The most immediately startling thing about Guns N’ Roses’ headlining set is how polite Axl Rose is. He’s the famously unpredictable frontman of a band who, in their late 80s heyday, oozed druggy negativity: their debut album Appetite for Destruction painted such a relentlessly grim and grimy picture of life in Los Angeles that Justin Quirk’s brilliant history of 80s metal Nothin’ But a Good Time posits the theory that its release, rather than the arrival of Nirvana, spelled the end of the hair metal era and irreparably punctured its facade of sleazy glamour. Now, in his 60s, he’s turned into a surprisingly well mannered character. “We’d like to thank you for inviting us,” he offers. “Have you had a good day? Glad to hear it.”
