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 memorabilia.

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 Johnson.

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.