Almanac Music: AC/DC Melbourne – a generational experience

 

 

I was captivated the first time I played Back In Black. In 1982, a kid at Oak Park Primary School – Jamie – owed me twenty cents, and offered a recorded copy of Back In Black instead. The following day, he presented a green tape and gave me a grin. ‘You will love it,’ he said.

 

Taking that cassette home, I was surprised to find the house empty. Turning the Sanyo 3-in-1 on, I inserted the tape and gave the volume a blast. The bell sounded ominous, the guitar threatening. But I wasn’t prepared for the evilest voice I had heard. Brian Johnson exuded menace. His sinister hostility rang out through the house. I could barely understand the lyrics but didn’t care.

 

Three songs into Back In Black, Patsy came home. Wide-eyed in shock, she turned the music off, then spun to me. ‘What the hell is that?’

 

‘AC/DC,’ I said.

 

‘Leave it off,’ she said.

 

Back then, the Sanyo was the only device in the house that played cassettes. I have three siblings. It was a busy house. Whenever I played the tape over the following weeks, I was told to turn it down or off.

 

The green cassette went into a drawer in my bedroom, and I never got to hear the full album.

 

At Christmas, Santa gifted the family a portable radio and cassette player. That led to squabbling among the siblings over usage. A family friend gave us an old single speaker cassette player, and that eased the arguments.

 

Back then, AC/DC was a solitary experience. None of my siblings liked them. Patsy didn’t. Bill tolerated them but his refrain – turn it down – became predictable.

 

In 1984, I met Adam at high school. He had four AC/DC albums. He also followed North Melbourne. Naturally, we became mates. It meant AC/DC was no longer a solitary experience. I recorded Adam’s records, and purchased a few tapes featuring Bon Scott. It was impossible for the family to escape AC/DC. Almost by osmosis, they were gradually converted. My brother Nick loved listening to AC/DC, though he preferred Bon over Brian. I knew Bill was hooked the morning he asked to borrow a tape. ‘I want to listen to them while driving to work,’ he said.

 

I gave him TNT, and he played it for a week before swapping it for Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. Bill also liked Bon better than Brian. One afternoon I came home from cricket and Bill was playing ‘Can I Sit Next To You Girl’ for Patsy. ‘Have a listen to the clarity in his voice,’ Bill said as he tapped his foot.

 

Patsy smirked.

 

Bon loved the double entendre. He wrote cheeky, bawdy lyrics along with songs of sadness, lifetime reflections and the usual sex, drugs and rock n roll. Patsy wasn’t smirking when she explained what ‘The Jack’ meant. ‘Venereal disease,’ she said. ‘It isn’t about cards.’

 

Kids at school said Bon died from a heroin overdose. One kid, Charlie, was adamant that Bon had been found with a needle in his arm. Another kid, Craig, said he died in a car accident. A heavy-metal enthusiast, Peter, said Bon choked on his vomit and was found in a car. Regardless, Bon was dead, and a part of AC/DC died too. He had a texture that wasn’t limited to voice or lyrics, and it held the band together.

 

Without Bon, their lyrics lost cohesion. Brian, for all his magnificence on Back In Black, lost his voice. The menace became guttural. The double entendre was no longer subtle. In the eighties, they were derided as crass, inane and formulaic. Commercial radio barely played them, and when they did, it was either ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ or ‘Rock n Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution’.

 

AC/DC’s unwavering devotion to their formula couldn’t reproduce the success of Highway To Hell and Back In Black. They released two average albums in the eighties, Fly On The Wall and Blow Up Your Video. Both had minor hits, but lacked creativity.

 

Needing another breakthrough album, they delivered The Razor’s Edge. In 1990, I was at university. Girls at uni purchased The Razor’s Edge, which was propelled by ‘Thunderstruck’. At parties, ‘Thunderstruck’ and ‘Are You Ready’ would ring out. In the nightclubs, ‘Thunderstruck’ blasted the patrons. Teammates at the football club drove into the carpark with AC/DC blaring. My girlfriend back then bought me the live album for Christmas in 1992, and listened to it more than I did.

 

AC/DC were back.

 

In 1996, I finally saw AC/DC live at the Boondall Entertainment Centre during the Ballbreaker tour. At the time, it was the best concert I had seen. At Christmas that year, 4ZZZ played ‘Big Balls’, and Patsy recognised the song from the opening chords. Turning to me, she smiled. ‘Bon at his funniest,’ she said. Her attitude to AC/DC had changed.

 

 

Questions?

 

Over the years, the inevitable question arises – who is your favourite band? Several ex-girlfriends frowned in confusion at my confession. One woman shook her head. ‘You’re the last person I thought would like AC/DC.’

 

‘Why?’ I asked.

 

‘Acca wakka fucking dakka?’

 

Another asked how I could possibly like AC/DC.

 

‘What’s not to like?’ I answered.

 

She shivered in mock horror. ‘AC/DC, really?’

 

When another woman saw the poster of Bon Scott in the Arden Street Bar, she pointed at it. ‘Who’s that?’

 

‘Bon Scott from AC/DC.’

 

‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘You like AC/DC?’

 

Ever since I first listened to that green tape, I’ve had to justify my love of AC/DC.

 

Since the eighties, I helped make AC/DC rich. I bought their albums on cassette, on LP, then CDs and DVDs. I bought posters, t-shirts and other memorabilia, including a jigsaw puzzle. With the advent of smart phones, I uploaded AC/DC albums. I’ve often been asked if I have a favourite song or favourite album. The answer is always the same – it depends how I’m feeling. Music lovers know the feeling. Sometimes, you just want to listen to a particular album or song.

 

But it is unequivocal. I consider AC/DC’s best album to be Powerage. Featuring Bon Scott, I believe it is their best musically and lyrically. A masterpiece that has never been replicated by any band.

 

 

The later years

 

In the nineties and beyond, AC/DC shunned productivity. They went five years between Ballbreaker and Stiff Upper Lip. Then eight years before they released Black Ice. At that point, they were in their sixties. Black Ice is a superb album. The second bestselling album of 2008, it flew to number one in 29 countries. In 2010, they played stadiums rather than entertainment centres.

 

Eschewing their age, they had become more popular. Thousands of people went to those gigs simply to say they had seen them live. In Brisbane at QE2 Stadium, it rained most of the concert. Angus didn’t care. Shirtless, he strutted down the runway, playing in the rain.

 

Commercial radio no longer ignored AC/DC. They couldn’t be ignored. The band became what they were destined for – the best rock and roll act in the world. The attitude of the people softened. No longer derided, criticised of dismissed, their songs appeared in films and advertisements. Bon’s popularity grew after his death. ABC produced a documentary about Bon Scott. Books were written about the band, and about Bon, Malcolm and Angus. Bon’s ex-wife, Irene, wrote a book.

 

From near death in the mid-eighties, AC/DC became a cultural icon.

 

In 2011, I toured Western Australia and went to Fremantle Cemetery to visit Bon’s grave. Three women and a man sat around his grave. All older than me, they appeared to live an alternate lifestyle. The man had long hair, a beard and an acoustic guitar. They gave me a rendition of ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top…’.

 

In 2014, AC/DC released Rock Or Bust, their first album in six years, and first without Malcolm who had dementia. It went to number one in 14 countries. Given their age, I figured it would be their last album. They were back in Brisbane in 2016, filling out QE2 over two nights. Stevie Young, a nephew to Malcolm and Angus, filled the massive void left behind by his uncle. Rock or Bust was a solid record, with a couple of cracker tracks and Brian in good voice.

 

Live in concert, Brian’s voice betrayed his age, decades of cigarettes and screaming. Those who saw them during that tour didn’t care. No one cared that the setlist had barely changed since the eighties. The fans knew what they would get, and loved it. Hearing problems forced Brian from the last ten gigs of the tour, with Axel Rose grabbing the microphone. A three-year specialised procedure using prosthetic eardrums and pumps that transmit sound corrected the problem. Brian was back.

 

Malcolm wasn’t. In November 2017, he died at 64 from dementia. For weeks I played ‘If You Want Blood’ at full volume.

 

Transcending generations

 

In the mid-eighties, Bill wanted AC/DC for his trip to work. My sisters played ‘Who Made Who’ more than I did. Several years ago, my brother asked to borrow AC/DC’s Let There Be Rock – Live in Paris DVD so he could watch it with his kids. Bill borrowed the same DVD, and he and Patsy watched it. I played it for mates in the Arden Street Bar where the walls are adorned with AC/DC posters.

 

In 2012, my boy Angus was born. The inspiration for his name should be no surprise. Jim was born in 2015, and his mum flatly refused to call him Malcolm. As my boys grew, they heard AC/DC in the car and at home. One morning when Angus was five, we listened to commercial radio in the car, and he demanded AC/DC. As kids are wont to do, he became agitated. Thankfully, ‘Rock n Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution’ started and I turned it up.

 

When Jim was five, he insisted that AC/DC and ACCA DACCA were different bands, one fronted by Bon and the other fronted by Brian.

 

We couldn’t drive anywhere without listening to AC/DC up loud, which I didn’t mind. I did skip a couple of song I felt were inappropriate, notably ‘Squealer’, ‘She’s Got Balls’ and ‘Given The Dog A Bone’. Some days, if a song they loved began as we neared home, they asked me to keep driving until it was over.

 

My boys learned the lyrics by rote, and there were comical moments. Jim sang for those about to rock, we sell YouTube, instead of we salute you. They had no idea what ‘Sink The Pink’ was about, or what ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ meant, but they belted out the lyrics regardless.

 

AC/DC released Power Up in 2020, and it went to number one in 21 countries. The formula still worked. They have an instantly recognisable sound that can’t be replicated. Though Power Up lacked a killer track, it didn’t get to number one in 21 countries by fluke.

 

In July 2025, I was online, trying to get tickets to see AC/DC at Brisbane’s Lang Park. Issues with the app ensured I kept getting punted back to the foyer. In the end, the only tickets left cost $414 each. I hesitated, then gave up.

 

For a day I raged about missing out. Figuring it would be AC/DC’s last tour, I wanted my boys to see them live. The rage continued during a phone call with a mate, Paul, who lives in Melbourne. He got online, and said tickets were still available for AC/DC’s second show at the MCG. ‘Come down for a boy’s weekend,’ Paul said. ‘They’ll never forget it. You can stay here.’

 

That night, I bought three tickets and return flights, and figured the $2500 would be worth it.

 

When I told my boys, they didn’t believe me.

 

 

 

The trip

 

Given how cold Melbourne can be, I packed warm clothes. The only t-shirts I packed were AC/DC t-shirts. At the airport, after passing through security, an old man with curly, grey hair and an American accent pointed at our t-shirts. ‘I saw AC/DC with Bon Scott in Detroit in 1978,’ he said. ‘I’m going to see them in Brisbane.’

 

‘I wish I saw Bon live,’ I said.

 

People on the flight wore AC/DC t-shirts, and I thought they had missed out on Brisbane tickets too. Damn the cost…

 

We got into Melbourne on Saturday morning. Naturally, it was cold and raining. Paul picked us up, and played AC/DC in his car. We went to dinner at the Linc Hotel in Essendon, and caught up with Russ who went to the first concert. ‘You’re gonna love it,’ Russ said.

 

On Sunday, after breakfast at an Ascot Vale café, I drove my boys to Kinglake to see a mate, Craig. We passed the Commercial Hotel in South Morang while on the phone to Bill. ‘I used to drink there in the sixties on Friday nights with Kevin Mills, who was my best man at my wedding,’ he said.

 

In the afternoon, I took the boys to Oak Park, showing them the house I grew up in, my grandparents’ house and my aunt’s house. I showed them Oak Park Primary School, where I first learned to muck up in class. We went to JP Fawkner Reserve, where I played cricket and football without distinction for Oak Park. We walked the oval, then went into the rooms and chatted with a man about the old days. He asked my boys if they played AFL in Queensland, which they do. We visited Pam, my aunt, and my cousin Rodney turned up with his kid Spencer, who is thirteen. They were wearing AC/DC t-shirts, and gushed about the concert.

 

For dinner, we had fish and chips cooked in Strathmore. No one does fish and chips like Melbourne. Due to the freezing temperatures, we wore two t-shirts, a hoody and Paul gave us coats to wear. When he dropped us off at Essendon Train Station, it was raining. The train was filled with AC/DC fans. A skinny man who appeared about 70 grinned at our AC/DC t-shirts. ‘Where are you going?’ he quipped in an English accent.

 

‘To see AC/DC,’ Jim said.

 

‘I saw AC/DC live in London when Bon Scott was alive,’ the Englishman said. ‘The Highway To Hell tour. It was amazing.’ He pointed in the direction of the MCG. ‘And I’m going to see them again.’

 

It rained as we walked to the MCG. Angus and Jim buzzed with excitement. I bought t-shirts at $70 each. We hoped our seats were undercover.

 

They weren’t. We got rained on for a while. We didn’t care.

 

From the opening chord of ‘If You Want Blood’, my boys were captivated. The MCG was pumping. The music vibrated our chests and blasted our eardrums. Angus is thirteen. Jim is ten. They had never seen anything like it. They grinned and sang and cheered and clapped. Took videos. Jim made nearby people laugh as he sung the songs word perfect. Ladies my age giggled when he sang, she was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, and women to the left of me, women to the right, ain’t got no gun, ain’t got no knife, don’t you start no fight.

 

The concert was magnificent, but I got more enjoyment from my boys love of AC/DC.

 

After the concert, 80,000 people spilled onto the concourse and into the parklands. It took 45 minutes to get from the MCG to Flinders Street Station. We got back to Paul’s house after midnight. In the morning, Paul asked the boys what their favourite part of the concert was.

 

‘When Brian said the F word four times in a row,’ Jim said.

 

‘Jailbreak,’ Angus said.

 

We wore our tour t-shirts on the plane for the trip back to Brisbane on Monday. Other people on the plane wore AC/DC t-shirts. That afternoon, we watched videos recorded at the concert. I told Jim to put his favourite AC/DC songs on YouTube and Angus beat him to it. Tuesday at school, the boys played videos of the concert for their mates, and bragged about AC/DC with their teachers.

 

I told my boys that they’d remember the concert long after I’m gone. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be telling people you saw AC/DC.’

 

They can’t imagine being my age yet.

 

 

Looking back

 

I was 11 when Jamie gave me that green tape. I’ve often joked that everything that happened afterwards was his fault. Three years after getting that cassette, I wore an AC/DC t-shirt while riding around Pascoe Vale with Russ. A group of kids surrounded us, threatening violence because of my t-shirt. Now, AC/DC t-shirts are sold in department stores. I see old and young people wearing AC/DC t-shirts. The generational shift has been incredible.

 

I never would’ve believed I’d take my boys to see AC/DC. Rock and roll bands aren’t supposed to last five decades. They usually fade through the mists of time.

 

AC/DC hasn’t yet. Brian is 78. Angus is 70. Stevie Young is 68. They can’t keep touring forever. But if they’re selling out the MCG, then why not go another round? If not, my boys had an experience they will never forget.

 

It has been a long journey following the world’s best rock and roll band. I still mourn Bon Scott, as millions of others do. But he’s as close as a song. Malcolm is too. They would love the legacy they created. It will live on forever. For decades to come, people will be talking about AC/DC and their music.

 

Across the decades, I’ve learned that most people have an AC/DC story to tell. I’ve got hundreds of them…

 

 

 

To read more by Matt Watson click HERE.

 

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