An Open Letter from Axl Rose to Nikki Sixx and Rock Fans Everywhere
Dear Nikki, and to all the relentless rockers who’ve stood with us through the madness,
It’s not every day I sit down to write something like this. Words can be loud, just like our amps, but they can also echo quieter truths that sometimes get lost in the noise. Today, I want to speak from the heart—not as Axl Rose, the frontman, the chaos, the firestorm—but as W. Axl Rose, the man who’s still here because of music, because of brothers like you, and because of the fans who’ve carried us when we could barely stand.
Nikki, we’ve been through hell, haven’t we? Different hells, maybe, but the same fire. You’ve always been more than just a bassist. You’re a survivor, a poet of pain, and one of the most resilient forces to ever slap four strings. The way you turned darkness into anthems—how you laid your soul bare on every track—it’s something that changed this industry, and certainly changed me.
I remember watching you tear through the scene with Mötley Crüe, setting the stage ablaze, leaving nothing but smoke and screaming fans in your wake. There was something untouchable about the Crüe—a danger, a glamour, a fury—that challenged the world to keep up or get left behind. And damn, did we try to keep up.
But more than the leather, the eyeliner, and the headlines, there was heart. Your songwriting, your spirit—it struck chords far deeper than just musical notes. You were honest about the pain, the addiction, the brokenness, and the climb out of it. That kind of honesty—it’s rare. And it’s brave.
We’ve both been dragged by the same demons. Fame, addiction, isolation, regret—they don’t care how loud the crowd screams your name. They sneak in backstage, right after the final bow. And yet, here we are. Still breathing. Still creating. Still screaming into the void and hearing something scream back. That’s a miracle, man. And I honor that in you.
To the fans—those wild souls who’ve painted their lives with our lyrics, who’ve waited in the rain, bled in the pit, screamed until they had nothing left—you are the real legends. You’re the heartbeat of this music. Without you, none of this means a damn thing. You’ve grown up with us. You’ve forgiven us when we stumbled. You stood by us when we were ghosts of who we used to be. That kind of loyalty, that kind of love—it’s everything.
We never claimed to be perfect. Hell, we were far from it. But what we gave you was real. We gave you nights you’d never forget. We gave you songs that bled. We gave you ourselves, no matter how broken we were. And you gave us life in return.
Nikki, I hope you know how many artists—how many kids in garages dreaming of big stages—looked to you as proof that even from the lowest place, you could rise. You didn’t just survive. You inspired. And that’s more powerful than any platinum record.
So here’s to the noise. The raw, filthy, beautiful noise we made. Here’s to the hotel walls we wrote on, the guitars we smashed, the friendships we almost lost but never did. Here’s to the future, however unpredictable it might be, and to the past, which shaped us all.
Let’s not ever forget why we picked up our instruments in the first place. It wasn’t for the charts or the trophies. It was because something inside us was screaming to get out. And when we let it out, the world answered. That connection? That’s sacred.
To Nikki, to Mötley Crüe, and to every fan who ever found a piece of themselves in our chaos—thank you. From the bottom of my scarred and grateful heart, thank you.
Keep it loud. Keep it raw. Keep it real.
With respect and fire,
Axl Rose
