October 28, 2006

And if I stared too long, I'd probably break down and cry...

Posted by Miss Jaime at Saturday, October 28, 2006

A lot of rock bands are too fucking wimpy to have any sentiment or any emotion....unless they're in pain -- Axl Rose.

Before he lost his mind and balls, Axl was actually a pretty passionate cat. A screaming serpentine slithering onstage under spotlights, a wild-haired, wild-eyed wildcat who wailed and warbled wicked vocals.

Writing about pain is easy. It provides a fantastic catharsis. Pissed off at your girlfriend/boyfriend/parents/boss/school/world? Tell them to fuck off and play in G....loud.

When coursing through the human body, pain is amplified. Being dumped is the worst pain the world. Nothing compares to it -- no gunshot wounds, no purple-black bruises worn like tattoos, no broken limbs. No-one in the history of human pain has experienced more rage, more grief, more heart-mutilating sorrow, more emotional anguish than you do at the moment your significant other decides they don't want you around anymore.

You cry -- sobbing heavily into tangled sheets until your eyes are raw and red-rimmed. You scream. You pout. You mope. You might even resort to physical violence and kick the shit out of that bookcase which you swear was laughing at the pathetic loser you've become.

Then, you pick up a pen.....

And proceed to purge all the pain and misery you've been self-indulgently wallowing in for the past week/month/year/decade.

You seethe and you compare your ex to vicious, disgusting beasts and various parts of the human anatomy. And you feel better. Not entirely because a little residual ache remains, but for the most part -- you are sated.

Easy as 1-2-3.

Writing about anything not shackled and bound by pain? Tough.

Not just tough, but blood-from-a-fuckin'-stone burdensome.

How do you write a real love song, anyway? An honest one devoid of saccarine promises -- sweet, but ultimately artificial -- and fantastic claims? A song that isn't trite. A song that hasn't been cribbed from an amalgamation of a lukewarm boy-band ballad and a Hallmark commercial?

If you're Axl Rose, you write Sweet Child O' Mine.

It's a simple song and that is part of its genius. All a real love song needs to do is the same thing real love needs to do:

Connect.

Sweet Child O' Mine connects on the most basic level with even making mention of the word, "love." Instead of promising Erin Everly the heavens, Axl tells the truth. Being in love is wonderful and beautiful and hopeful...and, ultimately very, very scary. "Yeah, we're in love and it's amazing, but where do we go now?" That vulnerability helps define Sweet Child O' Mine as a real love song.

Love isn't giving someone the moon or promising them the stars. It isn't champagne, starlight and red roses. It's isn't pretty, placating perjury. At the end of the day -- love is about being completely honest in a way that you yourself might be scared to hear.

Despite the fact that Rose and Everly had their marriage annulled a year after they wed, despite the God-awful Sheryl Crow cover, despite the fact that Axl Rose ruined Axl Rose for me [Cornrow-sporting, Slash-insulting, date-cancelling, egomaniacal, Kanye-West-lookin' motherfucker. Fuck you, Axl. You didn't burn out and you didn't fade away. You just ended up becoming a tool. I may forgive you for the Chinese Democracy debacle, but you effectively ruined Axl Rose for me and I'll never forgive you for that.] -- I still love this song and honestly believe in it. It's a honest testament to love and...well, when was the last time you heard one of those that sounded that good?


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