At a time when celebrities exploit every avenue to pimp their new product – album, movie, perfume… whatever – it's almost refreshing to see a record receive so much attention simply on the basis of the music. Oh sure, there's the 17 years of pent-up demand (or not) for a new Guns N' Roses album, but for all of the slathered ink to be spilled over Chinese Democracy, there's nothing more to do than simply listen to the damned thing. For better and for worse, the music has to speak for itself because Axl Rose shows little sign of wanting to put himself through the pop culture meat grinder. In that way, Rose is the last of a rare breed, and Chinese Democracy may be one of the last "event albums" for an industry in steady decline amidst a highly segmented listener community.
And speaking as a GN'R fan from the old days, I may be dramatically overestimating its impact. But I imagine many active music critics fall roughly into my age demographic, which means that Guns N' Roses is encoded into our collective DNA whether we like it or not. But this is not, of course, my (or your father's) GN'R – it is a rotating cast of musicians employed for the sole purpose of realizing Axl Rose's singular vision, such as it is. Chinese Democracy sounds very much like an album that was labored over for well over a decade. The fleeting moments of musical spontaneity usually come courtesy of Rose's very un-Slash-like guitarists, who manage to squeeze out some memorable lines even if Rose's thumbprint is still evident throughout. One inarguable fact emerges from Chinese Democracy: Axl Rose was always the odd man out in a band that was a essentially a blues metal outfit. Once his childhood friend Izzy Stradlin hit the road, it was pretty obvious, even on Use Your Illusion I & II, that Axl's outsize musical ambitions were competing for space in the band. The most interesting moments on Use Your Illusion do, in fact, portend much of what follows on Chinese Democracy. However, without Izzy and especially Slash, GN'R is a dramatically different vehicle, only tethered to the past by Rose's recognizable wail, not to mention his tortured narcissism.
Perhaps the highest compliment to be paid to Chinese Democracy is that it is rarely boring, even if it is often exhausting. Befitting an album that's been worked over for way too many years, it is dense and tangled, with very little room to breathe. Of course, subtlety was never Rose's long suit anyway, and that approach serves him well more often than not. Memorable pop songs like "Better" get buried under layers of production, but it feels meticulous rather than simply cluttered. "Streets of Dreams" is almost embarrassingly overwrought, but there's no denying its rock-opera majesty. The ballads, for the most part, avail themselves particularly well (a good gauge for how much you'll like Chinese Democracy is to what degree you like "November Rain" and "Estranged" from Use Your Illuision). Here and there, the album feels like a pale specter of GN'R's former greatness, but it mostly sounds distinctive enough to avoid the comparisons altogether (though "Madagascar" features the bizarro return of the Cool Hand Luke dialogue sample).
Whether Chinese Democracy is remembered a decade from now probably depends on whether this is Axl Rose's swan song. There's enough here to suggest that he is capable of another masterpiece, but it's a far cry to suggest this record is it. But Democracy is substantially more than a hollow pop exercise or a cynical comeback attempt. No matter how maddening he often is, Rose should be given credit for following his peculiar muse off the cliff. Though Chinese Democracy is far from a disaster – Rose's talent precludes that outcome – it may ultimately be more fun to write about than actually listen to. Still, how many albums merit that description?
(For further evidence of that last observation, see Ann Powers' review in the LA Times.)