Chinese democracy

http://www.nme.com/news/the-killers/41368

homeboy escribió:

Creo que Borope se esta empezando a flipar mucho.

y lo que falta. Con lso volúmenes dos y tre svoy a ser aún más insoportable.

HomeFi escribió:

http://www.nme.com/news/the-killers/41368

Supongo que habla del #1 de Killers en Uk, no?? Es lo normal. ChiDem no es un disco radiable, ni de coña.

borope escribió:

churro escribió:

una duda me corroe entre este disco y The River con cual hay que quedarse?

Con este. Sin pestañear. Si me hubieses preguntado por Born To Run o Darkness On The Edge of Town me hubieses hecho dudar.

me voy a empezar a cagar en los clavos de cristo. The River es El Disco.

no quería decirlo pero getchoo lo ha clavado lo que pasa es que yo me preocupo cuando coincido en algo con borjaman

The River es un discazo

getchoo escribió:

borope escribió:

churro escribió:

una duda me corroe entre este disco y The River con cual hay que quedarse?

Con este. Sin pestañear. Si me hubieses preguntado por Born To Run o Darkness On The Edge of Town me hubieses hecho dudar.

me voy a empezar a cagar en los clavos de cristo. The River es El Disco.

Sin duda. Pero este es mejor. Punto.

Yo casi lloro esta tarde en el coche con "This I Love" a todo volumen, me ha llegado a lo más hondo. Enorme!!!

El disco acaba muy bien entre "I.R.S.", "This I Love" y "Prostitute".

edito:

rebelión! uno al dia hasta que este hilo muera

Bellamy escribió:

Yo casi lloro esta tarde en el coche con "This I Love" a todo volumen, me ha llegado a lo más hondo. Enorme!!!

El disco acaba muy bien entre "I.R.S.", "This I Love" y "Prostitute".

Estoy de acuerdo...

A mi también me ha gustado, tiene algún temazo que quita el aliento jeje

Borope va a matar a todos los poppies despues de leer esto:

http://jenesaispop.com/2008/12/03/chinese-democracy-decepciona/

"mezcla de travesti y de hooligan"

Porrandalf escribió:

"mezcla de travesti y de hooligan"

Ya...Hay comentarios un tanto jugosos

El Chinese democracy "es una puta mierda".

borope de todas manera ha perdido los papeles con el Chinese Democracy. Es un mamporrero al servicio de Axl. Una pena, el chico tenia clase....

Infieles. Arrepentíos.


By the way.. where the fuck is Axl??? Dando los últimos toques a The General? Preparando ChiDem II & III???

LLevo ya 13 días escuhando el disco incesantemente, y cada vez me parece mejor. El otro día en el tren me puse otro un ratito y lo quité a la segunda canción. Ahora mismo no puedo escuchar otra cosa.

Por cierto, ya tengo el ojo echado a la edición de luxe que va a salir…. Como lleve bandana, Churro se va a cagar.

El viernes en el Low va a ser la segunda vez en 15 días que escucho algo diferente. Estoy por llevarme el iPod al garito, como los geeks.

La ley innata>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Chinese



Un saludo y a disfrutar

borope escribió:

El viernes en el Low va a ser la segunda vez en 15 días que escucho algo diferente. Estoy por llevarme el iPod al garito, como los geeks.

Tío, estas empezando a preocuparme. Tienes gansanrousitis chainisdemocraguda ¡Calmate un poco!

POr cierto, más críticas alabando la obra maestar de la música occidental y oriental:

ROX OFF
Roaring rampage of redemption

Chinese Democracy
Guns N' Roses
Geffen/Black Frog, 2008

By Peter Venkman

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgement. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new.

The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends. These past couple of days, I have experienced something new, some extraordinary music, but from a singularly "old" source. To say that both the music and the performers behind it have challenged my preconceptions about rock n' roll is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core.(*)

If ever there was an album that needed to win friends, it's Chinese Democracy.

To even listen to this album without the collective weight of over a decade of anticipation and hype is almost impossible, and its actual existence is universally predetermined as a letdown. That is until you hear it.

The first Guns N' Roses album of original material since 1993 is the musical equivalent of the Kill Bill movies, but Axl Rose gets to do one up on Quentin Tarantino; his sprawling epic isn't chopped up - it lands as a lean, mean killing machine of hard rock glory.

Imagine the tasty mom and pop scene in Kill Bill Volume Two fragmented by the bloodspattering swordfight centerpiece from Volume One and translate it all to music. Like Tarantinos roaring rampages of cinematic revenge, Democracy evokes genuine emotion beneath the pomp and the circumstance. It's operatic, misanthropic, celebratory, bizarre, electrifying.

The album really exists out of time. Part arty-hearty freakshow, part stylistic melting pot, part diving Hindenburg but it also - amazingly - sounds like a Guns N' Roses record. Clearly the product of a distinctive artistic vision, more compelling than coherent, it offers a roadmap lush with musical depth and originality. This is music with the richness of great fiction.

Nuances are revealed through repeated listens but unlike some of it's peers - Dark Side of the Moon, Physical Graffiti, Queen II, Achtung Baby, OK Computer, Smile and yes, GNR's own brimming Use Your Illusion discs - Democracy never goes down beaten paths but trots out across uncharted territory.

In the end, it's the sum of its parts. Those parts being what constitutes Guns N' Roses today; Paul Tobias, Tommy Stinson, Chris Pitman, Robin Finck, Dizzy Reed and Axl Rose, all of whom have contributed to the songwriting and performances as a band. Others include Buckethead, Ron 'Bumblefoot' Thal, Richard Fortus and drummers Brian 'Brain' Mantia and Frank Ferrer. Characterizing everyone is shrewd technical ability and a more or less indie background. Which is far removed from the mainstream monster that Guns N' Roses had become.

Democracy will therefore sound testy to contemporary ears and it may shock the waiting vampires and Sunset strippers who long for green grass, pretty girls and paradise cities. Not merely a blend of traditional rock sensibilities, punk expressiveness and pop bravado but a damn-the-torpedoes fusion of whatever works and is within radar, it's still experimental without being oblique. Add Rose's snake-dance danger and his penchant for piano-themed hymns and the result is a sonic landscape as far as the eye can see - and ear can hear. The band has toured twice since Rose began serious work on this album around 1997, and have displayed a rare vitality on stage all but missing from rock n' roll today.

Rest assured, the passage of time nor alleged trauma has not eroded the gingerhaired's artistic instincts or vocal capabilities. In fact, Rose sounds positively sane and clearheaded throughout, neither engulfed by rage or fueled by bitter regret. Okay, it's not like he doesn't set the record straight or has softened his attitude. No, no. This is his return, his moment and his answer to, as that old GNR song went, "14 years of silence".

Millions of dollars spent, thousands of headlines later and more than a decade underway, it's hard deciding on what's most surreal: the neverending media spun controversy and personal attacks on Rose - or the silence from the accused. The idiocy displayed by uninformed, unresearched and prejudiced journalists over the years has been mindboggling and warrants some soulsearching.

The reality is, that Democracy is worth getting for one song alone.
Check out the slowburning Sorry, the most evocative and haunting personal reply ever put to music since John Lennon wrote How Do You Sleep? about Paul McCartney. Rose literally takes ex-guitarist Slash apart piece by piece, displaying an emotional and vocal cadence that sucks you in like a tractor beam. "To hell with the pressure, I'm not caving in," recites Rose, finally going public with the cross he'll always carry by keeping the band name. As in: where's Slash?

"Nobody owes you, not one goddamn thing," he sneers to a morphine-slowed kickdrum beat, as the lazy Toni Iommi'sh guitar groove sways. "You close your eyes, all well and good, you tell them stories they'd rather believe, use and confuse them, they're numb and naive," Rose intimately tells everybody's favorite Guitar Hero. The listener is unwillingly catapulted to a state of eavesdropping. Rose then tightens the message and looks his former friend and bandmate in the eye - for a second, echoing emotional rescue - "What were you thinking? Because I don't forget."

That's the crux.

Rose figures he won this war of attrition not because he held out, but because he was always true to himself. Time is of no consequence in his world. The most daunting lyric on the album, also from Sorry, shakes off the flack that's constantly headed in his very direction: "Truth is, the truth hurts, don't you agree?" Ouch.

In that sense, everything on Democracy is counterbalanced by the pathos of Rose - a songwriter, singer and performer who, let's face it, is Jim Morrison's heir. Both were driven by inner demons and genuine spite, both were in direct conflict with their audience and fans. Rose's never-changing battle to remain an auteur in a celebrity world increasingly hostile to such individualists has become a performance in itself. Morrison fled to Paris and he unfortunately never made it back. Rose holed up in his Malibu mansion, went AWOL for seven years and "Axl-sightings" were invented. He has now returned.

So, it's time to listen to the music. And there's a lot of great music here.

The groove oriented Better is an instant classic. Dirty hard rock swagger with rollicking clout and a hook to die for. Easily the catchiest tune the band has made this side of Sweet Child O' Mine. Nobody does it better.

The pounding disco (yes, disco) of Shackler's Revenge ("Don't ever try and tell me how much you care for me,") and the stressful, scream-chorus inferno of Riad N' The Bedouins rivals the best of The Sex Pistols, ELO, Boston and The Who. Dissolved, punchy hard rock with clarity and purpose that bends but never breaks. The guzzling and schizofrenic Scraped is introed by an a-cappella vocal chorale before it runs amok ("Don't you try and stop us now!"). If The World is Miami Vice-sleaze mixed with funky blaxsploitation metal topped off with a scorching Buckethead. Remarkable stuff.

The Beatlesque and happy-go-lucky Catcher in the Rye is beatific, complete with "na-na-na's", in sharp contrast to the abrasive lyrics that encompass both the book, the John Lennon murder, the concept of mortality and what sounds like undertones of anguish, regret and maybe even child abuse. Ron Thal hits the ground running with beehive guitar while the vocals sound like they're whitewater rafting. It's a deceitful, little devil this.

"If I thought that I was crazy, well I guess I'd have more fun, it's what used to be's not there for me," croons an introspective Rose, part Mark David Chapman, part Holden Caulfield, part J.D. Salinger and part estranged rock n' roll icon.

There Was A Time is the monolithic album "halftime show". Almost seismic in its complexity, the melody is never buried, only built upon, layer after layer, "all the way from California.. and your ways around the laws", with chickenplucking guitar by Buckethead, a chanting Axl and a choir of angels to start the party. Old tales of broken relationships along the PCH and deep in to the flickering L.A. night, right down to the broken glass, the cigarettes and snorting coke in a stall. A melodic and lyrical triumph.
As the album draws to a close, everything suddenly stops. Here comes the lugubrious This I Love, probably Rose's finest moment yet.

Written back in 1993, he's been sitting on this baby forever. Allegedly, it's the final chapter to the saga of Don't Cry, November Rain and Estranged, linked together in spirit and story only through their accompanying self-indulgent videos from the early 90s, two of which starred Rose's then girlfriend, Stephanie Seymour. Stripped of anything but the bare essentials, this open wound farewell to Seymour features Rose on piano, in a shattering meltdown of a ramshackle voice, and lavish string-bending sensuality from Finck. "Please God you must believe me, I searched the universe and found myself within her eyes," cries Rose like an air raid horn before B-52s carpetbomb with autographed Blood On The Tracks CDs. Yes, it's enough to make grown men cry and undeniable proof of Rose's prestige. It rubs you raw, leaves you dizzy. Fantastic.

Earlier, the symphonic Street of Dreams actually revisits the Seymour break-up in tantalizing fashion: Rose's fire-siren yelp is here underscored by a Broadway setup of Billy Joel taking a crap at the Honolulu Bar(**). This is a positive. "What I thought was beautiful, don't live inside of you," schreeches Rose before Finck's strangulated blues gothguitar once again wields in and out and all around, sometimes headbutting Stinson's staccato punk bass. The musicianship on this record is unparalleled.

"That's not stardust at my feet, it leaves a taste that's bittersweet, that's called the blues." Melodic to a fault and dramatized to perfection.

But there is not just heartbreak here, there is also a vicious clinging to love's promise and the fight-to-the-death belief in purity of truth. The slow-moving majesty of Madagascar evokes spiritual optimism and sounds like Leonard Cohen, circa The Future, fronting Led Zeppelin at Tiananman Square. A deeply personal tune ("I won' be told anymore, that I've been caught down in this storm, that I lived so far out from the shore, that I can't find my way back anymore") in light of everything the band has been through since the golden days, Madagascar transcends as a universal weltschmertz anthem that offers intellectual musings far removed from mere rock n' roll muscle and pop poetics.

An exercise in consolidation, equity and continuity ("Forgive them that tear down my soul, bless them that they might grow old") the analogy of its title goes hand in hand with ingenious movie sample choices (Braveheart, Se7en, Mississippi Burning, Casualties of War) that are mixed effortlessly with sound bites from Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech. Somewhere, DJ Shadow is smiling.

Rose uses - not his illusions - but allusions as rhetorical weapons, ultimately revealing his convictions and the star by which he sails. It's Elisabeth Drewian at heart. The world is not run by thought, nor by imagination, but by opinion. And that can be a tough place for any self-contained artist that is not for sale.

Again, Rose, now 46, didn't wait this long for his own enjoyment or vanity. To him, the circumstances simply dictated or instituted the wait and/or gestation period. Whatever one might agree or disagree with in this matter - and however one views Rose personally - is of no consequence. Because the music is here and it plays like a roaring rampage of rock n' roll redemption. The best kind.

"Ask yourself, why I would choose, to prostitute myself, to live with fortune and shame," he commands on the album closer, appropriately titled Prostitute, that literally sizzles with evocative piano, fat beats by Brain and sumptuous manifest guitar by Buckethead.

That just may be Democracy's grandest achievement; Rose manages to re-direct all the venom, hatred, frustration and bile back at the instigators. He's encouraging you to find the proof in the pudding yourself. As he tells Slash; "It's harder to live with the truth about you, than to live with the lies about me." So put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Great music will never be denied, and one could therefore say that Axl Rose wins.

In overtime.

Rating: * * * * ½ (4½ out of 5)

Y la de Allmusic , 4 de 5
http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=amg&sql=10:kcftxzwkldje~T1


Review by Stephen Thomas Erlewine
To put Chinese Democracy in some perspective: it arrives 17 years after the twin Use Your Illusion, the last set of original music by Guns N' Roses. Consider that 17 years prior to the Illusions, it was 1974, back before the Ramones and Sex Pistols, back before Aerosmith had Rocks and Toys in the Attic, back before Queen had A Night at the Opera — back before almost anything that Axl Rose worships even existed. Generations have passed in these 17 years, but not for Axl. He cut himself off from the world following the trouble-ridden Use Your Illusion tour, retreating to the Hollywood Hills, swapping every original GNR member in favor of contract players culled from his mid-'90s musical obsessions — Tommy Stinson from the Replacements, Robin Finck from Nine Inch Nails, Buckethead from guitar magazines — as he turned into rock's Charles Foster Kane, a genius in self-imposed exile spending millions to make his own Xanadu, Chinese Democracy.

Like Xanadu, Chinese Democracy is a monument to man's might, but where Kane sought to bring the world underneath his roof, Axl labored to create an ideal version of his inner world, working endlessly on a set of songs about his heartbreak, persecution, and paranoia, topics well mined on the Illusions. Using the pompous ten-minute epics "Estranged" and "November Rain" as his foundation, Axl strips away all remnants of the old, snake-dancing GNR, shedding the black humor and blues, replacing any good times with vindictive spleen in the vein of "You Could Be Mine." All this melodrama and malevolence feels familiar and, surprisingly, so does much of Chinese Democracy, even for those listeners who didn't hear the portions of the record as leaked demos and live tracks. Despite a few surface flourishes — all the endless, evident hours spent on Pro Tools, a hip-hop loop here, a Spanish six-string there, absurd elastic guitar effects — this is an album unconcerned with the future of rock & roll. One listen and it's abundantly clear that Axl spent the decade-plus in the studio not reinventing but refining, obsessing over a handful of tracks, and spending an inordinate amount of time chasing the sound in his head — that's it, no more, no less.

Such maniacal indulgence is ridiculous but strangely understandable: Rose received unlimited time and money to create this album, so why not take full advantage and obsess over every last detail? The odd thing is, he spent all this time and money on an album that is deliberately not a grand masterpiece — a record that pushes limits or digs deep — but merely a set of 14 songs. Compared to the chaotic Use Your Illusion, Chinese Democracy feels strangely modest, but that's because it's a single polished album, not a double album so overstuffed that it duplicates songs. Modest is an odd word for an album a decade-plus in the making, but Axl's intent is oddly simple: he sees GNR not as a gutter-rock band but as a pomp-rock vehicle for him to lash out against all those who don't trust him, whether it's failed friends, lapsed fans, ex-lovers, former managers, fired bandmates, or rock critics. Chinese Democracy is the best articulation of this megalomania as could be possible, so the only thing to quibble about is his execution, which occasionally is perplexing, particularly when Rose slides into hammy vocal inflections or encourages complicated guitar that only guitarists appreciate (it's telling that the only memorable phrases from Robin Finck, Buckethead, or Bumblefoot or whoever are ones that mimic Slash's full-throated melodic growl). Even with these odd flourishes, it's hard not to marvel, either in respect or bewilderment, at the dense, immaculate wall of god knows how many guitars, synthesizers, vocals, and strings.

The production is so dense that it's hard to warm to, but it fits the music. These aren't songs that grab and hold; they're songs that unfold, so much so that Chinese Democracy may seem a little underwhelming upon its first listen. It's not just the years of pent-up anticipation, it's that Axl spent so much time creating the music — constructing the structure and then filling out the frame — that there's no easy way into the album. That, combined with the realization that Axl isn't trying to reinvent GNR, but just finishing what he started on the Illusions, can make Chinese Democracy seem mildly anticlimactic, but Rose spent a decade-plus working on this — he deserves to not have it dismissed on a cursory listen. Give it time, listening like it was 1998 and not 2008, and the album does give up some terrific music — music that is overblown but not overdone.

True, those good moments are the songs that have kicked around the Internet for the entirety of the new millennium: the slinky, spiteful "Better," slowly building into its fury; the quite gorgeous if heavy-handed "Street of Dreams"; "There Was a Time," which overcomes its acronym and lack of chorus on its sheer drama; "Catcher in the Rye," the lightest, brightest moment here; the slow, grinding "I.R.S."; and "Madagascar," a ludicrous rueful rumination that finds space for quotations from Martin Luther King amidst its trip-hop pulse. These aren't innovations; they're extensions of "Breakdown" and "Estranged," epics that require some work to decode because Axl forces the listener to meet him on his own terms. This all-consuming artistic narcissism has become Rose's defining trait, not letting him move forward, but only to relentlessly explore the same territory over and over again. And this solipsism turns Chinese Democracy into something strangely, surprisingly simple: it won't change music, it won't change any lives, it's just 14 more songs about loneliness and persecution. Or as Axl put it in an apology for canceled concerts in 2006, "In the end, it's just an album." And it's a good album, no less and no more.

maroki¨ escribió:

La ley innata>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Chinese



Un saludo y a disfrutar

No te entiendo. ¿¿Una ley es mejor que China?? Posiblemente. Pero no creo que haya leyes innatas como tales según afirmas. En todo caso derechos, pero creo que ni aún así. Esos derechos "innatos" son una percepción, un convencionalismo entre seres humanos. Ningún ser vivo tiene per se, innato, ningún tipo de derecho y mucho menos ley. Vamos, creo yo.