The most iconic guitarist of the past 20 years, Saul Hudson was only a boy when a family friend gave him his distinctive nickname, foreshadowing the single-name recognition that often comes with fame. He was a boy, too, when he got his first guitar—a Les Paul copy that spurred his lifelong affinity for the Gibson classic. And it was 1988 when Slash ordered the two Gibson Les Paul Standards that he would carry with him for years thereafter, most memorably on Guns N’ Roses’ tour to support
Appetite for Destruction. Those were the guitars on which Slash mastered the guitar as few rockers have, and now 20 years later, he has teamed with Gibson to release a fleet of signature guitars: the Gibson USA Slash Signature Les Paul Standard, the Gibson Custom
Inspired By Slash Les Paul Standard Vintage Original Spec, and the Epiphone Slash Signature Les Paul Standard Plus Top.
Slash’s signature Gibsons are a powerful tribute to a man who has continued to earn his esteemed position among guitarists. The story of how he achieved his guitar hero status, told here, pairs seemingly insurmountable odds with Slash’s unflinching dedication and sheer genius.
SLASH'S EARLY YEARS
It took Slash a decade of practice and experience to reach the pinnacle of his craft, but it took just one song, Guns N’ Roses’ chart-capping hit “Sweet Child o’ Mine,” to make him the most imitated musician of the ’80s. His melodic introduction—a rippling rhapsody of gracefully picked single notes—fired the imaginations of players everywhere. Soon, the must-learn riff could be heard across America—both an acid test for acolytes seeking to master the six-string and a testament to the newly emerged legend. It was the kind of signature riff that players would die for, but Slash made it look effortless.
For those who never caught any of Guns N’ Roses’ legendary early shows along Hollywood’s Sunset Strip, Slash seemingly sprang from nowhere when the now-classic Appetite for Destruction was released in 1987. But the then-22-year old had been on the periphery of show business much of his life. His parents were clothing designers. His mother, an African-American, made stage costumes for David Bowie; his father, a Jewish Londoner, fashioned threads worn by Neil Young and Joni Mitchell.
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Slash was born on July 23, 1965 in London’s Hampstead suburb and lived in England until he was 11, when he moved to Los Angeles with his mother. In the States he fell under the spell of nasty ol’ rock and roll at age 14 while listening to Aerosmith’s Rocks— guitar workouts which featured gritty, sex-charged “Back in the Saddle” and “Last Child” —at a friend’s house. (Just nine years later Guns N’ Roses’ opening stint on Aerosmith’s Permanent Vacation tour would help propel them to superstardom.)
Learning to play, Slash fell in love with the music of AC/DC, Alice Cooper, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, Jeff Beck, Rory Gallagher, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, Queen, the Rolling Stones, Thin Lizzy, and Van Halen—any tough-as-nails hard rock with ballsy guitars. He was a champion BMX bike rider, but he quickly abandoned two wheels for six strings. Given a Memphis Les Paul copy, he was soon picking out melodies, spending a dozen hours a day learning riffs from records.
School seemed like an obstacle between Slash and his ambitions, so he quit. The scene in the clubs and on the street along the Sunset Strip became his new classroom. As he practiced and auditioned for bands, the earliest glimmer of the band that would propel him to legend status began to emerge.
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The details of Guns N’ Roses’ lineage vary from source to source, but Slash and drummer Steven Adler were the cornerstones. As legend has it, the longtime friends put together their group Road Crew after they both failed auditions for Poison, the hair metal outfit of “Talk Dirty to Me” fame. Road Crew veered from the glam rock that was prevalent on the Strip in favor of a harder blues-based sound. They were soon joined by bassist Duff McKagan, a veteran of the Seattle punk scene.
It was an early incarnation of the instrumental core of Guns N’ Roses but, in trend-conscious L.A., Road Crew’s distinctive sound made it hard for them to get gigs. They broke up and Slash joined local outfit Black Sheep. It was then that he met his future lead singer Axl Rose. Black Sheep and Axl’s band, Hollywood Rose, shared a bill opening for Christian metallurgists Stryper. Slash and Axl quickly became pals.
A few months later Rose was forming the first group to carry the Guns N’ Roses name, a partnership with L.A. Guns guitarist Tracii Guns. At about the same time Slash put a call out to McKagan and Adler to form a new band.
There are plenty of accounts of what happened next, but they all seem to boil down to Tracii Guns not showing up for several gigs and Rose asking Slash and McKagan to fill in. When Rose also invited former Hollywood Rose six-stringer Izzy Stradlin to the fold, the results were spectacular—shows so energetic, loud, and musically commanding that Guns N’ Roses became a lightning rod for the denizens of L.A.’s metal underground.
DAYS OF GUNS N' ROSES
From the beginning it was clear that Guns N’ Roses had two frontmen. Slash’s guitar playing was every bit as distinctive a voice as Axl’s howling rasp. In their first years together, they were nothing less than the Page and Plant of a new generation. Nevertheless, the odds against the birth of Appetite for Destruction were stacked against them.
When Guns N’ Roses first began playing together, every member was in what could politely be called “personal disarray.” Yet somehow, through the strength of their music and their on-stage fire, they’d managed to build a legacy in the year since their first L.A. show in 1985 drew two people. Twelve months after their debut they were the darlings of Sunset Strip—plus a coterie of dealers, hustlers, and porn queens—and being scouted by the major labels.
Rose and Stradlin, who were friends in their hometown of Lafayette, Indiana, where both were known by their given names—Bill Bailey and Jeffrey Isbell—had found a small one-room apartment in an alley behind a guitar shop off the Strip. As the band congealed, the other members moved in too. Guns N’ Roses became an X-rated version of the Monkees. They rehearsed in the cockroach-infested dump, carving out enough space to practice thanks to a loft that slept three that they’d built with stolen lumber. As the legend goes, they usually had just enough money for cheap booze, often the industrial strength wines Night Train and Thunderbird.
Stradlin and Slash have both described the place as an utter sty, with piles of dirty clothes, fast food containers, and empty liquor bottles lining the walls. When they threw parties or brought home company for the night, they’d ransack handbags for cash. Going to Denny’s for gravy and biscuits was as fancy as things occasionally got when they were away from the on-stage fireworks.
That’s the scene Geffen Record talent scout Tom Zutaut walked into when he began courting the band after catching them in 1986 at the Troubadour. He was it out as he pitched mainly Rose while other labels hovered around.
Zutaut’s tactic worked and Guns N’ Roses signed and scored a $75,000 advance from Geffen. It was promptly squandered on drugs, liquor, and clothes, and things went downhill from there.
The band eventually moved into a larger space—a funky two-story house in West Hollywood that became a nucleus for groupies, dealers, and an assortment of California’s less savory characters. Also the cops, who occasionally raided their raucou so awed by the performance that he threw other artist and repertoire executives off the scent by stalking out after four songs, loudly proclaiming that Guns N’ Roses sucked, then sweatings parties and searched for drugs.
They managed to strip its interiors down to the bare walls and, in some places, the 2x4 studs. One night, when they locked themselves out, they heaved a brick through a window to gain entry and tried to tell the landlord it was a burglar. The double-decker quickly became a pit and was dubbed Hellhouse by the scenesters who hung out there. The squalor that had reigned in their previous pad returned in full, with one exception—a padlocked room kept neat as a pin by its occupier, Axl Rose. It was an oasis where the songwriter could retreat.
