Go to:

• Introduction
• High Voltage (1976)
• Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (1976)
• Let There Be Rock (1977)
• Powerage (1978)
• If You Want Blood You've Got It (1978)
• Highway to Hell (1979)
• Back in Black (1980)
• For Those about to Rock We Salute You (1981)
• Flick of the Switch (1983)
• '74 Jailbreak (1984)
• Fly on the Wall (1985)
• Who Made Who (1986)
• Blow up your Video (1988)
• The Razor's Edge (1990)
• Live (1992)
• Ballbreaker (1995)
• Live from the Atlantic Studios (1997)
• Stiff Upper Lip (2000)

Malcolm Young, Riff-master #1

Introduction

I had planned to write an intellectually challenging introduction to this page, but due to time constraints, I didn't get around to it until now.... when divine intervention came in the name of Mike Glowacki, and his wonderfully insightful and balanced opinions regarding my AC/DC reviews. Hereby, I dedicate this entire page - and whatever wisdom it may contain - to Mike. (Reminder: reader comments appear unedited on this site).

High Voltage (1976, A-mú-rican Version)

8

It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock & Roll) / Rock & Roll Singer / The Jack / Live Wire / T.N.T. / Can I Sit Next to You Girl / Little Lover / She’s Got Balls / High Voltage

OK, let’s come clean and get it over with: AC/DC is all about macho bravado, drinking cheap beer, throwing your callused fists into the air (and honestly: usually I’m not into that stuff, I’m not even a soccer fan!), pinching ass (or wishing you’d dare it) and having lots of juvenile, mischievous and exciting fun. Of course, there’s no use in denying that AC/DC – like the Ramones, like Motörhead, like Hans Kazan – only have one trick up their sleeve, but who gives a damn when it’s a trick that good? It’s all about that dumb, bludgeoning, prehistoric rhythm and those outrageously smelly and overweight chords, courtesy of those two Young-midgets. Somewhere in the Western world (do Thai people fancy AC/DC as well?), some scientific department in some exclusive Ivy League University is trying to determine what’s the appeal of this Neanderthal bunch of hooligans, and I bet, I BET, the final verdict will be that they (accidentally, or by a stroke of genius) discovered the remnant echoes of a tribal rhythm that gets us all ecstatic, makes us flex our pathetic muscles and bang our hollow heads. With “us”, I’m of course referring to the men in the audience, since women seem to share one more thing besides the fact they know they’re superior to men (and why deny it?), and that is that they collectively loathe AC/DC and what they signify. Well, my mom pretends she likes them, but that doesn’t count, because I suspect she only wants to do me a favor.

On top of that there was Bon Scott, perhaps the greatest white soul singer on the dirty side of Van Morrison and Mitch Ryder, a street poet, and a smart one, who sounded as if he'd fully grasped and distilled the essence of Boccaccio's Decameron and Rabelais' Gargantua and Pantagruel. Or to phrase it differently, he was the ultimate combination of a horny teenager with a perpetual hard-on and an intellectual with a PhD. in medieval literature. The lyrics he moaned, shouted, purred and screamed were alternately full of vulgar sexual innuendo ("Like a hot rod baby? Stick this in your fuse box"), plain old dirty stuff (“It killed me when I saw the wet patch on your seat … was it Coca Cola?”) rock 'n roll imagery ("I can see the queue, I got the devil in my blood, tellin' me what to do") and hilarious humour ("I'm dirty, mean and mighty unclean, I'm a wanted man, public enemy number one"). In fact, it would take rock 'n roll about 15 years to come up with a singer that delivered a comparable balance of danger, masculinity and irresistible silliness, when a certain Glenn Danzig formed the originally named Danzig. Anyway, it’s not about that height-challenged Satanist here, but about real men, with I Love You Mom-tattoos and a five o’clock shadow an hour after shaving. The US version I have gathers two songs (“She’s Got Balls”, “Little Lover”) from the band’s Australian debut High Voltage, while the rest is from the band’s sophomore T.N.T. Anyway, as far as debut albums go, this is one convincing example. Harry Vanda and George Young provide a fittingly muddy sound for the band’s bluesy hard rock, that sounds like a crossover of Chuck Berry (whose “Schooldays” they recorded), ZZ Top and, uh, themselves I guess, because no matter how often people said they didn’t invent or explore, they certainly had their own sound right from the start, and the songs to match it. “It’s a Long Way” starts the album off on a terrific note, with some bluesy dirty-ass rock ‘n roll that’s guaranteed to get the party started.

The most memorable part about it, however, is a call-and-response section between a guitar and bagpipes, and it works brilliantly. The band already shamelessly rips itself off with “Rock ‘n’ Roll Singer” that basically rehashes the opening track’s riff, but the catchy chorus and bawdy lyrics (“You can stick your moral standards, because it’s all a dirty lie”) make up for that. Another classic AC/DC track is “Live Wire.” Starting off with a one-note bass line and slowly building up to another merciless riff-rocker, it’s one of the best examples of Scott’s incomparable shtick (at the time, he must’ve been the only one to exclaim “If you’re lookin’ for trouble, I’m the man to see” and make it sound convincing. Rudimentary, nasty and with as much charm as a two-pound steak, it’s rock ‘n roll at its ugliest (those backing vocals “Laaaaave whaaaaaa”!) and most effective. Those are basically my three favourite tracks on the album, but for honesty’s sake (and to avoid the wrath of thousands of hardcore AC/DC fans out there) I have to admit that I also get quite a kick out of the strutting title track, while the over-the-top innuendo of “The Jack” is simply irresistible. OK, the music sounds like second-hand ZZ Top, but the lyrics define the anti-thesis of what’s “correct” (and then to think that earlier versions included lines like “Gonorrhea, I just had my second dose”). Quite similar is “Little Lover,” another plodding blues that goes on for too long, but it’s surrounded by the more successful Status Quo-tribute “Can I Sit Next to You Girl?” (boogie time, baby!) and the feminist rant “She’s Got Balls” that gives a pretty good idea what kind of women our Bon preferred. So, there you go: the second half is quite weak (although I like “T.N.T.” – apart from those overly silly “Oi’s”) compared to the excellent string the album starts off with, and some of the songs might have been better if they were shorter (but there grooves would get better), but it’s hard to deny it must’ve sounded really great back in ’75-’76 (and still does now). The most important thing is that this release sort of launched the band internationally and meant the proper start of one of the most intriguing careers in (hard) rock.

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Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (1976)

7.5

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap / Love at First Feel / Big Balls / Rocker / Problem Child / There’s Gonna Be Some Rockin’ / Ain’t No Fun (Waiting ‘Round to Be a Millionaire) / Ride On / Squealer

Recorded and released in ’76, - except for in the US, where it was turned down by the record company not to be released before 1981 (I bet Bon got a laugh out of that) -, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap finds the band trying to diversify their near-caricature riff-rock, and with mixed results. The lyrical matter stays roughly the same – sex (“Love at First Feel,” “Squealer”), petty crime (“Problem Child,” the title track), rock ‘n roll (“There’s Gonna Be Some Rockin’,” “Ain’t No Fun”) – but not every song employs the same blunt rhythm and power chords. However, the title track is exactly the kind of straightforward rocker I get a kick out of. With a fat groove that points forward to Let There Be Rock, it gathers all the elements that make up an AC/DC-winner: a great performance by Scott, panting backing vocals and some demented soloing by good ole Angus. The frill-less “Love at First Feel” is fairly self-explanatory and proves the band could also rock out in a three-minute format. I wonder what the guys would think of Mark Kozelek’s version, that turned this sexually charged rocker into a barren acoustic solo performance that’s almost unrecognisable. I guess they’d laugh it off and turn the volume up to 11.

The most popular song here by far – and with reason – is “Problem Child,” a track as catchy and anthemic as stadium rock can get. While the sing-along concert favourites (“T.N.T.,” “Highway to Hell,” “The Jack,” etc.) are usually not my favourites of the albums they’re on, this one works just great. In fact, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this track, except for maybe that unnecessary reprise at the end of track. The rhythm section of Mark Evans (bass) and Phil Rudd (skins and metal) is 100% bullet-proof as usual, Scott is his usual perverted self, Angus churns out some electrifying solos, and Malcolm Young, well … Malcolm once again proves himself one of the best rhythm guitar players ever. While his stage behaviour may be less remarkable than that of his kid brother (apart from wiggling his head, he’s very much a quiet one), he’s probably the most defining element in AC/DC’s particular sound, and the inventor of loads of classic riffs. Also this time, the first half of the album is superior to the second. Objectively, “Rocker” may not seem particularly impressive – just another fast & frenetic boogie rocker, but when these guys give their all, you know you’re in for some high-octane rock ‘n roll, hotter than a bowl of jalapeno soup in the Arizona desert. Like “Let There Be Rock” or “Beatin’ Around the Bush,” it proves AC/DC often beat the punks at their own game, with brilliant three-chord velocity. And then there’s “Big Balls,” basically an excuse to stress their bratty, anti-establishment image. Bon’s fake upper-class accent is pretty funny, though, although it wasn’t necessary to convince me that his ballroom is bigger than the Waldorf’s. So, like I said, I consider the second half to be less interesting, although all of the songs have their moments. “There’s Gonna Be Some Rockin’” and “Ain’t No Fun (Waiting ‘Round to Be a Millionaire)” employ a rather generic boogie rhythm that everyone who’s ever played the guitar has tried out, but what sets them apart – of course – is that ultra-crunchy sound. Of the two, “Ain’t No Fun” is the most remarkable one, a lengthy dirge that increasingly intensifies (it gets good after about four minutes) and includes some cool lyrics (“Get your fucking jumbo jet out of my airport!”). The album ends fairly unremarkable with a bluesy ballad (“Ride On”) that shows more restraint that you’d think they’d be capable off, while “Squealer” is another tale about corrupting young and innocent girls, packaged in the usual wrapping (great solo, though!). Certainly suffering from a bad editing job, DDDDC is nevertheless a must-have for any self-respecting AC/DC-fan, a must-check out for any hard rock fan and a must-avoid for all mommies with good intentions.

Oh yeah, one more thing: am I the only one who thinks it’s stunning that Angus wasn’t even 17 when they recorded this?

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Let There Be Rock (1977)

9.5

Go Down / Dog Eat Dog / Let There Be Rock / Bad Boy Boogie / Problem Child / Overdose / Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be / Whole Lotta Rosie

WHOOAAAHH, Baby!!

I mean: WWHHHOOOOAAAAAHHHHHH !!!!!!!!

This here album, ladies and gents, is one filthy motherfucker, and I’m immediately adding that it’s for the most part about the SOUND here (this is where you can start damning me). Still rudimentary and bluesy, but twice as heavy and thrice as muddy, rock ‘n roll rarely sounded better before, or since. It’s true that some albums (Highway to Hell, Back in Black) may better define all of the band’s aspects, but then again, there’s not that much about ‘em to tell anyway (what do you wanna know about, besides gut-targeting riffs?). There’s this ultra-crunch, there’s Bon Scott delivering one of the best performances of his short career, there’s this atmosphere that’s all over the album and the cover that spells R-O-C-K-F-U-C-K-I-N-G-L-O-U-D (I’m not into swear words usually, blame it on the album). I’m honest enough to admit that their song-writing would improve on this (basically, these are 8 lengthy bluesy rockers with extended solos), and that it’s an argument I usually take into account, but when I think about AC/DC, this is the one that pops into my head. Brian Johnson may very well be a competent screecher (I like the guy a lot – he pulled off the unimaginable – replace Bon “Come sit on my lap” Scott – and did it with convincing style and vigour), but the AC/DC I prefer is the bluesier, sleazier ‘70’s incarnation.

I can’t forget to mention that the songs have gotten a bit better too, and that Let There Be Rock is the first AC/DC album with a smart song order: there’s an alternation of good and mind-blowing stuff, each ‘unremarkable’ track is followed by one that’s guaranteed to set your sideburns on fire. The album could hardly start better than with “Go Down,” though. From the muted count off at the beginning to those two chords and Scott’s lyrics about, uh, goin’ down, it’s a track that yells BOOGIE TIME!!. No, you’re right my dear proghead, my classicist pop fanatic, my beloved punk ‘n pins worshipper, there’s not much in the way of variation, but those moans, the solo and the bulldozer chomp please me just fine! Coming after “Go Down,” “Dog Eat Dog” might sound a bit ‘normal’ but they employ this great tribal rhythm and the incendiary solo and the laconic way in which Scott adds “…eat cat too” always cracks me up. Like I said, each ‘average’ track is followed by a world-class ditty, and this time it’s the gargantuan title track, that’ll make you drink a gallon of gasoline, gobble up a small pile of bricks and turn your whole apartment into this huge dump in 45 seconds flat. Fast and furious, especially for a song that hasn’t any guitar during large parts of the verses, it’s the genesis rock ‘n roll had been waiting for since the early fifties. Not unlike countless rockabilly bands in the late ‘50’s and garage bands in the sixties, it told an audience of pimpled kids that it was cool to get a guitar, crank out some noise and annoy your parents. Quite fittingly, Phil Rudd beats the skins like a 8-year old, and Angus delivers the basic scales every aspiring guitar player is tired of after a week. Effective like a thunderstorm thrashing a camping site, it’s one of those tracks that can’t be topped, not even by Henry Rollins & the Hard-Ons.

The first album side then closes with the excellent “Bad Boy Boogie,” another one is a long series of Bon the Menace-stories. In fact, another famous one that comes next is “Problem Child,” which already appeared on Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (which is both a compilation and an album, or so it seems), and appears here in all its glory without that superfluous coda at the end. Ha! To further complicate things, I should point out that not all editions of this album contain it, as the Australian version replaces “Problem Child” with “Crabsody in Blue” (that comes in between “Overdose” and “Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be”). Fortunately, that’s the version I have on LP, but the latter is clearly the inferior song, mistaking the Rio Grande mud for outback fireworks. Oh, it’s not bad or anything (in fact, you should have heard it, just to hear Bon’s painfully false performance during the blues ballad), but it sort of disrupts the song order this “classic’ version doesn’t suffer from. “Overdose” is probably the weakest song on the non-Australian version and I’m sure the band recycles one of their lesser known riffs, but you know, even the ‘lesser’ AC/DC-riffs during the late ‘70’s could be used to kill people with, so no complaining from me, no sir! Then, following the successful recipe, the band strikes back with the marvellous “Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be,” the riff of which would be used again for Back in Black’s “Shoot to Thrill.” It’s a distillation of all their trademark elements: a pulsating bass-line, smashing chords, and an unstoppable we’ll reduce you to pulp, daddy-o-drive. In fact, the only thing that seems a bit different is that Scott’s usual clap-clinic lyrics are replaced with more modest lyrics that deal with a seemingly serious (haha) relationship.

Enough words wasted on “Hell,” on with the seminal album closer. Perhaps the quintessential AC/DC-song - at least that’s how it seems to be perceived around here - and better than anything on Back in Black in my opinion (yes, that includes “you Shook Me All Night Long”), is “Whole Lotta Rosie.” Who else, but AC/DC, could turn in such a great song about the virtues of an overweight prostitute? Right. No one. It not only boasts one of the most paramount and recognizable riffs (because it’s a recycled one, of course!) of all time (up there with “You Really Got Me” & Co.), it rocks harder than you imagined was possible, and the stop/start-dynamics, interplay between Angus and Malcolm and Scott’s outrageous deliverance turn it into one of the most energizing songs this boy has ever heard (and yes, I am familiar with Paul Anka’s most raucous period) or overdosed on. I know you people out there think 1) I wouldn’t recognize a turd - nor a bar of gold – even if it would be dancing in front of me wearing a pink tutu and a nipple piercing (“Doesn’t he hear these songs are all the same?”); 2) I have a hearing defect (“Doesn’t he hear Highway to Hell sounds much crispier and accessible?”) or 3) a below-average IQ just like the band I’m writing about (“The song-writing sucks compared to later albums! Can’t he hear it?”), but I’m not gonna give in this time. Let There Be Rock is as AC/DC as it gets. There must be someone who agrees. Speak up!

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Powerage (1978)

8.5

Rock ‘n Roll Damnation / Down Payment Blues / Gimme a Bullet / Riff Raff / Sin City / What’s Next to the Moon / Gone Shootin’ / Up to My Neck in You / Kicked in the Teeth

Combining the blues of High Voltage, the punch of Let There Be Rock, while also pointing forward to the more accessible and acclaimed that would succeed it, Powerage is not only a key album in AC/DC’s career, but also the most underrated of the Bon Scott-line-up. On the other hand, everybody seems to think this is overrated, so it might very well be overrated in the meantime. Whatever the public opinion is, this rocks louder than three Limp Bizkits and secured AC/DC a place in the Hard Rock Hall of Fame. Personally, I also refer to this album as “the impotent one” (silly, I know), because there’s a huge decrease in sexual subject matter/innuendo. Whereas the previous albums all had their share of over-sexed fantasies and vulgar/masochist/degrading songs (“Little Lover,” “Squealer,” “Love at First Feel,” “Go Down,” etc, etc), Bon for the most part is on the dominated side of the duels. Before you start correcting me, let me tell you that I’m aware of the line “I been waiting all night for a bite of what you got” (“Rock ‘n Roll Damnation”) or “Susy baby all at sea, say she wanna come again” (“Down Payment Blues”), but listen again closely, and you’ll notice lines such as “I should have listened to my Ma’s advice,” “It’s your love that I want” (what the hell?) or “Ain’t No Cure for the Pain in My Heart.”

Bon’s ways with the ladies no longer work that well, and he wants you to know it. But first there’s “Rock ‘n Roll Damnation,” and it’s glorious. Obviously a lot less heavy than the bulldozer grind on Let There Be Rock, it’s a song that because of the uncomplicated bounce, accessible sheen, ringing cymbals, handclaps and shaker just begs for mainstream acceptance. Quite similar, but slightly less hard-rocking, is “Up to My Neck in You.” Each time I heard that song, I have to think about The Rolling Stones, especially about Keith in his I’m gonna make you drool at my alter of love, baby-mode. In other words, it has the opening track’s party vibe while also leaning closer to the sleaze-rock the Stones were once good at. Also Angus’ solo is more Keith-ish than usual, touch and sexy at the same time. But ultimately, it’s a song that’s stolen by Señor Scott, who delivers with even more gusto than usual. While we’re talking about about rehashes, I might mention album closer “Kicked in the Teeth,” a.k.a. “Let There Be Rock, Pt. 2.” Obviously ripped off from their own classic song, but condensed into a shorter format, it lacks the original’s absurdly ferocious attack, but on the other hand, I agree with Jack Feeny it’s got a great fuckin’ attitude and performance by Scott, who’s simply the KING here. Enough compliments, because the second half isn’t that spectacular. While the lyrics of “What’s Next to the Moon” are as close as Bon ever got to poetry (while it’s basically some sort of murder ballad about a guy tying his baby to the railroad tracks), the music hints at great ideas, but the pay-off never comes. The album’s weakest track is, in my irrelevant opinion, “Gone Shootin’”, a bluesy and laidback track that never rises above being just decent.

Fortunately there’s some great stuff to discover on the first album half. “Down Payment Blues,” for instance, could be seen as the party’s aftermath compared to the earlier stuff. It’s about being down and out, not being able to afford anything, but when Scott yells “I got a hole in my shooooeeeee, and I’m waaaaay overdue,” that’s one of the best moments on the album. “Gimme a Bullet” is a nice opportunity to check out new bass player Cliff Williams’ mastery of the instrument (providing very much the same bass-lines as Mark Evans (allegedly on hateful terms with little Angus), although his contributions might be a bit more melodic) and “Riff Raff” might be one of the greatest marriages of song and title ever. Starting off with guitar that leads up to a grand transformation into an instrumental frenetic boogie, until Bon’s entrance, it’s the kind of song you wanna hear when you enter your local pub where all the mates are waiting for you. Dirty. Mean. Crazy. And lean. Several people around me seem to dislike “Sin City,” but it’s sounds damn good to me. It’s what I’d call a “stomper” (in the good sense), and a song that allows you to flex your neck muscles without having to actually bang your head, and it continues the album preoccupation with bad/violent imagery. What this song-by-song analysis boils down to, is that Powerage is one hell of an album, an album that confirmed AC/DC huge talent for energy and that once again reminded people why they had to be considered on of the best bands of the late seventies, and the decade wasn’t even over yet. (And to make matters even more complicated (again), the old worn out vinyl copy I have omits “Rock ‘n Roll Damnation” in favor of “Cold Hearted Man,” and that – despite the fact that the latter is OK – is a cardinal sin.)

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If You Want Blood, You've Got It (1978)

8

Riff Raff / Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be / Bad Boy Boogie / The Jack / Problem Child / Whole Lotta Rosie / Rock ‘n Roll Damnation / High Voltage / Let There Be Rock / Rocker

I still hate myself for never having seen AC/CD live in concert. Of the one trick-ponies mentioned earlier, I was fortunate enough to have experienced The Ramones a few times, I’m seeing the mighty Motörhead in a few weeks, but never AC/DC. I had a few opportunities, but I messed them up. I was a bit young for the Razor’s Edge-tour, I wasn’t interested in the Ballbreaker-tour (because – God, how I hate to admit this – I thought they only were pathetic shadows of their former selves), and was simply too late to get a ticket when they visited Belgium again during the Stiff Upper Lip-tour. How I wish I’d seen them in the late ‘70’s, when they slowly, but steadily, started to conquer the world, touring with REO Speedwagon, Styx, and an assortment of other bands – some better than others. Allegedly, their ’77 gig in Belgium was notorious for its trouble with the police (later referred to in Flick of the Switch’s “Bedlam in Belgium”) and I presume that must’ve been one hell of a concert, because If You Want Blood shows the band didn’t disappoint on stage and that the band did exactly what you’d expect of them: rock. Rock really loud.

They didn’t waste any energy on superfluous banter, never-ending jams or pretentious re-workings of their classics. They just turned up the amplifiers for what they were worth and delivered the filthy goods. The merit of a certain set list is always debatable (“How could they NOT include “Dirty Deeds,”” etc), but the ten songs gathered here is a mighty fine collection that gives the quintet more than enough opportunities to kick out the jams. Quite remarkable is the fact that half of the songs are from Let There Be Rock, while the band was touring in support of Powerage, but I guess not too many people will complain about that, Rock being their definitive album (RIGHT?). “Riff Raff” is the ideal track to awaken the excitement – you can feel the tension increasing – that would stay very high during the entire performance/album. “Hell Ain’t No Bad Place to Be” and “Bad Boy Boogie” continue it in a great vein, the former sounding sharp and super-tight, Scott wailing like an insane cheetah, while “Bad Boy Boogie” offers one of the few moments that the band stretches out, mainly because of Angus’ little private moment of glory during the mid-section of the song (and the crowd does freak out). Listening to it for the 1654th time, I also realised how many hair metal bands are influenced by this track and succeeded in injecting their entire career with only 5% of the song’s appeal. The version of “The Jack” that we’re getting shoved down our throats here is actually better than the studio version, mostly because of the way in which Bon has the crown cheering along (“Jack, jack, jack, jack!”). After that, the songs come in pairs, sort of. “Problem Child” (third appearance in five albums, by the way) and “Whole Lotta Rosie” were probably the band’s most anthemic songs up to this point, and they both burn, especially the brilliant version of “Whole Lotta Rosie” that’s as electrifying as rock got, gets and will get. Both “Rock ‘n Roll Damnation” and “High Voltage” (a great combination) are infectious and keep the energy level high, but the real pay-off, in my opinion, comes with “Let There Be Rock.” For some reason, it seems as if the guitars suddenly sound much louder and overpowering here, the track sounding like a true monster from the first second onwards. It wasn’t really necessary to stretch the ending for that long, but I’m pretty sure the visual aspect must’ve been great. Anyway, after the genesis of rock, the band concludes with the frenetic old school rock ‘n roll of “Rocker,” a fitting fury that closes the circle. The sound of the album is sadly enough a less impressive, with especially the guitars not sounding dirty and heavy enough during a few numbers, while the bass is nearly inaudible and the cymbals too loud, but it’s not disastrous or anything either. There would be another live album that, ironically, would sound even more exciting even though it was recorded in front of just a few people, but If You Want Blood succeeds in showing what an awesome, dedicated band they were. AC/DC had the fire.

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Highway to Hell (1979)

9

Highway to Hell / Girls Got Rhythm / Walk All Over You / Touch Too Much / Beating Around the Bush / Shot Down in Flames / Get It Hot / If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It) / Love Hungry Man / Night Prowler

More like Highway to Pop! By many people (all of them are ignorant) regarded as the first album where the band hit their stride, Highway to Hell was their most accessible album up to this point. The blues-inflected mastodon riffing of Let There Be Rock is replaced by a cleaner, but still powerful, brand of rawk. Not eight songs, not nine, but TEN this time around (boy, we’re generous), probably due to the shorter average song length (pop formats). While the direction wasn’t that shocking and maybe just the logical next step (Powerage was already something decidedly different), it’s certainly producer Robert John “Mutt” Lange’s influence that made the band move with such a leap. Those who preferred the blues ingredients of the early AC/DC albums and songs will be disappointed, since it’s removed from the album with dedication and precision (except maybe for the closing track “Night Prowler”). What you get instead is spiky, vicious, tack-sharp hard rock that sounds much lighter and probably more accessible to many ears. Lange realised 10 little ass-kickers (well, there is no “Whole Lotta Rosie,” “Let There Be Rock” or “Dirty Deeds” on this album) also do the job and lets the guitars harass you in a gentler way, while he pronounced the pop beats and added layers of backing vocals.

I guess about everybody is familiar with “Highway to Hell”: while the obvious AC/DC-anthems (“T.N.T.,” “High Voltage,” “Problem Child”) are often excellent, but rarely my favorites, “Highway to Hell” is probably one of the ultimate party anthems. Unapologetic and celebrating bad behaviour and male bonding (“My friends are gonna be there too”), it’s a track that should be consumed in the company of other semi-drunk, zit-faced machos, because it’s always better to throw more than one fist into the air. The next few songs all fit into one of the greatest song successions in hard rock history (tracks 2-5). “Girls Got Rhythm” is not only one of the greatest songs ever about having sex in a car (amongst other things) – Elastica’s “Car Song” is the only serious contender that I know of – but it’s also AC/DC-goes-powerpop. Just get your thesaurus and pick a few key words: crispy, crunchy, bright, light, sharp, swift, infectious, catchy, contagious, appealing, memorable, captivating, etc, they are all applicable here. While that poppy start is already a great way to kick off a song, its main appeal (as with most great pop songs) lies mainly in the chorus (ha, those backing vocals again). It takes “Walk All Over You” about 50 seconds to start up the engine, but it’s a winner once it’s on its way, speeding ahead with a tight groove that’s so cool your ass is gonna eat up the seat cover. This time around, maybe the chorus is less impressive, but by the time you reach it, you’ll head will already be twirling and anticipating Angus’s ridiculously exciting solos. And the fun ain’t over yet, no sir. What about “Touch Too Much”? Is that a blueprint for cheesy ‘80’s metal or what? That slick intro, Bon’s glossy vocal melody, those backing vocals, they all yell “SELL-OUT”, but you know what? It’s one of the greatest songs on the album, a slice of undiluted and shameless entertainment, and when Bon yells “She wanted it hard, she wanted it fast, she liked it done medium rare,” you just know it’s the kind of song you’ll be humming when you’re strutting down the city center on a sunny summer’s day. The great succession continues with the mighty “Beating Around the Bush.” So dirty, so brash, so rock ‘n roll, it’s the kind of song that makes you feel guilty for not having dropped out at the age of 16. Everything about this song is exhilarating, from Scott’s opening warning (“Smilin’ face and laughin’ eyes, but you can’t keep on tellin’ me all those lies”), to the start ‘n stop-attack of the guitars (so TIGHT!), to the delirious soloing. If you can sit still during this song, you’re either dead or catatonic. Or a Republican, of course.

Anyway, that’s about it for the first album half of the album. The remainder is slightly less impressive, but this implies it’s still about 8 times better than the average product you’ll have to face. “Shot Down in Flames” treads more familiar terrain, in fact you’ve heard that chorus probably ten times before, and eight of those ten times in an AC/DC-song, but it’s designed to sing along to and with these basic ingredients (insane yelling, concrete riffs, fiery solo) performed with conviction you can’t go wrong. However, the album’s weakest track comes next: “Get It Hot” is just another combination of “High Voltage” and Status Quo, while it’s also quite pedestrian, but it’s compensated by the fact it’s the shortest song the band had released so far. Of course, it’s also followed by the grand “If You Want Blood.” Mostly celebrated because of Scott’s great performance (and he does deliver some mighty screams nearly on a par with Iggy’s “LOOOOOOOOOOORRDDDD,” Roger Daltrey’s “YYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHH” and James Brown’s “UGH, UGH, UGH!”), it’s a track that combines their trademark attitude with an accessibility to match it, while also adding some new angles in the lyrics (Bon as the caged underdog, how about that?). The album then delivers two more good tracks: the enjoyable “Love Hungry Man” that’s all too often regarded as a lesser track. It’s great fun, dammit, and that elastic bass line is pure gold, if you ask me. The lengthy album closer “Night Prowler” is a slower, bluesy dirge with music to match the creepy lyrics of a prowler who’s out there waiting to make a mess out of you (and sounding like Lemmy during the first lines helps too, of course). It’s not an album highlight (there are too many great contenders), but it was their best ‘slow’ song so far, in my opinion. Now, do I really have to tell you that Highway to Hell kicks insane amounts of ass? I guess not. It’s rightfully become a hard rock classic and it should be in your possession even if you have only a marginal interest in rock ‘n roll.

CODA: after a drinking binge on Feb. 13th, 1980, Scott was left on his own in a car by a friend, where he choked on his own vomit. One of the ultimate rock ‘n roll rebels - one with an eye for parody, bullshit and irony - had died and it seemed AC/DC would never recover from this loss. However, they refused to give in and came up with a replacement a mere month after Bon’s death, with whom they’d record their most lauded album. But in my opinion, the Scott line-up did have something they’d never capture again. It’s hard to exactly pinpoint what it was. It’ll have to do that it’s my opinion Scott was one of the greatest rock singers ever. He was instantly recognisable, funny, didn’t settle for half-assed efforts, plus he was a terrific poet of course. Like he said himself: he paid his dues and played in a rock ‘n roll band and then he went down, all the way, on the highway of hell.

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Back in Black (1980)

8.5

Hells Bells / Shoot to Thrill / What Do You Do for Money Honey / Given the Dog a Bone / Let Me Put My Love Into You / Back In Black / You Shook Me All Night Long / Have a Drink On Me / Shake a Leg / Rock & Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution

“I think This cd is a rock phenomenon! I think Back in Black is the best cd ever. Angus young is an awsome guitar player. Man he smokes!!! Drums rule also. IT IS THE BEST CD IN THE WHOLE WORLD!!! BUY IT A.S.A.P!!!” (a customer’s comment at www.amazon.com)

“BEST FUKING ALBUM EVER MADE. YOU COULD CHOP OFF MY NUTS AND PLAY YANI AND I WOULDENT CHANGE MY MIND. NO ONE WILL EVER COME CLOSE TO THIS SHIT, THIS IS THE BEST IN THE WORLD!!!!!” (a reader’s comment at www.markprindle.com, where things can be said off the record, on the QT and very hush-hush)

“Simply put, at this point in time AC/DC (not The Clash and certainly not The Rolling Stones) was the best band in the world.” (Scott Floman)

Apart from the fact that they’re all American (I presume), the people above seem to agree about a few things; not only that Back in Black is AC/DC’s magnum opus, but also that it’s the pinnacle of hard rock, or even ‘rock’ in general. They’re not alone, since the album is by far the greatest success the band ever had. The critics were still speaking in condescending terms about the macho posturing, moronic simplicity of the music and the degrading lyrics (it does read like an anti-feminist rant sometimes), but the audience went totally wild and embraced the re-born line-up band with an unequalled passion. To this day, nearly 20 million copies have been sold in the US alone, which goes to show the masses can be right – the album deserves to be lauded – but in a fair world the same would’ve happened to the three preceding albums. All in all it’s nothing less than amazing that the band refused to give up after Scott’s death, found a replacement within six weeks (Brian Johnson, formerly of Geordie) and immediately started recording their new album with “Mutt” Lange on the Bahamas. But, - and this is where Mr. Party-pooper steps into the picture – if this is AC/DC’s best album, then Trout Mask Replica is the pinnacle of disco. Back in Black basically seems like a continuation of Highway to Hell production-wise, sounding even slicker, but maybe also a bit meaner and sharper at the same time. In other words: it’s as crystal-clear and polished as Highway to Hell, but it replaces that album’s playful and lean core with a darker, more serious touch, and whereas Highway somehow still had a bluesier feel to it, Back is where the band finally shed off the blues influences to become a premium hard rock band without an obvious foot in the blues. Of course, another reason why this incarnation was no match for the previous one, in my book, is the absence of Bon Scott. There’s no denying that Johnson delivers one hell of a performance throughout the album, but he just doesn’t convey the same sardonic charm as Scott, always one of the most appealing elements about the band. Many people argued that the entrance of Johnson was actually a good thing, because it made the band look as if they were only concerned about creating straightforward unapologetic macho rock without Scott’s wilful (self-conscious) exaggerations, but I beg to differ. I’ve always preferred Bon’s “It killed me when I saw the wet patch on your seat… was it Coca Cola?” over Johnson’s “She told me to come, but I was already there.” Whereas Scott was the dirty uncle that couldn’t resist squeezing the girls’ butt cheeks, Johnson’s the cocky, sun-tanned hunk offering you a ride in his convertible.

Something that always struck me about this album, having it on vinyl, is that both album sides start with their strongest material, ending with songs that are substantially less impressive than the openers. Take “Hells Bells’ for instance, a terrific anthem that’s introduced by funeral bells and after the addition of menacing guitar lines settles into a steady groove. It’s the blueprint for most of the band’s subsequent output; mid-tempo stompers, two guitarists trading off dirty riffs, one of ‘em delivering fiery solos as well, and a singer uttering shrilly screeches that are equal parts Robert Plant, Rob Halford and Kettle Whistle. From the mid-‘80’s onwards, Johnson’s piercing shrieks could become grating very quickly, but here they do the job. Nearly as good is the speedier “Shoot to Thrill,” a crispy, fresh and tight macho rocker (“I’ve got everything that all you women need to know”) that’ll not only impress you with that irresistible chorus (just like “Girls Got Rhythm” did the same on Highway to Hell), but also because of Johnson’s vocal range (well, ranging from high notes to ridiculously high notes). Of course, that carefully built-up climax at the end of the song might crack you up as well. Furthermore, there’s “What Do You Do for Money Honey,” perhaps the album’s poppiest track that boasts a melody that’s supposed to be yelled en masse. In fact, the band’s come up with its share of crowd-pleasing anthems before, but rarely have I heard an album that’s so explicitly designed to be consumed in Shea Stadium-sized venues where the roar of the masses gets so loud Richter’s scale gets all confused. It’s no wonder then, that the title track and “You Shook Me All Night Long,” the highlights that kick off side 2, are so beloved during special occasions when the unity of the audience is warranted. “Back in Black” is ideal stuff for mid-tempo headbanging: driven by a near-concrete riff, tighter than steel, it’s once again an excursion into the band’s temporary infatuation with death and related subjects (“Forget the hearse because I’ll never die”); and the excellence is continued with the accessibility of “You Shook Me All Night Long,” a nearly jangly rocker that sound closer to XTC’s “Peter Pumpkinhead” than to their own previous messengers of drunken mayhem.

Whereas previous albums often contained an uneven balance of great rockers and a few less successful exercises, it’s hard to point out misfires on this album. There’s not one song I’d consider a failure, but the remaining tracks are pleasant rather than excellent. “Given the Dog a Bone,” despite the nifty guitar playing, nearly chokes in its own exaggerated vulgarity (“She’s blowing me crazy, until my ammunition is dry … she’s using her head again”), while the laidback “Let Me Put My Love into You” has a pumping, inviting chorus that’s simply no match for “Girl’s Got Rhythm” or ‘Touch Too Much.” Also the Scott-tribute (although you could consider the entire album – including the pitch-black sleeve – a tribute) “Have a Drink on Me” and the swift “Shake a Leg” rock with energy and conviction, but the riffs and melodies are slightly less memorable than those of the opening tracks. Finally, there’s “Rock & Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution,” probably my least favorite track on the album. It’s another rocker with a dumb, mid-tempo rhythm, but as a tribute to the fine craft of rock ‘r roll it just lacks the spunk that turned odes such as “Let There Be Rock” and “It’s a Long Way to the Top” into such indestructible monuments. So there you got it. Of course Back in Black is an excellent album, but I’ve heard these albums so often, and no one – not even a flock of delirious Australian Schwarzeneggers that are foaming at the mouth and asking me whether I fancy a root – will convince me it’s the essential AC/DC-album. While listening to Let There Be Rock feels like fighting Mike Tyson (when he was a mean mofo) and whupping his ass, Back in Black just feels like the best party of the summer.

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For Those about to Rock We Salute You (1981)

5.5

For Those About to Rock We Salute You / I Put the Finger on You / Let’s Get It Up / Inject the Venom / Snowballed / Evil Walks / C.O.D. / Breaking the Rules / Night of the Long Knives / Spellbound

Back in Black turned AC/DC into the undisputed kings of hard rock, especially in the US, where several of Back in Black’s songs became radio staples (for the next two decades). Of course, the record company boys over there suddenly realized the Australian dwarves became a consumer commodity and Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap was released after all (yay). In the meantime, AC/DC got on the road with Johnson (his first ever concert with the band was in Belgium, by the way) and it proved to be one huge triumph. Around 1981, it seemed that AC/DC just couldn’t do anything wrong, as long as they kept the winning formula going. However, no matter how hard they tried to reach the high standard they’d set for themselves with a string of hard rock classics, they wouldn’t succeed in it for another two decades, which is not to say that those decades in between aren’t worth checking out, because they did some good stuff – despite sub-par production jobs, etc. The decline set in with For Those About to Rock We Salute You. While it’s nowhere near the disaster some people claim it is, it’s quite obvious that it’s a lesser sequel to Back in Black.

The hardcore AC/DC-fans out there will probably damn me for the previous statement, but as long as I’m not getting millions paid I can say whatever my conviction is, and For Those About to Rock, more than anything else – despite the same producer, the same sound, the same line-up and the same mid-tempo stomp – lacks memorable songs. Oh sure, the cannon fire in the title track is pretty much recognizable (in fact, those Johnson yells – “FIRE!” – are so silly they’re hilarious, and once the songs gets going it’s quite pleasant, but is there a new “Back in Black,” “Shoot to Thrill” or “You Shook Me All Night Long”? Think about it…. I already thought so. Like I argued above, the basic ingredients are still very much intact, so Johnson’s definitely not to blame – his screeching is still energetic and convincing (“No mercy for the bad if they want it” in “Inject the Venom” even sounds as if he means it). I’ve always had a sort of soft spot for the catchy “I Put the Finger on You” (no, it ain’t a song about morphology): it’s quite unremarkable when seen in its objectivity, but it’s much swifter than the majority of the songs on the album, and Johnson pulls an Ozzy during the chorus (just singin’ along to the guitar melody – although it’s probably the other way around). After “Finger,” it’s waiting for the furious rocker “Snowballad” to save the damage done by “Let’s Get It Up” and “Inject the Venom.” They both have their share of good ideas (they would’ve fit on Back in Black, although they would’ve been the weakest cuts), with especially “Inject the Venom” starting off pretty cool, but once they reach their respective choruses … Jesus Christ already, wake me up when it’s over. Oh yeah, I can’t forget the poetic opening line of “Let’s Get It Up,” either: “Loose lips sink ships.” Figure that out! The remainder of the album continues with an annoying efficiency: “Evil Walks” and album closer “Spellbound” are AC/DC by the books, but I couldn’t find anything that sets them apart, so I guess they’re average AC/DC, nothing more and nothing less. I dislike “C.O.D.” for the simple reason that I can’t stand it when a band explains an abbreviation right after it’s been mentioned. “C.O.D.” not only proves the band thought that the “evil” subject matter fit them well (“Care of the Devil”), it also goes to show they were running out of inspiration, really fast. “Breaking the Rules” has a nice light guitar sound during its verses but the stretched out line “Just keep on breaking the rules” in the chorus is so tediously slow I can read two pages of Ulysses during the same time. There’s also “Night of the Long Knives,” but the only things it reminded me off were Aerosmith and AC/DC. Man, this is one frustrating album. It’s too AC/DC to be a disaster (that makes sense, right?), with a clear sound, good overall performances, etc. It’s just that the memorable riffs and songs are lacking, and that’s kinda sad, considering they once turned in one monster riff after the other.

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Flick of the Switch (1983)

7.5

Rising Power / This House Is on Fire / Flick of the Switch / Nervous Shakedown / Landslide / Guns for Hire / Deep in the Hole / Bedlam in Belgium / Badlands / Brain Shake

OK, it’s time to refine some earlier made statements. Remember when I said that decline set in from For Those About to Rock onwards? Well, that’s when you’re not counting Flick of the Switch, which might be the most underrated of all their albums (just like the mighty Powerage). It isn’t a glorious masterpiece, it’s not even one of their best four or five albums, but it comes damn close. It’s a convincing and hard-rocking album that deserves a new audience. All the exaggerations of the past (canons, extremely vulgar lyrics, pop hooks) are abandoned in favor of concise (nine out of ten tracks are between 3 and 4 minutes), raw and simple rock tunes that solidified AC/DC’s reputation as the ultimate workingman’s band. Or should have, because the critics nor the audience seemed to care about this album at the time. That’s a complete travesty, since the album certainly stood the test of time (and probably even better than the previous album), so the band definitely knew how to produce an album without the assistance of a big shot producer. From the trudging album opener to the hurried “Brain Shake,” their best closer since “Night Prowler,” Flick’s straightforward groove never lets up.

Another aspect that’s quite striking is that the band has suddenly become less sexist (WIMPS!!!). The no-nonsense “Rising Power” that kicks off the album on a high and dry note does refer to women, but whereas the previous albums would contain explicit invitations to perform oral sex, etc, the most explicit comment this time around is “My body’s for abuse.” Similarly, “This House Is on Fire” stays quite respectable with “My flame is gonna burn in you.” Regretfully, the song’s one of the least impressive tracks here, sounding most of all like “Hells Bells, Pt. 2,” but then not as promising as the title would suggest. Other tracks easily make up for that, though, like the simple title track that rocks with a Scott-era nastiness and highlights the boys’ linguistics accomplishments (“She devil, she evil” – that’s right, one doesn’t need verbs anymore). Once again, it’s Johnson who delivers the most surprising contribution: his screeching still sounds mightily powerful, even though it’s less varied than on Back in Black. One of Johnson’s greatest moments comes with his blood-curdling “Yeeeaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh” in the fast-paced “Landslide,” which once again shows the band was one lean and mean machine when it kicked out the jams. Too bad they didn’t do these speedy songs more often, since it would’ve been a blast. Another highlight that’s usually mentioned by fans of the band (other people probably never heard about this album) is the mercilessly pounding “Guns for Hire,” which sounds just great, but for some reason I’m not fond of that chorus that all too obviously refers to “Hooooooooney, what do you do for moooooooney,” with the difference that “Guns for hiiiiiiiiiiiire, shoot you with desiiiiiiiiire” is a bit more, you know, stupid. But who cares about that when “Bedlam in Belgium” is coming your way? Damn, what a viciously pounding bastard that is! Based on a troubled gig in Belgium during the Scott-era, it’s just as raucous as the event it describes (“Stayed on stage, cops in a rage, crowd yelled for more, it was war war war”), with a thick, dirty guitar sound and a repetitive but memorable riff. After “Bedlam,” the bluesy “Badlands” is a bit of a disappointment – sounding like a lesser (and slower) cousin of ZZ Top’s “Tush,” but that’s made up for by the closing track, which not only boasts a silly title, but also a drive that’ll raise the spirits and a nifty ascending guitar melody. Not being one to miss an opportunity, Johnson adds his two cents with the immortal lines “Toe to toe with a black widow, fee fum fum smell the blood of rock ‘n roll.” Now I’m asking you, is that primal rock ‘n roll poetry or what? Just when the majority of people had lost interest, the band delivered an album that proved they could crank out a decent album as effortlessly as anyone. If they wanted.

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'74 Jailbreak (1984)

7.5

Jailbreak / You Ain’t Got a Hold on Me / Show Business / Soul Stripper / Baby Please Don’t Go

Released for the American fans that were still paying attention, ’74 Jailbreak was a short collection (only 24 minutes) of tracks taken from two Australia-only releases. “Jailbreak” had already appeared on the Australian version of Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, while the other ones were taken from High Voltage (1975). As for the quality of the songs, it’s there! While not as heavy as the grinding crunch of Let There Be Rock or Powerage , the songs show a more blues-oriented version of the band, even more so than the American version of High Voltage (which leads me to presume the songs gathered here were taken from the band’s early stages when they were still experimenting and trying to make sense of their own brilliant style). The undisputed highlight here is the title track, a delicious riff-rocker that has all of the Scott-era swagger and a bluesy core that was absent from the next line-up’s releases. Other proof of the much more roots-oriented music of the band are the frantic boogie-rock of “Show Business” (with lots of nice soloing by an Angus, who was only 15 at the time) and Joe Williams’ classic “Baby Please Don’t Go” that’s clearly based on the version of Ted Nugent’s Amboy Dukes, and this implies it’s fast ‘n nasty.

“You Ain’t Got a Hold on Me” and “Soul Stripper” are less impressive, the first one being a decent but unremarkable laidback blues-rocker, while the second one is a lengthy dirge that nevertheless contains some fiery guitar playin’ and some rare percussion touches. So, ’74 Jailbreak is obviously a must for any self-respecting fan, and we all know that a self-respecting AC/DC-fan is also a Bon Scott-fan, so there you go. I still haven’t found an answer as to why it only contains five songs - for chrissakes! - and still costs as much as any other of their releases. It’s a mystery why they didn’t include the remaining songs from the Australian albums, such as “School Days” (from T.N.T.), “Stick Around” and “Love Song” (from High Voltage), “R.I.P” (from Dirty Deeds) or even the rare single version of “Can I Sit Next to You Girl?” they recorded with Dave Evans on vocals. All those would’ve fit on one shiny disc, and then the full-price would’ve been justified. Oh well, just ignore impotence and buy it anyway, after you’ve purchased all the other Scott-era albums, of course.

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Fly on the Wall (1985)

4

Fly on the Wall / Shake Your Foundations / First Blood / Danger / Sink the Pink / Playing with Girls / Stand Up / Hell or High Water / Back in Business / Send for the Man

Ouch, this hurts. Whereas Flick of the Switch came as a surprise, because it contained a string of enjoyable rockers and sounded appropriately raw and dirty, Fly on the Wall nearly sounds like an album by a newly founded Bulgarian hard rock band with very limited means. I mean, the only thing that’s changed is that Phil Rudd was kicked out of the band during the final stages of the Flick-sessions and that he was replaced by Simon Wright. I’m not going to blame this one on Wright, though, as his primal pounding is fine enough. The guitars sound like a grating grind instead of a powerful roar – hell, you could even call it sound pudding - , the bass is nearly inaudible, the drums click with insane doses of corporate appeal and – the worst offender of them all – the vocals sound horrid, and not only because Johnson’s screeching has entered new levels of bottomless noise that’s completely devoid of any blues or soul. There’s energy, all right, but what’s left of Johnson’s voice (not even half of the mighty rasp of Back in Black) is further ruined by the layers of reverb. Imagine the sound of a cheap Black & Decker in an empty concrete basement with high ceilings. Ggnniiiiiiiirrrriiiiiittttttssssssiiiiiiiiiiillllccchhh!!!!! Something like that.

A good example of this revamped version of the band can be heard at work during the title track. Basically another one in an endless series of macho rockers, its appeal is largely ruined by the sonic terror. I wonder where it comes from. Maybe it had something to do with the band trying to catch up with the stuff that was bad and happenin' at the time, like speed/thrash/death metal or sub-genres like that. While AC/DC once were the epitome of coolness and sounded like no other band, they’d become a mere shadow of their former selves in such a way that I’d rather compare them to other bands than themselves. “Shake Your Foundations” is not nearly as interesting as the pop metal they did a few years earlier, yet it’s an album highlight here. It’s a decent song, strutting along with a Stonesy arrogance, but it pales when compared to the real deal, and what about these lyrics:

Help me, help me please
Tame this animal and help me to breathe
I said no, no way, gotta come with me all the way
OK, I’ll play
Aye aye oh, shake your foundations
Aye aye oh, shake it to the floor

The album’s cluttered with mind-blowing poetry like that. Who the **** is Pablo Neruda? Among the acceptable songs are also “Sink the Pink,” an unashamedly anthemic monster that’s closer to Back in Black’s glossy rock than anything else on this album, and especially “Playing with Girls.” To be honest, it sounds like 2nd rate Van Halen (just listen!) – and you know there’s something wrong when an album highlight reminds you more of another band – but there’s some variation in Angus’ fret torture and some sounds we hadn’t heard before. As for the remainder of the album: it’s quite dreadful at times. “First Blood,” “Danger” and “Stand Up” sound like they’re refusing to end, dragging and lagging, becoming the tangible definition of “unnecessary.” “Hell or High Water” is slightly better, but once you try to avoid the energy, you’re faced with a mediocre stadium rocker. “Back in Business” screams “1985,” basically embodies lame corporate rock and, regretfully, goes to show they’re not back at all. Finally (yes I’ll keep it short), the album closer “Send for the Man” certainly rawks when your name is Bryan Adams and you just drooled “Everything I Do,” but one does expect more from AC/DC. While the first two tracks save it from being a disaster, I seriously doubt whether anyone but a mindlessly hardcore AC/DC-fan gets a kick out of this album. They still had the vigour and the energy, but they had forgotten how to use it, and God knows what directionless energy can cause.

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Who Made Who (1986)

5.5

Who Made Who / You Shook Me All Night Long / D.T. / Sink the Pink / Ride On / Hells Bells / Shake Your Foundations / Chase the Ace / For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)

Part stop-gap ‘compilation,’ part cynical rip-off and part soundtrack to Stephen King’s legendarily silly movie Maximum Overdrive, Who Made Who gloriously fails at its attempts to pretend it is an essential release. OK, some of the stuff gathered here is excellent: “You Shook Me All Night Long” and “Hells Bells” are among the highlights on the band’s lauded Back in Black, “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)" is by many people considered to be a rock classic (I’m not that fond of it, but OK, I dig it), “Sink the Pink,” and “Shake Your Foundations” are two of the few bearable songs on Fly on the Wall. There’s also one song from the Bon Scott-era, but I have no idea why it’s “Ride On,” a slow and bluesy track from the Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap-compilation. To legitimise its own existence, the compilation also features three new cuts, but they don’t exactly turn it into an essential artefact. The repetitive title track is quite enjoyable, in a way that the cheery fellow at your local pub cracks you up. Good company, but only for a few minutes. On top of that, there are two new instrumentals, “D.T.” and “Chase the Ace,” none of which is particularly impressive.

They both suffer from the soundtrack-disease, the former because there’s not much of an inspiring structure and a fade-out of roughly one minute (while it’s a three minute-song), the latter because it just lacks something when not accompanied by the visual images it’s normally part of. So, that’s a few excellent tracks, a few good ones and some filler. Under normal circumstances, this would warrant at least a decent-good rating, but hey, it’s still only nine songs and the best of ‘em were already released in the company of much more entertaining stuff. If you’re into soundtracks or AC/DC, this might be your thing, otherwise just ignore it and get the essential albums instead. “Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?”

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Blow up your Video (1988)

5

Heatseeker / That’s the Way I Wanna Rock & Roll / Meanstreak / Go Zone / Kissin’ Dynamite / Nick of Time / Some Sin for Nuthin’ / Ruff Stuff / Two’s Up / This Means War

Another music in the same old kitchen. Had this been their one and only record, I would have forgotten about them fifteen minutes after the end of the album. Once again I presume that only AC/DC maniacs, attention seekers and Republicans with a non-ironic mullet would dare to call this a ‘good’ album - when compared to what they did 10 years earlier. Talking about 10 years earlier, Vanda & Young are back in the producers’ seats, but unfortunately they seem as inspired and incapable of coming up with good ideas as the band themselves. Both the production and the songs on Blow Up Your Video sound a bit better than those on Fly on the Wall, but hey, to accomplish this they only needed to wake up and play. Slightly less obnoxious than the previous album doesn’t mean it’s not bland, though. Very few of these songs are really memorable (in other words: if I had to assemble a 20-song retrospective of the entire AC/DC career, I wouldn’t chose any song from this or the previous album) and on top of that there’s very little musical attack. The bass is nearly absent during most of the songs, the guitars are nearly indistinguishable from each other (pap, pap, pap) and once again Brian Johnson sounds like a defect kitchen appliance.

Lacking the fierceness of before (at least Flick of the Switch – despite being an 80’s album – did sound rowdy and wild), some of the songs here are among their most accessible ever and that’s also kind of disappointing, since they’re supposed to sound perverse, loud and dangerous, dad-gum-it! Anyway, kick-off single “Heatseeker” practically sounds like blue-collar Americana rock, or – to be more exact – like The George Satellites covering a John Fogerty/CCR-song, while “That’s the Way I Wanna Rock & Roll” seems to stem from the same Budweiser-soaked roadhouse tradition. Complete with the overly familiar lyrics such as “Be-bop-a-lula, baby what I say” and a repeated “Roll, roll, roll,” it’s a decent example of harmless but pleasant roots-rock. It’s indeed a long way from “Whole Lotta Rosie” to this. There’s one more song that’s quite OK in my book, “Nick of Time.” It’s about the only song during which the bass playing is actually audible – probably because of the stop-start guitars, but there are aspects that further set it apart. It has a melodic sweep the other songs here don’t have - even Johnson tries to sing a certain melody -, it’s identifiable and has some neat soloing by the photogenic little man handling the SG. Apart from these three songs, however, there’s not much to crack up the guests during the next party. OK, “Meanstreak” walks a funky road that was profoundly explored by Aerosmith in the ‘70’s (that struttin’ rhythm! Joe “if sexy could be measured in people, I’d be China” Perry’s all over it!), but I find the overwhelming backing vocals (“Ain’t seen nuthin’ to get me off my ass”) particularly annoying. “Two’s Up” is another unanticipated track here: because of Van Halen-styled solo and the minor chords-sequence it’s something entirely different. Hell, it even has this tone of melancholy/sadness beneath the muscular hard rock-surface. What happened? Who got abused? “This Means War,” the speedy album closer, once again proves that speeding won’t guarantee the Boring-tag as easily, but we shouldn’t forget they used to do this kinda stuff much better (think “Landslide,” think “Snowballed,” think “Rocker” – all vastly superior), even though Angus already seems to hint at the next album’s hit, “Thunderstruck.” Then there’s also “Go Zone,” “Kissin’ Dynamite,” “Some Sin for Nuthin’,” and “Ruff Stuff,” and frankly, if they weren’t so friggin' annoying every so often, I wouldn’t have remembered them. Especially “Go Zone” is an unimaginative drag, while “Some Sin” is just an insipid fourth rate Back in Black-outtake. Damn, while the album cover seems to suggest Angus and the band really meant to deliver the goods, Blow up Your Video is another serious disappointment for those who started at a better place. If this (2003) were 1988, I’d bet for a lot of money they’d never recover from it. Fortunately, I’d lose.

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The Razor's Edge (1990)

7

Thunderstruck / Fire Your Guns / Moneytalks / The Razor’s Edge / Mistress for Christmas / Rock Your Heart Out / Are You Ready / Got You by the Balls / Shot of Love / Let’s Make It / Goodbye & Good Riddance to Bad Luck / If You Dare

AAAaaaahhhh, this is better. Still not a return to their classic form (already more than a decade ago), The Razor’s Edge shows a re-energized band that’s set out to restore their image of raucous rock animals. Since 1983’s Flick of the Switch, their albums had been sketchy – to say the least – and I bet that no one expected them ever to regain their composure and deliver an album that was largely satisfying. Well, here you go. 12 songs (that’s a first), all of ‘em produced by the (at the time) popular Bruce Fairbairn (Aerosmith! Bon Jovi! Loverboy!), and you can say whatever you want about the album sounding commercial and a sell-out – because it’s true – but it does sound as if the band has taken a vitamin-trip to some Scandinavian country or something. The drums click more than they thump (this can be a bit annoying sometimes), the guitars often sound too sharp (mistaking sharpness for power) and the bass could’ve been a bit fuller, but overall this sounds surprisingly fresh and healthy. On the other hand, the lyrics haven’t lost any of their idiocy; if anything, they’ve become more sex-inspired and macho than any album since (probably) Back in Black, which means we’re in for a good dose of moronic pleasure. But hey, who listened to their lyrics since Back in Black anyway? Indeed, nobody.

Don’t get me wrong. I realize that the above sounds quite ecstatic, but for honesty’s sake I should add that most of the praise is reserved for the first album half, which is about twice as good as the rest. No matter how recognizable it is, just try to explain the appeal of “Thunderstruck” to people. Some fans think it’s the greatest thing the band has ever done, while as many people seem to think it’s the biggest pile of shite they’ve ever committed to tape. I dig it, I just like the way it’s built up, with that hammering guitar technique, the introduction of those pounding drums, the “THUNDER”-yelling and the no-this-ain’t-human-screeching. Lots of Johnson’s contributions are simply horrible (without the reverb-thing it’s even more obvious), but fortunately the convincing music often makes up for this. The album continues in this excellent vein with the speedy and ultra-tight “Fire Your Guns” that packs the blistering, vicious punch of tracks like “Snowballed” into a radio-friendly format. Even friendlier than that – hell, even my mom can whistle along! – is the hit “Moneytalks” (for some reason written as one word). Boasting a truly cool riff and passable vocals by Johnson, it’s the band at their most charming, silly and anthemic since, uh, well since “You Shook Me All Night Long,” I guess. Nearly as interesting are the songs that make up the middle section of the album. “Rock Your Heart Out” and “Are You Ready” (no, not the Thin Lizzy-song) are decent rockers, but whereas the fist one is a bit marred by the overly crunchy sound, the second one has unnecessarily upfront backing vocals (please, let the listener sing along, not every band member), but I presume that’s all part of the “let’s get this band a multiple-platinum success”-plan (and it did work). A bit more successful than that was the title track, funnily enough one of their darkest tracks ever, but on a bubblegum album like this, “darkest” has to be taken with a huge bag of salt of course. Anyway, it is a nifty song, very different, with some unfamiliar guitar sounds and some mystery around it. As for the remainder of the album: the material ranges from quite good to merely decent. “Got You by the Balls” and “Shot of Love” are pretty dumb and generic but they do what they gotta do with energy and for now, that’s enough. You don’t want these guys to offer treatises about faith and spiritual resurrections, right? Unfortunately there are also a few unavoidable clunkers: “Mistress for Christmas” just never gets goin’ (don’t you hate it when an albums seems to build up to a climax (around 1:30), and then … nothing happens), “Let’s Make It” is an irritating screechfest and “Goodbye & Good Riddance” is as generic as can be. There are several mediocre songs and shortcomings on the album, but compared to the two previous albums, it’s nearly a masterpiece and a confirmation of the fact that AC/DC was among the living again. We just had to wait for how long, didn’t we?

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Live (1992)

7.5

Thunderstruck / Shoot to Thrill / Back in Black / Who Made Who / Heatseeker / The Jack / Moneytalks / Hells Bells / Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap / Whole Lotta Rosie / You Shook Me All Night Long / Highway to Hell / T.N.T. / For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)

Live is a 70-minute document covering performances from several shows (but skilfully glued together and “re-touched,” as they prefer to call it), most notably from their famous gig at Donnington when they were headlining the Monsters of Rock-circus for the third time. As these kinds of live albums go, it’s pretty obvious the tapes have been tampered with and the sound quality can vary slightly from one song to the other, but overall I’d say this has a better, fuller sound than If You Want Blood You’ve Got It. Of course the albums can’t really be compared: in 1978, AC/DC was still very much of an upcoming band from down under and each gig they had to prove they should be reckoned with (which they did so convincingly). The AC/DC on this album knows it’s regarded as one as the top hard rock acts and delivers many of its most familiar hits and crowd pleasers. If anything, Live is up till now the only passable candidate for a greatest hits compilation as well, covering most (there are always omissions of course – only one song from Highway to Hell and Let There Be Rock and none from Powerage?) of their smash hits, and moreover, it might be a cheap way for a curious music fan the become acquainted with the band.

At this point, the band had just recovered from its most uneven period (not surprising so few songs from their post-Back in Black ‘80’s albums wind up on this album), but right from the start they make one thing very clear: they never lost it on stage (not that they were really old or anything – Angus still being only 32!). They’re as committed to their craft as any other band and like Motörhead, they’ve pleased thousands of fans with deafeningly loud rifffests that simply make you forget you’re not 16, obnoxious and horny anymore. The obvious weakest link here is Johnson (OK, after this one I’ll stop this nagging about him), whose strained voice just can’t carry the tunes like it once did (very noticeable during “For Those About to Rock” and “Hells Bells,” for instance), but as a performer there’s nothing wrong with the geezer: his timing is excellent, his dedication awesome and you just feel how he completely owns the audience. The band tears through newer crowd-pleasers “Thunderstruck” and “Moneytalks” with heaps of gusto, ups the ante during the surprising “Heatseeker” and their take on “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” once again goes to show what a great track that is. The version of the unavoidable “The Jack” is unnecessarily stretched out, but the audience is digging it. The four cuts that are taken from the band’s popular Back in Black are met with limitless enthusiasm and they’ve stood the test of time, even though they’re no match (sorry guys) for the monster that “Whole Lotta Rosie” is, a track that must be among the hardest rocking rock ‘n roll-updates ever. Simply incredible. Noticeable are also the presence of “Who Made Who” (good version, by the way) and the nasty hooligan-rock of “T.N.T.,” that’s the fitting introduction to the unavoidably bombastic “For Those About to Rock.” I’m still not that wild about it, but I can imagine – like I’ve been told by a few people who were smart enough to check them out when they had the chance – that it works when you’re in the audience and that you’ll be yelling along with Johnson. “SHOOT!” As it is now, Live is a fine live album that captures the laddies during one of their sweaty and raucous tours. There are a few shortcomings (it’s fragmented, I would’ve loved to hear a few more surprises and there’s Johnson), but that shouldn’t prevent you from getting this instead of a Phil Collins-album, or anything like that.

Note: There’s also a 2-CD version of this album (the Special Collector’s Edition) that contains a few more selections from The Razor’s Edge (“Fire Your Guns,” “Are You Ready” and the title track – the best tracks in other words), “Sin City” (from Powerage) as well as extended version of “Jailbreak” (nearly fifteen minutes of wanking!), “Let There Be Rock” (12 minutes of skull-breaking!) and “High Voltage” (10 minutes of electrocution blues!). I haven’t heard that version, but I’m sure it’s worth every single second of it.

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Ballbreaker (1995)

5

Hard as a Rock / Cover You in Oil / The Furor / Boogie Man / The Honey Roll / Burnin’ Alive / Hail Caesar / Love Bomb / Caught with Your Pants Down / Whiskey on the Rocks / Ballbreaker

I like to slip into something good
I see a young girl in the neighborhood
The way she move, I must confess
I like to run my hands up and down her legs
The way she dress, she look so fine
I’ll make her wet, I’ll make her mine
She like it hard, she likes ‘em slow
All right honey, come on let’s go
(…)
Cover you in oil, let me cover you in oil
I wanna cover you in oil, let me cover you in oil

I absolutely didn’t wanna withhold this fine piece of poetry (from “Cover You in Oil”). Notice the confident disdain for congruence (why choose “the way she dresses” when the much more credible “the way she dress” is also an option?), fine rhymes (good/hood, fine/mine), the nonchalantly tossed alliteration already in the first line, the refined deductive reasoning (she’s wet -> she’s mine!), meaningful repetitions (“I,” “she” and “oil” stealing the show) and the lack of words containing more than two syllables (with the noticeable exception of the “’hood”). The imaginative imagery and vulgarities contained in these eleven songs, like

Baby bend over, touch your toes, she take over, the bomb explodes (“The Honey Roll”)

Buildin’ steam, whippin’ cream, she likes a fat, smokin’ stack (“Ballbreaker”)

and

Her hand went for my throat, as I began to choke, she said honey shoot your load (same song)

go to show that a couple of Australian brothers capable of delivering clusters of hulking chords and albums bursting with (once) nearly murderous, ear-deafening clangour, were utterly shitty lyricists. But, since nobody cares about those goddamn lyrics, let’s move on to what it really is about: hot, animalistic rock ‘n roll, which we get in very limited doses. Some crucial changes took place in the meantime: prime pounder Phil Rudd was welcomed back after a ten-year sentence and Rick Rubin ended up in the producer’s seat. On paper this sounds promising – if not totally exhilarating – considering the fact that Rubin made The Cult sound much cooler than they actually were (with Electric), produced a thrash metal album that still has to be topped (Slayer’s Reign in Blood) and revitalised Johnny Cash’s career with a string of immensely likeable albums. As it is, the result is debatable. Its sound is superior to most of the albums since Back in Black, avoiding the revolting mess of Fly on the Wall and the gloss of The Razor’s Edge, but on the other it’s not really powerful either. It’s dry and muscular, OK, but dry and muscular is not enough, as AC/DC albums should kick so much ass you shouldn’t be able to sit for an entire day. That’s not the case. It would all be redeemed if the band came up with a bunch of first-rate opuses and monster headbangers. That’s not the case either. What you get is For Those About to Rock, Pt. 2: a very frustrating album, with few highlights but also few really obnoxious songs (let’s not talk about the lyrics, okay?). There’s a bunch of sub-par tracks, though, like “Cover You in Oil,” the irrepressibly stupid “Love Bomb,” the “trying to be as cool as “Live Wire” but completely failing at it” of “Burnin’ Alive” (though the riff is pretty cool at first) and the marching band sloganeering of “Hail Caesar” (which explains the heroic cover, I guess).

But, not all is lost yet. There are at least two tracks that even within a decade will be considered decent cuts (at Peters Towers, at least): the opening track, which is a contagiously tight riff-attack you’ll have to submit to; and that minor chord-revelation, “The Furor,” that’s actually more sweeping than TEN English Patients, certainly after you’ve finished a few six-packs of Belgian beer (I swear it, I was snapping my fingers with tears in my eyes!). If the notion of “objectivity” should exist, I highly doubt whether one of the remaining tracks would pass the test, but a handful of ‘em aren’t that bad in my biased opinion. The chugging blues-rock of “Boogie Man” actually sounds as if Billy Gibbons, Dusty Hill and Frank Beard were hired as session men, that’s how much the song oozes out “Texas”, while the hairy-chested stomp of “The Honey Roll” is guaranteed to introduce you to your hazardously high testosterone levels. Furthermore, my attempts at disliking “Whiskey on the Rocks” and the title track persistently fail, but that’s not to say we’re dealing with a good album here. I’m fully aware that the sound makes up for a lot of the shortcomings and clunkers like “Caught You with Your Pants Down” even wouldn’t be saved by the divine racket of Let There Be Rock. With an album of which the highlights would be the misfires on any of their first five albums, AC/DC proved it could disappoint over and over again (hardcore AC/DC-fans are patient men, I kid you not), even despite the tentative amelioration of The Razor’s Edge and the camouflaging package. A smelly turd in a golden wrapping is still a smelly turd. Well, Ballbreaker ain’t no smelly turd, but she sure taste like stale chocolate pudding.

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Live from the Atlantic Studios (1997)

9

Live Wire / Problem Child / High Voltage / Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be / Dog Eat Dog / The Jack / Whole Lotta Rosie / Rocker

I admit I’m cheating here, as Live from the Atlantic Studios isn’t separately available in stores. Because Atlantic wanted to boost the band in the US (that’s right, once they weren’t huge – this is three years before Back in Black), they invited them for some kind of radio broadcast in December of 1977 (Powerage wasn’t released yet). The original intention for it was to become a promotional release to distribute to radio stations and the like, but of course, it was picked up by bootleggers who made huge profits out of it on the market. Only in 1997, the recording got a CD-version, with the release of the Bonfire-box set (it’s also included in a box set covering all the albums, smartly called AC/DC), a set that for some unexplainable reason exists with and without Back in Black (being the tribute to good ‘ole Bon, I presume). Now, I don’t have Bonfire, but luckily I got the album from a friend, and I guess the rating above suggests what I think about this release: it rules mercilessly and up till now (September 2003) it’s still the definitive (official) live release by the band. Why, you might ask. Well, dear reader, I’ll tell you why: sound, songs and delivery, that’s why. And the sexual innuendo, of course.

Sound

Certainly not as heavy as Let There Be Rock, but sounding more “natural” than any of their studio recordings, this session actually captures the thrill a kick-ass rehearsal in a good environment can give you. The guitars crackle with electricity, sounding like strapping young lads with a mission, Cliff Williams’ pulsating bass lines are audible throughout the whole performance and together with Rudd’s simple drumming provide the foundation the performance needs and Scott’s voice is also in great shape. Man, the seventies were great in terms of sound. Studio techniques have improved, but they certainly knew how this brand of bluesy hooligan rock should sound, for sure. Nasty, but inviting, reverberating with loads of hormones and more energizing than a bottle of steroids.

Songs

Apart from – maybe – “The Jack,” what would you complain about? OK smartass, there’s no “Back in Black,” no “For Those About to Rock,” no “Danger,” but they certainly wouldn’t have fit in here, either. This is before they polished up their blues-tinged jungle-rock and turned it into a faultless metallic hit machine (for a while). Three cuts from their best album ever (four if you count “Problem Child” as well), and four from (the Australian version of) High Voltage. Picking “Live Wire” was a great idea: it’s certainly not among their most popular songs, but it’s a great song to kick off with … just listen to that muted intro, and then suddenly DJENGG! DJENGG! and they’re on their way. Unfortunately, “The Jack” is stretched out for 8,5 long minutes, but that’s partly compensated for by an extended version of “Rocker,” the greasiest slab of retro-rock of the late seventies.

Delivery

It’s about dedication. AC/DC certainly weren’t The Grateful Dead from down under: they usually stretched out a few or more songs (“Let There Be Rock,” The Jack,” etc), but basically they just provided the audience with louder, rowdier and more exciting versions of the studio counterparts. This is not about freewheelin’ explorations or jaw-dropping technical skills, this is about kicking out the jams, setting the place on fire with tight and filthy riffs with sideburns and an alcohol breath. The interplay between Angus (still underage) and Malcolm is such a joy, such a noisefest, while Scott wails, screeches and moans his way through the 8-song performance. Quite appropriately, the reactions of the crowd were ecstatic. Hell, if I’d been there, I probably would’ve been playin’ air guitar and pounding my head on that primal rhythm. I can easily imagine they did that kind of thing to you. I’m usually quite reserved (that’s what I like to think, at least), but AC/DC, they just make you feel friggin’ good, you know, they show you what fun really is. Like some Belgian journalist wrote, when the re-issues of the Scott-era albums were released: it’s Friday, 4 p.m. (or whenever it is), you go home, put on Let There Be Rock and THEN the weekend starts. A liberating blast that embodies everything that’s fun, cool and naughty. Live from the Atlantic Studios captures that sense of exhilaration too, and that’s why every home needs a copy, regardless of your location, creed, sex (debatable) or age. I bet some people would be much nicer if they played stuff like this on a regular basis.

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Stiff Upper Lip (2000)

8

Stiff Upper Lip / Meltdown / House of Jazz / Hold Me Back / Safe in New York City / Can’t Stand Still / Can’t Stop Rock ‘n’ Roll / Satellite Blues / Damned / Come and Get It / All Screwed Up / Give It Up

PAY-OFF! I’d even say BULL’S EYE! What a terrific, surprising REVENGE! Goddamn, it’s nearly a RESURRECTION! Of course I added half a point just because it was worth the wait (which Ballbreaker certainly wasn’t), but I’ll be blunt and get it over with: Stiff Upper Lip is their best album since Back in Black, perhaps boasting their best sound since Powerage. Now, I can perfectly imagine that some people in the audience will think I’m an ignorant idiot and I can understand that (honestly, I do), because there are more than enough arguments to support the idea it’s a complete miscarriage. Phil Rudd’s still there and his playing is as progressive (pick any meaning of the word) as the Bush-tribe, Johnson’s spine-tingling death shrieks are still very much intact (shudder, brother, shudder!), the Young Bros. come up with one familiar bluesy riff after the other, the album mostly stays horribly mid-tempo, the band basically makes a nostalgic trip to the late ‘70’s days when Vanda & Young produced, and … they’re ripping themselves off like they never dared before, but boy … I JUST DON’T CARE! Stiff Upper Lip is that rare beast that we call an excellent modern AC/DC-album.

Maybe I should tone down the ecstatic exclamations a bit, but how would you react on the day you’d discover there’s life after death after all? And they’ve proven that twice – with two albums twenty years apart from each other. A second Angus on a pedestal is therefore warranted, him being the, you know, ‘greatest’ attraction in the band. Now, just to prove I’ve also listened to the album, let’s discuss some o’ dem ol’ kozmic blues slabs here: if the title track ain’t a solid macho-rocker then my name’s David Copperfield. The separation of the guitars is just the way I like it, Rudd’s drumming during the song (no, replace ‘song’ by ‘entire album’) is the definition of “prehistoric groove” (who needs Bill Bruford when you can have Phil “the last time I carried out an unexpected trick must’ve been in the ‘60’s” Rudd??), and for some reason, Johnson’s gargle sounds endurable. Of course, he ain’t no Robert Plant, no Van Morrison, no Jimmi Somerville, but dare I say it’s his best performance since Flick of the Switch? “House of Jazz” (how could these pervies resist calling it “House of Jizz”?) boasts this huge mammoth guitar tone that could be used to demolish empty warehouses, while the thudding repetition and intensifying guitars of “Safe in New York City” – despite the horrible events that occurred there in 2001 - turn it into a supreme track to bang your head to, and don’t forget to absorb the solo con carne! Further attractions are impeccable riff-rocker “Satellite Blues” that somehow seems to combine the dryness of Powerage with the smoothness of Back in Black. More inclined towards the latter are the average “Hold Me Back” (gotta dig those thin guitar frills, though), the monotonous “Can’t Sit Still” (Malcolm basically does the same for 3:41, even more so than during other songs), and “Can’t Stop Rock ‘n’ Roll,” that obviously tries to pack the punch of Back in Black’s most accessible moments with another ode to the gentle art of rock ‘n’ roll. An ode in a long series (“It’s a Long Way to the Top,” “Let There Be Rock,” “Rock ‘n’ Roll Damnation,” “Rock & Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution,” “For Those About to Rock,” “That’s the Way I Wanna Rock ‘n’ Roll,” etc. – I made my point, right?) it delivers the same old daily suggestion with verve and style. If you like “Satellite Blues,” you might as well mention “Give It Up,” which basically speeds it up a bit (compare those intros, if you want) and that’s it. Maybe worth mentioning: for the fist time in a long while, I got a kick out of stretched catchphrase in an AC/DC-song (“I’ll be daaaaaaaaaaamned!”), while they employ this stop/start-rhythm in “All Screwed Up” (Helmet’s “Bad Mood” is right around the corner – with a bit of imagination) that’s basically the only strong point of the song, but one is often enough. Ask Joey when you see him. Some of the songs (“Come and Get It” is one that comes to mind) aren’t that impressive, whether they’re a bit too slow or overly lazy, but they’re easily made up for by the album’s strengths. Aaahh, why don’t I get rid of this defensive tone and this “but, but but”? Stiff Upper Lip has nearly everything you expect from AC/DC when they’re in shape: beefy riffs, sweat, guts, stupid lyrics (though not as stupid as before – and I must admit I’m usually too distracted by the kick-ass music to notice the lyrics) and a whole lotta juvenile fun. The only thing that’s lacking is a bona fide classic, but hey, AC/DC has proven you CAN live thrice, and with an album like this one, I can only be grateful. Have a drink on me, boys.

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