How I survived Guns N’ Roses 1993 gig at Calder Park

BEFORE Guns N’ Roses’ triumphant return to Melbourne tonight, journalist Wayne Flower recalls how he was nearly Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door at their last concert 24 years ago.

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SOAKED in sweat, battered and gasping for air, a stranger handed me a Calippo and told me to hold on.

This was Calder Park and Guns N’ Roses was still hours away from hitting the stage.

Those who attended that epic 1993 gig will never forget the misery that came with it.

Guns N' Roses on stage at Calder Park in 1993. Picture: Peter Ward/HWT archives

It’s become one of those “I was there” tales of survival.

The T-shirt I bought that day still smells from the sweat of 80,000 punters.

I’d just finished year 12 when the Guns came to town and this was to be my first real adventure.

Wayne still owns that T-shirt. Fortunately, he doesn’t wear it to work.

My mum scored the Special A Reserve tickets from BASS over the phone and we would accept nothing other than a front row spot.

Hundreds of others had the same idea and rocked up at the Thunderdome the night before.

We slept the night in my brother’s Gemini after watching the Choirboys do a set in the carpark.

The decision to drive would later save us from the public transport nightmare that ensued.

When the sun rose the following morning, it was hot. Blazing hot.

But in a greedy and mean spirited decision of madness, security were ordered to confiscate all water and food carried in by punters.

As we rushed through the gates, a guard could be heard over the loud speakers demanding “the bloke in the black T-shirt” to stop running.

Madness.

Pushed up against the fence at the front of the caged area of A-reserve, we waited. Then waited some more.

Slash and Duff McKagan would eventually make the stage at Calder Park in 1993. Picture: Peter Ward/HWT Archives

“Check. Check. One, two,” the bloke on stage repeated. He seemed to test those microphones for ever.

I wanted to shove one in him where the sun didn’t shine.

First on stage was a Sydney band called Pearls and Swine. I’d never heard of them and couldn’t care less.

It was the Guns we’d all come to see.

One of Wayne’s posters from the 1993 concert, lovingly preserved.

I’d had posters of the band all over my walls and had read every article about them I could get my hands on.

It’s hard to describe to kids these days how exciting this gig was.

It was huge. A media spectacle.

Do gooders tried to get them banned before they even set foot in the country.

Guns were wild, unapologetic and absolutely falling apart at the seams.

By the time Rose Tattoo hit the stage we were already in dire straits.

It was cooking and we couldn’t get any water.

Angry Anderson broke my cousin’s finger when he desperately tried to catch a bottle.

We had to tape his fingers up with the wrist bands they’d given us.

Guards spraying the front of the crowd with hoses was like nectar from the gods.

The crowd turned feral, looting sea freight containers full of precious liquids.

Then Skid Row hit the stage. This band was in its prime and sapped what little energy the crowd had left in them.

I can honestly say I remember more of the Skid Row set than Guns N’ Roses.

Guns N’ Roses arrive at Melbourne Airport in 1993. Picture: HWT archives

The crowd surged, pushing the life out of those crazy enough to perch themselves at the front of that sea of sweaty bodies.

With their charismatic front man Sebastian Bach dacked on stage, the surge subsided.

Gunners would be on next, but we were so stuffed we could barely stand.

Guitarist Slash prepares for a lap of Calder Park before the Guns N’ Roses concert while a young Wayne Flower struggles to survive in the surging pit. Picture: Peter Ward/HWT archives

Then, like something out of a biblical tale, the sky turned grey and the winds whipped up.

Amplifiers chained to the top of the stage started to swing out over the crowd.

The skies opened with not an umbrella in sight — they’d been banned.

Steam poured off the baked crowd as organisers went into a panic.

Axl Rose had no regard, a young Wayne believed. Picture: HWT Archives

The call went over the load speakers that the gig might need to be abandoned and the venue evacuated.

We’d suffered too long for it to end like this.

A call was made to riot, and I think every soaked soul meant it.

Guns N’ Roses gigs were notorious for riots in those days. People had died.

The wind died down and the show went on.

Eventually, anyway.

Axl had no regard for his fans in the early 90s and Calder was no different.

When Guns hit the stage I was pretty much defeated.

They still seemed to play forever, but I was happy when the fireworks went off and we could go home.

From memory, I can recall being disappointed with the set list.

Too many ballads and not enough Appetite.

Cleanevent's Paul Barrett on the rake cleaning up Wayne’s mess. Picture: Rob Baird/HWT Archives

With the Gemini in the Thunderdome, we slowly drove through the crowd to freedom.

We were among the fortunate ones.

With practically zero public transport, people were still getting home at sunrise.

Calder Park would never hold a concert again.

The aftermath. Picture: Rob Baird/HWT Archives

Good riddance.

When Guns hit the stage on Tuesday, I’ll note the brave souls wearing that familiar, sweat soaked T-shirt they bought at Calder.

We’ll nod and smile. We were there. We survived.