So, I have a potentially embarrassing not-really secret to share: Guns n’ Roses is my favorite band. Forever and always. My love for the fabulously teased-haired quintet will be undying.
Now, before you go judging me for adoring such an annoying band and genre, let me explain myself.
I don’t love this grungy group of men for their soulful lyrics — “Take me down to the Paradise City, where the girls are fat and they’ve got big titties” was an original line in the chorus of “Paradise City,” after all. I love them because they make me happy.
Whenever I’m having a bad day, if I hear just a few seconds of anything off “Appetite for Destruction,” I’m in a better mood. My friends know I’ll bounce around for a solid six minutes if they play any Gn’R song at a party. It’s just the way it is.
And really, isn’t that what a favorite band should be all about? Happiness?
Someone made me a copy of “Appetite” in high school and it was the only thing I listened to for months. It’s been the most played CD in my car for years — enough that my mom even sings along to the words Axl Rose screeches.
I have a poster of Slash that’s hung above my bed since I’ve come to college. It’s a classy up-the-crotch angle of him playing at a concert. My dad sat on it when I moved into my room freshman year, and ever since then, my mom’s treated it like a prized possession on move-in days.
It’s safe to say Guns n’ Roses has become a sacred thing in my heart, and everyone who knows me has accepted it.
Now, I’m a horrible excuse for an English major, and I don’t pay attention to lyrics when I listen to music. All I hear is the sound, which is how I’m able to say my favorite songs are ones about heroin, alcohol and sex — sometimes all at once.
But even if I did love “Rocket Queen” because of the sexual undertones — “If you turn me onto anything, you better turn me on tonight” or Axl literally having sex with a woman in the recording studio about halfway through the song — who cares?
Seriously. Who cares what anyone says or thinks about what you like?
I’ve gotten into plenty of arguments about how horrible of a band Gn’R is, how all they produce is noise, etc. But I just don’t care.
So here’s the moral of my story: like what you like. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.
There’s no point in liking something because it’s cool or because it’s the hip thing. If it doesn’t make you happy, don’t put up with it.
And if it just so happens that you loathe Guns n’ Roses, well, more power to you. I’ll be off in my own Paradise City.
This column was originally published in the Oct. 19, 2012, issue of The Daily Eastern News. I had a conversation with a friend who said something along the lines of, “You’re the only person I know who legitimately likes Guns n’ Roses.” About five minutes later I was asked to write a column, and this is what happened.