rocker who has served her time and earned her respect but I wouldn't rush back to one of her shows. I was so unengaged with the music, I began to wonder if the knee-length boots she was wearing were actually rock-chick support stockings. That's not a thought one should have during a gig. Totally disrespectful.
During their set, a tall bloke with short brown hair, a beard and a drunken frown appeared on the scene, searching for his mates. Unable to see them, he stopped directly in front of a small chap who was videoing the band on his phone, totally blocking the camera. And he didn't care. No apology.
We moved further back, sensing trouble. Unfortunately, we didn't move far enough for he was not the only arsehole about. A tall guy with a crescent scar across his cheekbone plus another bearded man with a punchdrunk face and a twisted, broken nose were also present, along with their shorter skinhead ghoul of a mate. They bevvied, chain-smoked and antagonised each other, slapping each other from behind on the face for a laugh, shouting sweary heckles at the band while downing pint after pint after pint, all in good fun. They wanted to extend their boisterous spirit to all around them and attracted more of their ilk until we had a chimney flume of smoke belching constantly from the newly-formed gang. I couldn't relax, keeping one eye on them in case their fun tripped over into violence, all the while slowly choking on the acrid smoke. There was nowhere obvious to move to, the place now rammed with bodies. My temper simmered, resulting in a migraine.
Mid-gig, small women would push in, claim the space then be joined by their giant boyfriends. This happened twice, made all the more annoying by the BFs perfect hair. Not even a sign of male-pattern baldness. My chance of taking good photos grew slim as the gig continued, with more and more shots being ruined by arms and heads.
The tall bloke with the frown kept turning around, standing with his back to the stage, legs wide apart, arms aloft in a celebratory pose as if accepting the crowd's adulation for himself. Then he'd turn back and slump over his pals' shoulders and shout in their faces. Then he'd prowl, pushing past people, eyes fixed on a particular person he had to go to talk to. You didn't want to make eye contact with him, just in case he engaged with you or turned nasty. Then he'd disappear for a while and you'd relax, only for him to return with more beer and more inebriation. If ever I wanted someone to be killed by a movie-like strike of lightning, it was him.
My annoyance at this gig was not helped by the state of Axl's voice, unable to reach the higher registers of the early songs; his irritating, frequent runs to his tent to change his T-shirt; the total lack of apparent chemistry between him and the rest of the band (the phrase "contractual obligation" sprang to mind, although I can't complain about how well they played). These were Guns N Roses. They should be immense, not an endurance test, although, with a setlist lasting three hours, I should have known this already.
I know my experience is in the minority. Most people I've spoken to who were there enjoyed the show much more than I did. One Polish girl took great delight in telling me how she'd had a brilliant night with her towel and a £7 bottle of wine watching it for free from the hill overlooking the venue.
I suppose I was warned. They did write a song called "Welcome to The Jungle." I just didn't expect it to be in the Golden Circle.
Ticket Price: £140.70 (Golden Circle) from Ticketmaster. (A fool and his money, and all that)
Setlist
It's So Easy
Bad Obsession
Chinese Democracy
Slither (Velvet Revolver cover)
Pretty Tied Up
Welcome to the Jungle (Link Wray's "Rumble" intro)
Mr. Brownstone
Hard Skool
Double Talkin' Jive
Estranged
Absurd
Live and Let Die (Wings cover)
You Could Be Mine
Down on the Farm (UK Subs cover)
Reckless Life
Rocket Queen
Shadow of Your Love
T.V. Eye (The Stooges cover) (Duff on lead vocals)
Anything Goes
Civil War (Jimi Hendrix's "Voodoo Child" outro, followed by band introductions)
Slash Guitar Solo
Sweet Child o' Mine
November Rain
Wichita Lineman (Jimmy Webb cover)
Walk All Over You (AC/DC cover)
Knockin' on Heaven's Door (Bob Dylan cover)
Nightrain
Encore:
Street of Dreams (The Impressions' "People Get Ready" intro)
Patience
Paradise City
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| Welcome to Axl's tent, baby. |
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| Crappy computer graphics |
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| Can you tell which one was the arsehole? |
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| Their budget didn't stretch to actual pyros or lasers or fireworks, just a massive screen and a stage so wide, they didn't need to get too close to one another |
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| Thank God that's over. Let's get the hell outta here. |
