Live Review: Slash feat. Myles Kennedy & The Conspirators, Rose Tattoo

As we chat in the bar queue with a father who has brought his two young sons to see Slash (their first concert), familiar booming riffs threaten to blow the doors out. But it's only 8.55pm and the guitar virtuoso isn't scheduled to start until 9pm! Punters duck under ropes and scurry inside the venue, accompanied by set opener Halo (not a Beyoncé cover). As Nightrain thunders through the arena, we hurry to locate our seats and there's a jacket and bag on seat 316 of the Lower E section. “Um, excuse me. Is that seat number 316?” Much eye rolling followed by extremely slow-mo removal of items – WTF!? Actually, double WTF: why is everyone sitting down motionless anyway? 

A massive banner features album artwork from the latest release by Slash Feat Myles Kennedy & The Conspirators, Apocalyptic Love, book-ended by a couple of big-breasted devil vixens silhouetted in red against the black backdrop. Some randy bitches race down to a row of empty seats in the front of the lower section, so that no one's seated view will be obscured, to gyrate wildly. One temptress sports a tight, white satin négligée that wouldn't look out of place in Van Halen's Hot For Teacher video. We follow their lead to similarly get our groove on and are rewarded by the meandering riffage of Mr Brownstone – you can't help but dance like a stripper to that one. The Conspirators are spot on, Kennedy's vocals are perfection and Slash's upper arms are the size of your average thigh.

It's a bit sad to see curtained off sections in this venue to mask unsold seating and there are no giant screens to magnify this living legend's fingering. Even more disappointing is the lack of crowd participation, it's as if all in attendance have simply relocated their sorry, hungover arses from living room couches to plastic stadium seats. Bassist Todd Kerns sings Doctor Alibi in lieu of Lemmy Kilmister, who took the mic for this track from Slash's debut solo album. It's certainly the remedy and shows there's plenty left in Slash's riff tank. Kerns also slays You're Crazy, proving to be just as much the bona fide rockstar as Kennedy or Slash. The guitarist's natural habitat is stage left and he generously lets his henchmen share centre stage. Love Theme From The Godfather (Speak Softly Love) is always a highlight in Slash's live set. The extended guitar solo demonstrates the incomparable prowess Slash has honed throughout his career of great longevity. No one else could pull this off and his phalanges must be insured for more than J-Lo's bootie.

We're introduced to the band and Slash is so gracious: “You're too kind. Enough about me, let's talk about Myles motherfucking Kennedy! That's this guy.” Enter Sweet Child Of Mine's twisted carni riff and a collective roar goes up. An intoxicated dad brings his pre-pubescent son over to our thrash circle for some kind of rock'n'roll initiation and practically forces him to dance with the wayward wenches. When he instructs junior to come over for hugs at the end of the show, living vicariously becomes downright creepy. Kennedy injects much vitriol into You're A Lie, demonstrating a raspier edge to his vocal. As the band leave the stage, finally a reaction from the crowd. Enough to earn us an encore.

Angry Anderson is invited onstage and embodies rock'n'roll despite his diminutive stature. He's even shorter than Slash, who has now dispensed with his tank top to flaunt an impressive rig for someone pushing 50. Rose Tattoo's Nice Boys (“…don't play rock'n'roll”) is a genius addition and Slash is noticeably stoked to be sharing a stage with the pocket rocket, admitting afterwards: “I'm sure you guys can imagine what a fucking honour that is.” We're then railroaded express to Paradise City and wouldn't wish to be anywhere else. Could swear they're substituting lyrics, instead singing, “…and the girls are slutty”! (Fun fact: Slash's original lyrical suggestion for this track was, “Where the girls are fat and they've got big titties”.) Glitter confetti rains from the ceiling as arms punch skyward, punctuating the beat and Slash shows off, playing his Les Paul behind his neck. Just under two hours has never flown by so fast and although we belt out, “Take! Me! Hoooooome!” we'd prefer to remain in the presence of Slash. Always.