Without you del james pdf Continue MTV celebrates an important moment in its history this week: 17 years ago, Guns N' Roses November Rain Premiered at Headbangers Ball. Since the video fell in 1992, much has changed: Axl Rose hired and fired dozens of members of the band (finally releasing a long-awaited Chinese democracy last year), and Slash went from solo artist to axe Velvet Revolver. One thing hasn't changed, though: The November rain is still as inexplicable as it was when it first aired on MTV. If you haven't seen it, take the time to enjoy all the 9 minutes of Magnum Axl opus, then check out all the things you may have missed about it. show'null-video18197 November Rain was directed by a gentleman named Andy Morahan, whose resume includes two other clips of Guns (Don't Cry and Estranged), lots of videos for other artists (Michael Jackson Give Me, George Michael Faith, Brian Adams (Everything I Do) I Do It for You and Van Halen Poundcake) and the feature film Highlander III: The Sorcerer. He is currently in production on a project called The Spy of God, whose plot summary goes like this: a Jesuit priest working undercover as a Wall Street trader becomes caught up in a political and financial conspiracy involving the Vatican Bank, the CIA, the Mafia and the Masonic Lodge P2. Several casting notes: Axl's wife plays Stephanie Seymour, a model who has made a name for herself posing for Sports Illustrated, Playboy and Victoria's Secret catalog. Seymour was Rose's actual girlfriend at the time (he claims they were engaged, she denies), but they broke up in 1993 when Axl accused Seymour of cheating on him (they also accused each other of domestic violence). Seymour also appears in the music video for Don't Cry. Meanwhile, one of the most famous shots in the video came the departure of MTV's own Ricky Rachtman, who was the host of Headbangers Ball, friends with Axl and the guy who dived through the wedding cake at the climax of the video. At the time it was released, November Rain was considered the most expensive video ever made (since then it has been eclipsed by a number of videos, most notably by Michael and Janet Jackson Creek). Total cost? $1.5 million. A tenth of the production budget was spent on the construction of a chapel in the desert. Although the concert footage seems to be real, the scenes of Guns N' Roses' performances were entirely staged: the band rented a theater in Los Angeles and brought 1,500 stats to play the audience. Instead of just mim playing their instruments and lip-syncing along with the pre-recorded track, Guns actually played through the song (as well as a number of other tunes in their canon) in order to keep the extra entertained. The video is actually based (albeit loosely) around a story called Without You, written by Del James. History tells blues musician who is trying to to deal with a friend who committed suicide. James was another friend of Axl and wrote several Guns tunes as well as songs for Covenant and TNT. November Rain remains the longest song ever to hit Billboard's top 10, peaking at #2 in August 1992 (it didn't peak on songs such as Sir Mix-a-Lot's Baby Got Back and Boyz II Men's End of the Road). Despite its high profile, the video was nominated for only two Video Music Awards in 1992 (Best Cinematography and Best Art Directing) and knocked out clips from Genesis, Tori Amos, Eric Clapton and En Vogue for the cinematic prize. However, it was selected as the top video of 1992 during MTV's year-end countdown. Although he wanted to share the dance, Maine could not bring himself to interrupt such beauty. Her well- toned body swayed childishly, peacefully, slowly moving towards the rhythm. Her innocence was charming, her beauty breathtaking. Maine knew she had FD angry at him for sneaking about, watching without letting her know, but the teenage voyeur inside his adult body encouraged him and no foot to care about the consequences. Besides, it was just for his eyes. Her eyes sparkled, reminding him of the ocean, the immense beauty and mystery. A light breeze danced through her lion fs mane. The full-length end-to-end dress covered her slender body, and a light icing of sweat made her shine. She seemed too beautiful to be real. During this split second of visual euphoria, Mayne admitted that she was the only woman he ever truly loved. Her eyes flickered. She must have heard me, he thought, when she turned to him. He doesn't foot want to destroy beauty, just to enjoy it. Her thick lips smiled sympathetically. Then the song began to grow in volume. A sharp panic attack shot through him when he realized which one of his songs it was. Cold sweat seeped out of his pores and fear consumed him. His vision spiraled like reality distorted. Breathing became difficult, difficult. Despair attacked and twisted every muscle in his thin body. Far worse than the pain was his fear. An unstoppable alarm swept through him as he began to stereo. Everything has lost its natural texture; walls, floor, air became surreal. The louder the music, the harder it was to move. He had to remove the CD, but his feet felt like big concrete blocks. He couldn't foot to move fast enough. She already had an FS gun barrel against her temple. BLIMM! Maine awoke covered afterwards, a mute cry still lodged in her throat. He spent the last six hours in a coma caused by drugs and alcohol, which he had in his sleep. Sleep was a rare commodity and was impossible without some help. It's not ft question whether he slept six hours or six minutes, always managed to crawl in. He's Him. song and was forever cursed by her. With unsteady hands, he wiped the sweat from his eyebrow and rubbed his fingers on the satin sheets. His silver and gold bracelets are tied together. Riding on his side, he stared at a digital alarm clock on top of a black night table that was built in the fridge as a base. At the top of the watch was a half-empty pack of Marlboro. He looked at green digital numbers, but they didn't make sense. It really didn't foot the question, how much it was anyway, his time was other people FS money. There was something more important next to the watch than cash or time. Slowly he sat down. The tortured eyes scanned the black marble countertop, looking for any remaining precious brown powder. Matches, curved cigarettes, and empty bindles were burned, but not doping. It didn't matter. It could always be more delivered. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Maine reached down and opened the door of the fridge night table fs. Inside were several Budweisers, baking soda, and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon. He grabbed a cold can, killing half of it in one sip. He did it every morning. Instantly, his head pain began to feel better. Although he didn't want to admit it, it's time to get back to the living. He knew he was supposed to be in the studio soon, but no foot to feel up to him. In addition, the recording of his latest album, Alone, was completed more than a month ago. The album was now in the final stages of mixing. If Maine liked what he heard, he had an FD to approve it, and the recording would be released on schedule. If not, it should be remixed until it approves. Then why do they need it? He lingered for as long as he might be able before finally getting up. Much like his bedroom, the bathroom was a disaster zone. Discarded clothing, creams, trash, cassettes and towels dominated the presentation. Using radar to find the bowl, he found porcelain, fought back from the urge to puke, and freed himself. He returned to the bedroom without feeling human, more like a robot dressed in rented flesh. There was a dull stomachache that he FD used to. This, like many other flaws in his health, can be attributed to his excessive lifestyle. Aside from the hi jewelry, Maine wore only jockey shorts. He came across his dresser, took off a pair of custom tailored black leather pants, and changed. He found a dark purple silk kimono hanging from a walk in the closet, and put it on. There was a gram bottle of cocaine in the drawer. Scooping with a long fingernail on his right pinky, the ragged musician snorted eight bursts of rock-en-roll aspirin. Kimono felt cool against his warm flesh. He wondered if he was feverish and came to the conclusion that he probably was. He always ran down, as if with eternal fever. That is, of course, until he got his chip. He finished his going blank can generally whole trash can, which was already crammed with voids. Looking in the mirror at full height, the suft hermit does not ft recognize the reflection. Of course, his long blonde hair and tattoos gave him away, but he looked so fragile. Maine looked like a man who was ready for hospital pyjamas. His once attractive face was blue, taut and inexpressive. Scraggly beard covers his chin and his emerald eyes are no longer genuine gems, but rather jewelry.