Guns N’ Roses thrills those who stuck out late-ending show

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There was a time when Axl Rose was petulance in biker shorts, Spandex smothered pique, flaunting his churlishness right along with his bulge.

Ever see what happens when you mix vinegar with baking soda? (Try it. We’ll wait).

That frothy, volatile mess currently bubbling on your kitchen floor encapsulates the Guns N’ Roses frontman’s past interactions with ex-bandmates, assorted fans, rock journalists and polite society in general.

He was like a Fourth of July fireworks display: exciting and explosive from afar, but dangerous if you got too close to the source of the action.

Since then, Rose has blossomed into something else.

These days, he mugs for the same fan cameras that he once lunged at.

Just last month, the mercurial singer did his first live TV interview in 20 years on "Jimmy Kimmel Live!"

He was all smiles then and on Friday night at The Joint at the Hard Rock Hotel, where Guns N’ Roses performed the second show of their 12-concert residency at the venue, which runs through Nov. 24.

Rose frequently sported a grin almost as bright as the mass of glimmering crucifixes dangling from his neck and even joked about his notorious tardiness.

"Always prepared; never ready," he quipped toward the end of the three-hour show, which began at 11:40 p.m. and spanned more than two dozen songs.

An elaborate show production featured enough heat-radiating sparks and flames to make Satan’s brow damp with sweat, lighting trusses that descended from the rafters and scantily clad dancers wagging their backsides at the crowd.

Two large risers jutted out and over the crowd on either side of the stage, meant to provide a more up-close and personal encounter with a rocker once known for greatly valuing his space.

During the climactic ballad "November Rain," Rose played piano on a platform suspended from the ceiling, hovering mere feet above the audience below.

The show followed the same rough outline as Guns N’ Roses’ last stop in town, during New Year’s Eve weekend 2011, with an identical opening suite ("Chinese Democracy," "Welcome to the Jungle," "Mr. Brownstone," "It’s So Easy") and encore ("Madagascar," "Patience," Paradise City.")

But there were some twists, like a feral "Out Ta Get Me," which the band plays only sporadically these days and performed for the first time this year on Friday, the early era "Used to Love Her," and a slow-simmering cover of Neil Young’s "Don’t Let It Bring You Down."

Mostly, though, this performance was about reveling in the ethos that defines the city in which it took place: more is always more, bigger is always better.

It can be a dangerous instinct for a rock band to possess, and Guns N’ Roses was almost done in by the band’s preoccupation with excess, both of the chemical and musical variety, more than 15 years ago (some detractors argue that’s exactly what did happen, as only Rose remains from the line up that recorded the band’s seminal debut, "Appetite for Destruction").

But GN’R’s current incarnation is well-configured to match all the visual ostentation with that of the rock ‘n’ roll variety.

A trio of guitarists added even more heft, bombast and showmanship to songs that were hardly sinewy and understated to begin with.

"You Could Be Mine," delivered with the forcefulness of a home invader kicking in your front door, opened with all three swapping leads before the song’s signature riff even kicked in.

Their songs were like battleships: massive, menacing hunks of metal with booming pyrotechnics approximating cannon fire.

It was some seriously self-indulgent stuff, and as the show went on, the crowd thinned considerably, some audience member undoubtedly put off by all the between-song jams and what seemed like an endless number of solo turns from just about every member of the band.

This bunch didn’t just play "Patience," they demanded it, especially when Rose somehow botched the lyrics to "Sweet Child O’ Mine" and had to repeat a verse.

But those who stuck it out until the end seemed elated to do so.

It would be hard to imagine a show with more high-fiving going on among crowd members, with dudes slapping palms with one another like they had just bedded an entire cheerleader squad.

The good will was echoed onstage, where a beaming Rose, bounding to and fro, spinning himself in circles, seemed prickle-free.

"I’ll never learn," he howled during a suitably locomotive "Nightrain," but this show suggested otherwise.

Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0476.