We were two lead-guitar players going at the songs on opposite sides of the stage and it was overbearing. I was used to working with and playing off of a more low-key rhythm player. If Zakk and I were to do this, it would be a whole new trip… more like Judas Priest or something. Even he felt that the concept was wrong.
“That was cool,” I told him after jamming for a bit. “It was different.”
“Listen, man,” he said. “That was all right. We could get this thing together, fuck it, that’s cool. But you and Axl have to get the fuckin’
It was all about Axl wanting control to the point that the rest of us were strangled.
BY THEN ALL “BAND” DECISIONS WERE being made by Axl and Doug Goldstein. Duff and I and the other members were informed of what they’d decided by phone calls and faxes—Guns N’ Roses had officially become a dictatorship. The reality of what was happening was overwhelming; it was like quicksand. I couldn’t get any leverage in any direction to pull myself out of it. What we were supposed to be doing was simple: hire a new guitar player and make a new album. But the whole process was dictated by Axl, and although I know he wanted input from me, I was suffocated by the tension and I couldn’t think straight. I think at the end of the day it was a power struggle between him and me, with him wanting to control everything and me wanting to keep it more of a group effort. Oftentimes the public perception centered on Axl and me as the core of Guns N’ Roses, and I think Axl agreed, but the success GN’R had garnered up until that point was the result of five guys working together, where nobody was more important than anyone else as far as I was concerned. But that idea was becoming ancient history and it didn’t seem like there was anything I could do about it.
Even though I’d seen this coming for so long, when the reality stared me in the face, I still refused to believe that it was true. One of the things that had brought the five of us together in the first place was the fact that we would not be bossed around; based on that alone, we’d always had one another’s backs. Axl had always been a part of that team—at least in spirit when he wasn’t there in person. In our heart of hearts, even when he was being weird, the rest of us knew that he was part of the collective. Now, all of a sudden, he wasn’t. As much as we might have ignored it before this point, he’d made it pretty clear that we were “his” band and that he intended to tweak and torture us as he saw fit, and keep us at his beck and call. It seemed like he believed we’d welcome that opportunity.
For the time being, we all hung around, and in our ample downtime we all talked shit. It was so negative. After a while, I could barely show up because the animosity became crippling. We’d spend each night in the studio maybe writing music or jamming… most nights we’d sit around frustrated, waiting to see if Axl would show—which he did, usually after most of us had left for the night—all under the guise that we were writing music for the next Guns record. On top of it all, a new contract issue further disrupted an already volatile situation.
This time it was directed at Duff and me—the only two remaining original members of Guns N’ Roses. And it was very strategically presented: the contract stated that Axl would retain rights to the band name and was allowed to start a new band that he could call Guns N’ Roses. Of course Duff and I could be members… but only on his terms, which felt to us like we were being defined as hired hands. Axl had hired an attorney to push this through, so Duff and I did as well, and the three of them started haggling, having those attorney fests that do nothing but cost their clients money. Doug Goldstein was also there helping “facilitate” the whole thing.
That situation chipped away at the stone that is me; my patience, my dedication, my determination—all of it finally began to give way. It’s been the focus of so much speculation: What actually did Guns N’ Roses in? Was it artistic differences? Was it Slash’s ego? Was it Axl’s attitude? It was all about Axl wanting control to the point that the rest of us were strangled.
I didn’t really know what else to do after Axl sent a letter on August 31, 1995, saying that he was leaving the band and taking the name with him under the terms of the contract. After that we tried to put it back together. He pushed this contract issue on us with so much pressure to the point that Duff and I just gave in. We signed some document that we’d agreed to have put in escrow for a certain amount of time to see if we could work things out. But if we didn’t agree to put the terms into effect by a certain point, the contract would be null and void, so I signed it and let it go. I just wanted to move forward if we had anywhere left to go together.
Needless to say, my trust in Axl was gone. That entire contract situation was the antithesis of Guns N’ Roses in my mind. I was forced into a secondary role, while Axl was now officially at the helm if I officially let the escrowed contract become effective. One time he called me for a private meeting at his favorite Italian restaurant in Brentwood. I showed up and he wasn’t there, so I sat at the bar waiting for him. After he arrived, we moved and sat in the back in a dark booth as if we were in the Mafia. As far as I can remember, the meeting was basically an attempt to coerce me into accepting the arrangement he and his lawyers were pushing, but in a lot less heavy- handed manner. Axl treated the situation as if he and I were the two most important factors in this whole thing. He tried to convince me that it was all good, that it was something he and I were doing as partners.
At that point, he was trying to draw me into his world, to show me his version of things in his way, which is a very nice way, but I just didn’t go for it. I sat there and listened, not giving too much feedback. There was too much tension and too many unaddressed issues. It became increasingly obvious to me that there was nothing I was going to say that was going to change his mind. And he already knew how I felt. He and I continued this way until it all boiled over later.
It had become no fun. It had become depressing. It was almost amazing to me that this band had taken such a turn; we, the band, had allowed Axl the freedom, over all those years, to transform what we had into some morbid reality that existed only in his head.
There were another couple meetings like that in Doug Goldstein’s office. Then, of course, there were endless meetings with the attorneys going over and over this thing. It was exhausting. I couldn’t even understand what the fuck I was doing there. No matter what we might eventually put out as far as a record was concerned, none of this was worth it.
THE STONES WERE IN TOWN DURING this period; they were staying at the Sunset Marquis and recording at Don Was’s house, working on
One particular evening, after they were done for the day, I went back to Ronnie’s hotel room and hung out for a while. He asked me if I knew Keith. I said I didn’t, and had never met him one-on-one, so he took me over to his room, introduced us, and left me there. It was dark, with some old blues playing on the stereo. The one lamp that was lit dimly illuminated Keith’s face with this sort of creepy glow as he sat on the couch. I sat in a chair by the coffee table while he sized me up. He talked for a few minutes, then suddenly pulled out a butterfly knife and flipped it around a few times to show me who’s boss. He slammed it down on the table between us.
“Um… Okay,” I said.
Later that night we went to dinner at Chasen’s. Keith and I stood at the bar, talking about dope and jail, and I could tell that he was just putting up with me by that point. I’d been at the studio rehearsing all day, so when the conversation swung around to my band, I let it all out.
Keith took it all in, and then looked me deep in the eye. “
I knew where he was coming from; if you never leave, no matter what they say, you were
