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Here is the review from this weeks Kerrang!
(had to type it as there is not a scanner at work)
AXL ROSE AND OTHERS (o marks)
"Taking a gargantuan but admitedly systematic two hour and 25 minute shit on the memory of one of the greatest rock'n'roll bands of all time. It begins punctually. The echoing, opening riff of 'Welcome to the Jungle' is welcomed by rabid cheers and bellows like, "Where the fuck is Slash" and "You Fat Bastard". It's doubtful that many here really beleive this high-budget cabaret is really guns n roses.
And it's hard to be offended by pub band run throughs of "live and let die" and "knocking on heavens door". But the band fucking about with low-volume porn-music jams between every song simultaneously extneds and robs this set of any momentum. And when Axl Rose disapeers for a full 10 minutes after "Sweet Child o mine" citing 'technical difficulties' - a gap filled with some guitar-shop squawking from Bumblefoot- it becomes clear this isn't even a real band. The moment where a hired hand threatens to leave the stage if another bottle of piss is launched onstage is hilarious. Only bettered by a heckler who tells him to "fuck off then". The appearece of ex-Skid Row belter Sebastian Bach provides some curious distraction. But for all the money flaunting pyros and insincere back-slapping it's impossible not to recall just how monstrously cool the real Guns n Roses must have been in their prime. they weren't the clusterfuck of professional muscians and one commercially-minded opportunist onstage right now, because this isn't even rock n roll. It's commercially driven geriatric nostalgia, and judging by the queues of traffic already leaving the site, it can't end a moment too soon."
(had to type it as there is not a scanner at work)
AXL ROSE AND OTHERS (o marks)
"Taking a gargantuan but admitedly systematic two hour and 25 minute shit on the memory of one of the greatest rock'n'roll bands of all time. It begins punctually. The echoing, opening riff of 'Welcome to the Jungle' is welcomed by rabid cheers and bellows like, "Where the fuck is Slash" and "You Fat Bastard". It's doubtful that many here really beleive this high-budget cabaret is really guns n roses.
And it's hard to be offended by pub band run throughs of "live and let die" and "knocking on heavens door". But the band fucking about with low-volume porn-music jams between every song simultaneously extneds and robs this set of any momentum. And when Axl Rose disapeers for a full 10 minutes after "Sweet Child o mine" citing 'technical difficulties' - a gap filled with some guitar-shop squawking from Bumblefoot- it becomes clear this isn't even a real band. The moment where a hired hand threatens to leave the stage if another bottle of piss is launched onstage is hilarious. Only bettered by a heckler who tells him to "fuck off then". The appearece of ex-Skid Row belter Sebastian Bach provides some curious distraction. But for all the money flaunting pyros and insincere back-slapping it's impossible not to recall just how monstrously cool the real Guns n Roses must have been in their prime. they weren't the clusterfuck of professional muscians and one commercially-minded opportunist onstage right now, because this isn't even rock n roll. It's commercially driven geriatric nostalgia, and judging by the queues of traffic already leaving the site, it can't end a moment too soon."
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