Velvet Revolver always seemed like the answer to a quintessential L.A. rock & roll question: what does the engine of
Guns N' Roses do when they're left to rust by the side of the road? It was long past the point when
Slash,
Duff, and
Matt Sorum could possibly hope that
Axl would abandon
Buckethead,
Tommy Stinson, and whoever else was toiling away in the studio under the
GNR banner and go for a reunion tour, and old rockers need a place to make noise even while they're in the process of fading away, so they started a new band (
Izzy may or may not have been invited to the party, but he long ago started following his own path and never seemed interested in coming back into the fold). A band as big as this needed a true star to front it -- a lesson well learned from the charisma-free black hole that was
Slash's Snakepit, where the vocalists never could quite spar with the guitarist -- so even if they flirted with
Buckcherry's
Josh Todd, there really was only one choice to fill the singer's slot and that was
Scott Weiland, who wasn't abandoned from his own imploding band,
Stone Temple Pilots, as much as alienated from them due to a combination of ego and excess. A band in search of a singer, a singer in search of a band, both parties calling Los Angeles their home, both well-known for their all-encompassing love of rock & roll debauchery -- it seemed like nothing could go wrong.