Singer Brian Johnson and musician Angus Young of AC/DC. Photo / Getty Images
Singer Brian Johnson and musician Angus Young of AC/DC. Photo / Getty Images
As AC/DC gear up for their Auckland show, Chris Schulz travelled to Sydney to get a sneak peek of what we're in for. Here's the AC/DC virgin's riff-by-riff account of what happened.
5.58pm: I've arrived at the venue, Sydney's vast ANZ Stadium, but things get off to a bad start when I learn my all access pass doesn't mean what it says. Heading into the main arena, I'm stopped by three burly security guards who look blank when I show them my accreditation sticker. A horrible man with a tiny headset and a big ego delivers the bad news: "You can't come in here." Bugger.
6.02pm: Dismayed, I slump into a sodden plastic seat in the venue's gigantic western stand. It's raining, I'm sitting in a puddle and there's an empty 20-seat radius around me. Conclusion: I got here way too early. A bored security guard sees me sitting alone and takes pity: "There aren't many girls here," he says. "I thought there'd be more." The first band hasn't even taken the stage and he sounds about as distraught as I feel.
6.13pm: Two men wearing anoraks, badly fitting jeans and terrible haircuts clink their plastic beer cups together as they walk into the main arena right in front of me, spilling at least A$9 worth of alcohol. I wish I was with them. But my pass won't let me. They're not tears on my face. It's just raining.
6.19pm: That constant drizzle has turned to larger droplets. Everything on stage has been shrinkwrapped like a giant kid's lunchbox. I pull my hood over my head and wonder if they'd shrinkwrap me if I asked nicely.
6.24pm: That security guard is really pissed. "I would only pay money if there were girls here," he says angrily. Feeling scared, I make my excuses and head off in search of food before tonight's entertainment starts.
6.29pm: There are a lot of beer stalls but not much in the way of proper food. It's obvious what AC/DC fans really want: beer, bourbon, and more beer. I finally find what I'm looking for: a sausage roll, chips and a Coke. It costs A$16 and I devour every single morsel.
6.39pm: Feeling greasy, I return to my seat only to be greeted by the dismal sounds of Kingswood. The night's first act sounds like every Australian band ever, with the hooks of Powderfinger, the riffs of Jet and the charisma of a dead dehydrated snake. "We're from Straaaia," yells frontman Fergus Linacre, as if anyone has to guess. "One! Two! Phree! Phwoar!" I hate them.
6.48pm: I cover my ears and watch as thousands of AC/DC fans pour into the venue. They're amazing. I ignore all of Kingswood's awful set and just watch people instead. The school uniform count is already at 33. Their mullets are inspiring. And fans play air guitar even when there are no riffs to play along to. I'm starting to enjoy this. But why are so many grown men wearing devil horns on their heads?
7.23pm: Crazy Swedish punks The Hives are bravely wearing white suits. As Come On! kicks off, the stadium's lights go down and those devil horns finally make sense in the dark. There are red lights flickering as far as they eye can see, like the crooked eyes of thousands of devious Aussie devils up to no good.
7.31pm: All those Big Day Outs have paid off for The Hives, who kick serious ass. They have stage hands dressed as ninjas. I vow to find out where I can get one when I get home so they can clean up after me when I make a mess. As the chords of Tick Tick Boom and Hate to Say I Told You So echo around the stadium, I almost forget how damp I am.
Swedish band The Hives. Photo / Natalie Slade
8.28pm: Result! Just as I'd accepted my seat-bound fate, I find someone who manages to sneak me past security and into the main arena. I find myself standing right in front of a wall of amps across the main stage. They tower over everyone, like one of those massive passenger ships tied up at Auckland's waterfront. This is going to be loud.
8.34pm: The noise of a rocket ship alerts the crowd that it's time to rock. Before AC/DC arrive on stage we watch a bonkers space-themed short film. It's spectacularly epic, but makes absolutely no sense. It's also eye-wateringly loud.
8.39pm: Is there anything weirder than a 64-year-old man in a school uniform? Yes, Angus Young is a rock legend with great legs and scissorkicks. But his dress sense is still weird. Does he have unresolved childhood issues? As he kicks into the powerhouse riff of Rock or Bust, I worry for him.
8.44pm: I just had a startling revelation. I know all these songs. I know all the riffs. And I know all the lyrics. I've never owned an AC/DC album, nor attended a concert, nor worn a T-shirt. But I know every single word. That's some scary subliminal stuff. To make matters worse, I find myself playing air guitar. I never play air guitar. But screw it, if you're ever going to do it, it's when you're at an AC/DC show and Back in Black fires up.
8.56pm: Now I know why everyone jokes about AC/DC's songs all sounding the same. They do. But at this volume, played with this energy, they all sound good. Play Ball is a great example: it's a terrible, woeful song. But Angus makes it sound amazing. There's absolutely no reason for this song to exist except for his complete shredding dominance. He delivers one searing riff after another. His face wobbles like he's in a wind tunnel during the more complicated bits. It's surprisingly endearing.
9pm: There are two new members of AC/DC on this tour: Stevie Young, who replaced his uncle, Malcolm Young, on rhythm guitar last year, and Chris Slade is on drums because Phil Rudd is chilling in Tauranga. Brian Johnson is the frontman, and he's thoroughly entertaining, like a singing Popeye. But I can't stop watching Angus, who loses his hat at the end of Dirty Deeds during an amazing freak-out.
9.14pm: It rains during High Voltage. There's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm too busy watching Angus shred to work out what it is. If only I was a plumber. Or an electrician.
Angus Young of AC/DC.
9.33pm: There's some nudity in the front rows during You Shook Me All Night Long. I'd almost forgotten I was in Australia.
9.45pm: At four billion megawatts, the chorus for alcohol anthem Have a Drink on Me sounds like Malcolm is singing, "Rub your dick on me!" I imagine the mostly male crowd is singing exactly that in unison with their beer cups aloft and find it so amusing I double over in laughter.
9.55pm: There's a giant blow-up doll, called Rosie, on stage. She's not very attractive. It strikes me as wonderfully weird that it's someone's job to stand backstage and, using ropes and pulleys, make Rosie's arms move suggestively.
10.05pm: Angus is on a small stage in the middle of the arena. He's just started playing the greatest guitar solo I have ever seen or will see.
10.07pm: He's still going. That stage just lifted into the air and appears to be on fire.
10.11pm: He's still going. He's up on the speakers behind the band now.
10.16pm: He's still going. He's lying on stage spinning in circles, still shredding.
10.20pm: Angus Young's 15-minute guitar solo has finished. It was incredible. I could have easily watched for another 15 minutes. You'd think he'd need a breather. But no. He kicked straight into Highway to Hell. This guy is just incredible.
10.26pm: Giant cannons are wheeled out as For Those About To Rock (We Salute You) closes the show. Their blasts echo around the stadium. Angus' shirt is in tatters. Ponchos, devil horns and beer cups litter the field. And Aussie bozos are high-fiving and posing for drunken selfies.
10.32pm: As I leave, I scoop up a set of devil horns off the ground. I'll need them for AC/DC's Auckland show. I'll be there - with Hell's Bells on.
* AC/DC perform at Auckland's Western Springs on Tuesday night.
