Sure enough, you’re not always going to find the most sophisticated bunch at an AC/DC show. But you will find 45,000 people rabidly determined to have a good time. And the throngs congregated (or packed, rather) into Rogers Centre this night were all the genuine fan article — Joe the Plumber, Joe the Shipper-Receiver, plus generous smatterings of Joe the Balding Executive in his Brand New Concert Shirt. Hell, there were even little kids and grey-haired grannies in attendance. Yes, in lieu of their gracious Downsview appearance following the SARS crisis, AC/DC are now honorary citizens of this city. To many then, this was no mere concert. This was a civic event.
It was also a heartwarming reunion for those who hadn’t seen this band since, say, the infamous 1986 CNE Grandstand show (where stone-tossing vandals led to cancelled GO trains, stranding thousands of post-concert suburbanites). Guaranteed, the denim-clad “woo-hoo” guys staggering from Union Station, smoking hash oil and chugging rye from plastic mickeys, were also at that Ex show, years ago. Except this time they probably had their offspring in tow.
An equally sloppy scene could be found inside. This stadium’s corridors were definitely not designed for so many half-drunk people with zero spatial-awareness skills. That openers The Answer pulled a no-show only gave more time for precarious journeys down crowded staircases with sloshy cups of beer. A good night for ale merchants, indeed.
But when the lights went down, the suds were forgotten. It also became obvious that a lot of people were present. Many thousands wore flashing red devil horns — if just these fans had shown up, it would have been a great turnout. Only the occasional passing cloud of cannabis smoke could blot the hypnotic, blinking glow.
Following a short animated clip (involving a locomotive, two nymphs, an evil Angus Young caricature, and sexual innuendo of the not-very-veiled variety), AC/DC kicked off in customary fashion with a current single — in this case, “Rock 'n' Roll Train” from the new Black Ice. (Oh, the irony had they played that one back in ’86.)
And like a Big Mac or a Tim Horton’s double-double, what followed was exactly what you’d expect. Except this — the ear-shredding assault of “Back In Black,” “Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be,” and “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” — was pretty amazing. (Also, unlike T-Ho's or Mickey Ds, it didn’t induce a very foul crap after 40 minutes.) Admittedly, a little more bowel-shaking low-end would have been nice up in the cheap seats — but such is life at enormo-dome shows.
There used to be one up-side to such vast venues, in that you were spared seeing the ravages of time on your heroes. High-tech jumbo screens have eliminated this, however. Witnessing a middle-aged, sparsely-feathered Angus Young still doing his schoolboy striptease is weird. Just don’t tell Joe the Plummer that — messing with this formula would be sacrilege.
Besides, Angus remains an incredibly lively guitarist and performer – though one can only wonder how annihilated the poor chap’s knees must be. Singer Brian Johnson also still prowled the stage with moxy, and boasted bafflingly good vocal chops after all these years. Drummer Phil Rudd — second only to Charlie Watts for his perfection of the rock 4/4 — casually chain-smoked through the entire set. Meanwhile, guitarist Malcolm Young and bassist Cliff Williams chugged away like vigilant Buckingham Palace guards. In short, AC/DC are still an untouchable group, who also now seem a bit like immortal Coronation Street characters from an alternate rock 'n' roll universe. And “The Jack” is still the best song about STDs going.
Of course, all expected props came out — the church bell in “Hell’s Bells,” the fat inflatable lady in “Whole Lotta Rosie,” and the 1812 cannons in the grandest of finales: “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You).” (The album artwork retrospective during “Let There Be Rock” was the only new twist.)
But at the end of the night, one thing was clearest — AC/DC remain untouchable at the top of the hard-rock heap. Simple, classic. Incapable of doing wrong. You have to wonder if the band themselves envisioned this level of continued success back in 1976. Or ‘86, or even ’96. Probably not. But their rock 'n' roll Happy Meal is still the best thing on the menu.