ROCK OR RUST - AC/DC hits the road again... and why, exactly?

In the summer of 2010 – June 28, to be exact, as they left the stage at Bilbao, Spain’s San Mamés Stadium, concluding an international tour that began over a year and a half earlier, seeing some 160 shows performed in some 32 countries – Angus and Malcolm Young, the diminutive brothers from Australia, by way of Scotland, who formed AC/DC in late 1973, passed up a singular opportunity that a great many bands wished had even been visited upon them in the first place.

The opportunity was to call it a day, and allow their band to go out on top of the world, in immutable, unassailable style after nearly 37 years of ups and downs worthy of Spinal Tap. AC/DC’s career arc had, by this point, encompassed the whole of the clichéd rock band story: a humble start with a debut album released only regionally, a long, four-and-a-half year slog to the top, the tragic death of their lead singer (choking on vomit, no less), a breakout album after his death, dizzying heights, a slow but steady descent away from said dizzying heights, addictions and line-up changes, and a late, wholly unexpected comeback.

Angus and Malcolm Young could be forgiven for neglecting to seize this opportunity. By the summer of 2010 they had been playing in a rock’n’roll band for 36 years, a very long time for this line of work. There was no retiring and moving on to another career as a consultant; AC/DC was all they cared to do, and more importantly, the only thing they knew how to do. It had been 30 years since their 7^th studio album, Back in Black, sold millions upon millions of copies all over the globe, making them one of the biggest bands in the galaxy. They grew from hungry young scrappers into middle-aged men of good fortune during that time, efficiently replacing a vocalist and two drummers, and becoming millionaires many times over.

But the repercussions of Bon Scott’s death in February of 1980 stretched far beyond Angus and Malcolm just losing their friend, lead singer and writing partner. Perhaps the brothers Young would have been compelled to close ranks and consolidate their control regardless of losing Bon. At any rate, between 1979 and 1985 they fired five managers and become insular to the point of seeming like – for guys who always passed themselves off as jeans-wearing, everyday blokes – mean motherfuckers. “Their management went, roadies, other members of their entourage,” said photographer Robert Ellis. “They were in a state of paranoia, feeling that all eyes were upon them.”

And as they transitioned from a band that reveled in two guitar-bass-drums rock’n’roll into AC/DC Inc., the music slowly settled into an uncharacteristically generic non-groove. Prior to For Those About to Rock, each successive album bettered the band’s previous effort, and at least three songs were instantly canonical, the kinds of songs that served as templates for teenage kids just picking up a guitar. There were few, if any, bands that could touch AC/DC’s output from 1977 to 1981.

Beginning in 1983, however, with Flick of the Switch, listening to each new AC/DC album became an exercise in masochism. Masochism on the band’s part, that they struggled coming up with songs that matched up to the Bon-era catalog or Back in Black. Masochism on the listener’s part, because despite the diminishing returns of Flick of the Switch, Fly on the Wall, Blow Up Your Video, et al, we still obediently bought each new album, hoping they would somehow rediscover the glorious spark that propelled them through the 70s. Instead, the gaps between albums stretched longer and longer, and the songs became more and more juvenile, and even – very strange for this band – forgettable. You get the sense listening to The Razors Edge and Ballbreaker that Angus and Malcolm developed a cynical, almost pathological conviction that the songs simply had to be about Rocking and macho sex – and little else – lest they disappoint all the fans who had no interest in hearing about (in their minds, apparently) anything other than Rocking and macho sex.

Bon Scott’s lyrics could certainly be infantile and sexist, and he was not above deploying a cliché here and there, but he was never, ever dull, he was oftentimes very, very funny, and he had a raconteur’s way of capturing the vibe of young, blue collar kids wanting to escape the drudgery of the industrial city life and indulge in more exciting pursuits, in songs like Rock and Roll Singer, It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock and Roll), and Ain’t no Fun (Waiting ‘round to be a Millionaire). He was frequently just as effective exploring darker themes, as he did convincingly on Powerage and Highway to Hell.

Brian Johnson, on the other hand, never had it in him to write about anything other than drinking and being fellated. The words were bereft of humor, and more often than not sounded like they came from the pen of a man who felt pressured - not excited - to produce lyrics for a dozen new songs every time the record label called up, asking for a new album (the lyrics to Sink the Pink may well be the worst lyrics in the whole of popular music). His themes, if they can be called such, grew more and more featureless and sophomoric until he was removed from lyric-writing duties in 1990 with The Razors Edge. It should be pointed out that Angus and Malcolm didn’t do this out of dissatisfaction with their vocalist’s work; their lyrics on The Razors Edge and Ballbreaker are every bit as absurd as anything on Fly on the Wall. Rather, it was one more step in controlling every aspect of the band, making sure the other three fifths of their outfit were simply there to show up and do their jobs as employees (and making sure that royalties from record sales now went solely to them and no one else).

It all became a far cry from the heady Bon Scott years, and even though record sales are never any indication of an album’s greatness (see The Velvet Underground and Nico and Village Green Preservation Society), every new release sold anemically compared to the kind of unit-shifting they achieved between 1980 and 1982. More disconcertingly, the songs simply lacked the chops necessary to grab you. Even the album covers were boring.

***

So there was no reason to get any more excited than usual in 2008 when the track list for AC/DC’s fifteenth studio album, Black Ice, made the rounds on the interweb. Eight years had passed since the band’s last lackluster effort, Stiff Upper Lip, and the new song titles didn’t exactly inspire anticipation; four songs had the word “rock” or some variant in the title, Big Jack called to mind Big Gun, Money Made called to mind Money Talks, and Anything Goes looked like it would this album’s rock-and-roll-all-night-and-party-every-day song, a tradition that only underscored the creeping suspicion that this band had somehow sadly run out of things to write about.

But then Black Ice arrived at Wal Marts across America on October 20^th, and AC/DC surprised everyone by sounding like they’d somewhat found their muse again, at least on a few tracks. Nothing on the order of a Powerage or a Highway to Hell, of course; the less-than-stellar songs on Black Ice – and there are plenty – could’ve fit into the anonymous generica of the previous five albums with no effort at all. For instance, the chorus of She Likes Rock’n’Roll actually goes like this: “she digs rock’n’roll, she likes rock’n’roll, you want rock’n’roll, I need rock’n’roll everyday.”

All things being equal, that there’s one serious deal breaker. But for the first time since 1981’s For Those About to Rock, the band had some genuine hooks. Tune out the gloomily pedestrian lyrics of Rock’n’Roll Train and the band is doing what it always did best after the loss of Bon Scott: a nice upper mid-tempo beat, tuneful backing vocals, an Angus solo inaugurated by a pick slide. Better than anything on the previous three albums. A great hook with Cliff Williams’ bass nicely up in the mix saves more terrible lyrics in Skies On Fire. Check out those changing octaves! Fun stuff.

That made for two good songs in a row on a new AC/DC release, something that hadn’t happened in some twenty-seven years. By itself, that would’ve made Black Ice an accomplishment, something the band could rightfully be proud of. But there’s more to like – Stormy May Day is a poor man’s In My Time of Dying, and the Spinal Tap-esque lyric “the moon doth rise” isn’t doing anyone anywhere any good at all, but the slide guitar playing is fiercely gorgeous, and Brian is finally given the opportunity in the song’s final seconds to sing in his normal voice. You might be surprised to hear that the man actually has a really nice voice, well-suited for singing about more noteworthy goings-on outside the realm of getting one’s hood ornament polished or partying with the boys (pretentious ego-boy Sting invited him to guest on a few tracks in recent years; how’s that for street cred?). His years in Geordie were always proof of this, even though most people buying AC/DC records nowadays have never even heard of them.

Rock’n’Roll Dream is further evidence that the Youngs were enjoying themselves for the first time in eons, taking time with a moody, melodic intro where Phil Rudd doesn’t even hit his snare until the 1:12 mark. Hallelujah! They’re changing things up! What had gotten into these guys? The band photo in the CD booklet showed five graying elder statesmen grinning contentedly, perfectly comfortable with their age and place in the world, a picture that would have been, along with the album and tour, a perfect – and even touching – farewell address.

***

And indeed, the Black Ice tour was enormously successful. The Back in Black AC/DC line-up that electrified the world back in 1980 hit the road for eighteen months, grossing more than $440 million. Here was the opportunity of opportunities, after years of artistic misfires and ennui, to go out on top of the universe and always be remembered as the legends they deserve to be remembered as. And then stay busy anyway; record solo albums, work or on side projects with different musicians, and finally accept the fact that sixty year-old men look kind of ludicrous hobbling around in schoolboy outfits.

For a couple of years after the Black Ice tour, the predictable pattern played out: an interview every now and again about a possible new studio album and tour, but nothing solid. Seasoned fans did the math: since 1990, a new album every five years, give or take. See you guys in 2013 or so…

But then in 2014 disturbing rumors surfaced about Malcolm’s health. In standard AC/DC operating procedure, the band said absolutely nothing, leaving the interweb boiling over with rumors and gossip – had Malcolm fallen off the wagon? Did he have cancer (again)? It was weeks before the horrible news surfaced that Malcolm was suffering from dementia, and even then it was a leak from a family member, not an official statement from the band.

With band and fans still reeling from the news that the band’s anchor would never play again, drummer Phil Rudd – a head case since Bon Scott’s death in 1980 – was arrested in New Zealand and charged with attempting to procure a murder and possession of methamphetamine. The murder charge was quickly dropped, but Rudd was clearly a few sandwiches short of a picnic; angry about his 2014 solo album Head Job going nowhere (“Phil Rudd of AC/DC to give fans Head Job” said noise11.com’s headline), he behaved, in between courtroom visits, cheerily unconcerned about his legal predicament, reiterating he would join AC/DC on tour, and generally behaving like a petulant teenager. His obliviousness to the severity of his situation finally evaporated on July 9, 2015, when he was sentenced to eight month’s home detention and ordered to pay $120,000.

If there had ever been a sign that maybe it was time to call it a day and give some thought to trying something different for a change, here it was, writ large. Instead, the band doubled down, obdurately wrapping up the new album with nephew Stevie Young playing rhythm guitar.

And so, instead of being left with Black Ice, we’re left with Rock or Bust.

There are worse ways to go out, if this winds up being AC/DC’s swan song. Play Ball, Miss Adventure and Emission Control have catchy riffs. Cliff Williams gets funky on Got Some Rock & Roll Thunder. But it’s hard listening to this album and not confusing it with any of the five albums that preceded it. Bland music, stupid lyrics. Once again, four titles have the word “rock” in them. Once again, the lyrics are drowning in clichés, and are about rocking and/or getting laid. The exception is Dogs of War, the worst song on the album.

And therein, finally, lies the crux of the issue with this band. This is why carrying on after the Black Ice tour is so damned maddening. This is ultimately what bugs: talking about the worst song on an AC/DC album. Discussing the “worst” song on an AC/DC album wasn’t even conceivable prior to 1983; there were no “worst” songs.

Even when something beyond the pale wound up on a new album, like Squealer, or Given the Dog a Bone, it was easily forgiven because there were three, four, even five other tracks that were absolutely blowing our minds. Songs so unbelievably awesome that we listened to them every day for weeks. For Those About to Rock was the last album where that was the case. That was thirty-four years ago. What’s the point in carrying on when you’re more a caricature than a real band?

***

There is no reason on earth that Angus Young should care one bit about the opinions of any critic, especially some yahoo blogging from Snyder, TX. Like everyone else randomly dropped into this life, he should make his own decisions based on what’s important to him, and not out of fear of being judged by some twit who’s never even met him. And certainly AC/DC has been playing to sold-out audiences everywhere they go on the current Rock or Bust tour. If ticket sales are the one true marker of success, then Angus and co. stand proudly validated, still living the dream – even as 60 year-olds – of every kid in the world who saved for months to buy a shitty guitar so he or she could start a rock’n’roll band. So I’ll just say this:

For those of us who love this band, who’ve loved this band for decades, and became so passionate about them as young boys and girls that we memorized every guitar note, every bass line, every drum fill, and every lyric on every AC/DC song on every AC/DC album, for those of us whose lives were even saved by this band during our darkest moments, for those of us who read every interview with the band, who could’ve told you the month and year of every lineup change, and who left and why, for those of us who could always tell you what our top-3 AC/DC albums were and exactly why:

The events of the last two years are thoroughly depressing. The release of the Malcolm-less Rock or Bust and subsequent Malcolm-less world tour are not the actions of a band heroically persevering in the face of overwhelming odds. They are the actions of un-circumspect men who would rather be directed by a longstanding inertia, instead of giving this some serious thought. They are the actions of men who actually do fear, in a strange, abstract way, being judged if they throw in the towel.

And for us, ticket sales are not the one true marker of success. Justin Bieber has sold veritable mountains of tickets in his time; he sucks. We are not the ones who think it’s absolutely worth it paying $100 to see an AC/DC sans Malcolm and Phil, so long as they perform You Shook Me All Night Long. We are not the ones who think it’s acceptable for an eviscerated lineup to make the expected rounds, with an AC/DC-by-numbers set list to appease the fleeced fans. That’s the purview of what John Lydon once called “the great, ignorant masses,” and I’m not surprised that they’re happy to engage with life on such a superficial level.

You’re thinking I’m a Scrooge-ish, pedantic snob. That may be accurate. Probably I need to lighten up. It’s just a rock band touring and having fun. People are digging it, and that’s what life is all about. AC/DC soldiered on after the Bilbao show in 2010, lost two key members, and will probably still go out on top anyway.

This much is inescapable, though: the band touring right now is barely AC/DC. Barely. They are almost unrecognizable compared to the crazed, barely contained energy you see in the Let There Be Rock movie.  And Rock or Bust sounds exactly like what it is: bits and pieces hanging around from previous sessions, by Angus' own admission, cobbled together for a new album, in the absence of half their songwriting team. It doesn't compare on any defensible level to Powerage or Highway to Hell. Or Back in Black, for that matter.

But hey, it’s just a band touring and having fun, and people are digging it. I need to lighten up.

It’s hard understanding, with the frame of reference set in place by their early albums, why everyone’s happy to settle with that.