Note: Part 2 of the greatest musical event of my life. See below for part 1, on the Pumpkins. It seems that a ton of footage from the AC/DC show has made its way onto youtube. I've linked to it here where possible, but note that's not my footage, so I'm not responsible for the atrocious audio in some of the clips. I'll be updating this post with some pictures from the show before the end of the weekend.
It’s 10:45 P.M. in Madison Square Garden. The lights are dimmed, but below me I can make out a rolling, pitching sea of human bodies. They jump up and down. They punch their fists toward the ceiling. They whistle. They scream. They chant: “AN-GUS!! AN-GUS!!" They want blood.
And they get it.
The blazing stage lights fire up, and AC/DC hits the first few notes of their final song. It’s the jilting masterpiece “For Those About to Rock.” The crowd (myself included) knew this was coming, and yet it still takes us to a nirvanic state of pandemonium. I can’t hear my own thoughts. I have no thoughts. I have no voice. My ears are already blown out, and I’m seeing in stereo. At this point, I notice that behind the band, a row of six cannons has materialized, pointing directly at the crowd.
And this is when it hits me that I’m about to get my face blown off.
But my story begins a few hours earlier. More accurately, it begins in the year 2000. At the time, AC/DC had just finished the Stiff Upper Lip tour and I had, well, missed the tour. But I wasn’t alone. During a late night bar conversation sometime thereafter, some friends of mine and I made a pact: we would pay any cost (actually I said up to $500) to see AC/DC on their next tour. At this age—and with that lifestyle—you never know when AC/DC’s going to play their last note, we reasoned [we were categorically wrong on this note, more on that later].
So, naturally, when the Black Ice tour was announced, we freaked out. Not like we hadn’t been talking about this for the past eight years, but all of a sudden it was finally possible. With only one slight hitch: the only show we could all attend was in New York City, on a Wednesday night. However, this is hardly the thing that stands in the way of pacts. One half day at work and $20 bus ride later, there we stood on 8th avenue, outside the hulking Madison Square Garden, about to rock.
After killing some time at Tir Na Nog (props to the establishment for playing some AC/DC tunes before the show), we headed into MSG and to our seats. My friends and I have a phrase for the feeling you get when you walk out of a stadium/arena gate and finally have full view of the field/court/concert/whatever: the walk of life. In this case, the walk of life was unbelievable—the dark mass of humanity swelling from wall to wall and floor to ceiling in that place was just awesome. We arrived just as the opening band, The Answer, was wrapping up. No slight intended here, but thanks, now get off the damn stage.
My sense of time may have been warped (thanks again, Tir Na Nog), but after only about 10 minutes of silence, the squeaks and groans of guitars being picked up and strapped on emerged from the din. The fuse was lit. The crowd roared, and without skipping a beat, Angus, Brian and Malcolm appeared—except, not in real life. Instead, they appeared in animated form, in a tremendous opening cartoon for “Rock n’ Roll Train” which hit all the points of devilish, sexual innuendo necessary to set the stage for an AC/DC show. The cartoon cimaxed in a catastrophic train wreck which broke through the screen (as a real train!) amid major pyrotechnics. Then, you guessed it: AC/DC appeared. (Tremendous video of the opening here, but with bad sound quality)
There was no tension to be broken by that point. The crowd was raucous before the show, and the band’s appearance simply took them to another level. I cannot stress enough the power and energy in the building during this show, from beginning to end. From the first chords of RnR Train to the final cannon blasts of the encore, I have never taken part in anything comparable to this sustained outpouring of energy on that level for that amount of time. I think I pumped my fist 643,000 times, I still don’t have my voice back, and I’m sore in inexplicable places.
The setlist was—no shame in saying it—predictable. AC/DC live is a known quantity at this point. Half of the show consists of consensus classics that everyone agrees on, like “Back in Black,” “Thunderstruck,” and “You Shook Me All Night Long.” One quarter is saved for the new stuff, like "Black Ice" and "Big Jack." The final quarter is reserved for choice classics, i.e. songs that everyone loves, but that are not necessarily givens. Think “Shoot to Thrill,” “Let There be Rock,” etc. On an AC/DC tour, it's this final small portion of the setlist where you’re going to find your surprises, if there are any. That’s not a bad thing by any means, but one certainly knows what they’re getting at this point with AC/DC.
With that in mind, the most striking aspect of this show was how good the band was. Why does that seem strange to say? Was anyone questioning AC/DC’s ability? No, but then again, when you’re lead singer is 61 years old and your guitarist bears a striking resemblance to Gollum from Lord of the Rings, one has natural concerns about how things are going to hold up. Well, as I mentioned before, these concerns turned out to be completely unfounded. It’s as if the band has hit some new sort of sexagenarian stride. Brian Johnson’s voice sounded gritty and full, and held up for the full two hours. Angus continued to be a freak of nature, absolutely shredding his Gibson, torching the fretboard while running around the stage like a demonic ADHD schoolboy. They even kept in the classic bit where Angus strips down to his AC/DC boxers for “the Jack” and—yeah, I’ll say it—the man doesn’t look too shabby.
Did I expect AC/DC to bring down the house? Yes. Did I expect that, during the encore when the balding Angus was shirtless and running in circles on the floor, I would consider that I wanted to be him? No. And yet, I did.
Highlights of the show? I don’t know what to tell you. The whole show was one furious, indistinguishable highlight. "Shoot to Thrill" was a personal favorite, as was "Hell’s Bells." During "Let There Be Rock" Angus emerged from under the stage on a rising pedestal with his hands in classic devil-horn position above his head. Nice touch. "Whole Lotta Rosie" bears mentioning, not just because the song was great, but because it featured a 40-foot high inflatable version of a voluptuous woman as a backdrop, which I’m hoping to see above an AC/DC float at the Macy’s Day parade.
They have that, right? They should. Seriously, after this concert, I’m convinced that’s the type of stature AC/DC deserves. This band has put on a clinic for other rock bands on how to age gracefully. Don’t evolve, just improve. Give the people what they want, and they’ll indulge your musical ambitions. Who else could pull off Black Ice? While I consider them two very, very different bands, I will say it was poignant to see this concert 24 hours after seeing the Smashing Pumpkins anniversary show. Contrasting with Billy Corgan’s bizarre exchange with the audience, Brian Johnson was more understated with his address of the crowd:
“Yeah New York, you’re making us proud to be here.”
That about says it.
We! Salute! You!
[cannon fire]
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