Welcome to my hard cover coffee table book in which I have two AC/DC experts
per studio album go off about all things AC/DC, Angus, Bon, Brian,
production, album covers, solos, Phil vs. Chris vs. Simon, Mutt Lange vs.
Vanda & Young, rhythm guitars, effects, axes of choice, lyrics, US vs.
Australian issues... in a word... issues!
Gorgeous book, same very cool 10” x 7/3” dimension as my recent Zeppelin
book, gorgeous hard cover, tons of rare pictures through, of the band, of
As my introduction to the book states...
There’s something amusing about the second book I’ve done in this cool drunken
kitchen party format being about all things AC/DC, where first time out, the
subject at hand was fussy math rock pioneers Rush. The music of these two
legendary bands couldn’t be further apart philosophically—within our classic
hard rock bubble, anyway—but it’s somewhat endearing to realize, when you
think about it, there’s a huge and heartening overlap in the fan bases.
Millions of people love Rush and millions of those love AC/DC too, and I think
that’s testimony to the fuzzy lovability of both bands.
However, back on planet work, I found the prospect of constructing the AC/DC
book a bit more daunting, given that at first blush, it seemed like there was
less to talk about, certainly fewer nooks and crannies to the music. How wrong
I was, for once I gathered my army of AC/DC experts, I quickly realized that
we could talk and shout and laugh about Angus, Malcolm, Brian and Bon
endlessly. And it often seemed like we did, given how much interview footage I
ultimately had to choose from, and could not stuff between the pages of this
action-packed love letter to Australia’s greatest export.
As it turned out, there were so many plots and subplots, from the weird
formation of the band to its closed shop ethic, from the inevitable assault on
Europe and America to the hiring on of new producers, from the shocking death
of Bon Scott straight into one of the biggest selling albums of all time,
leading to a level of fame, infamy and massive legendary status anchored very
much in that first album crowed and cawed by an unknown Geordie named Brian
What I love about this book, and the reason I think you’re gonna dig it, is
the enthusiasm of the speakers and their ability to convince us all that there
is indeed lots to talk about with this band famous for—quote unquote—“making
the same record over and over again.” At the massive and commercial end of the
catalogue, their words will have you revisiting records you thought you knew
top to bottom. But more intriguingly, at the overlooked end of the spectrum,
their instruction and exposition will bring you new appreciation for albums
like Powerage, Fly on the Wall, Ballbreaker, Stiff
Upper Lip, and the band’s likely last album, Rock or Bust, to
which you might’ve quickly paid cursory notice and then forgotten.
That’s really what I love the most about this series, this delivery of an
enriched and educated viewpoint, not only from us to you, but from these guys
to me in real time as I wrote it. I mean, I was having all manner of things
pointed out to me that I never would’ve thought of as I talked to these cats.
And as soon as the interview was over, out came the CDs, finger on the fast
forward or rewind buttons, in search of a fresh revelation about what Angus
does at the 28 second mark.
So there you go, this AC/DC fan (who was introduced to the band in 1977 with a
domestic Canadian copy of Let There Be Rock bought at Kelly’s on a
cross-country family vacation in Winnipeg, Manitoba)... well, I found myself
ploughing through the catalogue with sleuthing pleasure, yet again, which has
never really been an issue, because I’ve always been a regular listener of
this band. After all, I’d say pretty much unarguably, AC/DC has got to be one
of the top handful of goodtime party bands ever concocted. Whether it’s
drinking, socializing, jogging, gyming, driving fast or just at those thorny
times when a pick-me-up or attitude adjustment is called for, nothing slakes
one’s thirst like Powerage or Highway to Hell.
So pour yourself a stiff one, and come on in. Step on up and clink drinks with
17—18, if you count the author—dedicated AC/DC fanatics just like yourself,
each with his own story about when he first stuck his finger in that socket
(yes, there are no gals—oh, how we tried to find some). Don’t be shy; join in
on the drunken debate, even if for now it’s by proxy. I mean, while writing
this, I could almost hear you pounding your fist on the bar, either in
agreement or spoiling for a fight. Here’s hoping that out in the pubs and
clubs I get to hear from you which of these guys you thought was full of crap,
against which seemed to be reading your very thoughts, confirming what you
were sure that you alone understood about those mysterious Young brothers and
the happy and healing headbanging they conjured.
This book is completely sold out!