AC/DC

01/07/2009

Epic show from godfathers of rock @ Hampden Stadium, Glasgow

Hampden Park, Glasgow
5/5

Angus Young bestrides the mighty Hampden roar like an Egyptian god-king, staking out his empire in a temple built to worship the elemental force of ROCK.

Ninety minutes into the set, this 54-year-old scrawny addled wretch of a man, who begins the gig looking almost a little uncertain, is possessed by the very devil himself as he wrenches out a stadium-shuddering 10-minute guitar solo during ‘Let There Be Rock’.

Standing like a colossus on a hydraulic podium elevated above a mini-stage at the centre of the 60,000-strong mesmerised crowd, this is the godfather of the rock riff: none more sampled, stolen, emulated, adulated or imitated.

‘Back In Black’, ‘Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap’, ‘Thunderstruck’, ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ – the classics are hammered out with sweat-drenched, hard-hitting, energy and ferocity alongside tracks from this year’s Black Ice, their 15th record, with set-opener ‘Rock ’n Roll Train’, ‘War Machine’ and ‘Big Jack’ accorded hearty respect from the rowdy masses.

Everything about this gig is epic. The set is awesome. Jumbotron screens flank an enormous flaming wrecked-train, derailed centre-stage, as part of a high production-value manga-esque cartoon intro to the show. There’s one of the biggest speaker stacks I’ve ever seen, with a sound to match, powered by heroic ranks of Marshall amps lined up ready for battle on stage.

When the 50-foot inflatable hooker Rosie appears for ‘Whole Lotta Rosie’, humping the train-wreck and tapping her scarlet high-heel on the stage, I’m worried for the young’uns in the audience’s mental health, but it’s hilarious, and that’s the point; their tongue was always firmly in their cheek, but that doesn’t mean they don’t treat the business of rock with deadly respect.

I’ve a moment’s fear for the safety of Brian Johnson as he swings from the giant bell which descends ponderously from the rafters for the dolorous opening of ‘Hell’s Bells’. But having started off the set doddering and mincing and wincing along the gangway from the stage into the audience, he and Angus are by the encore galloping and leaping like frenzied teenagers on their first-ever headline stadium show.

Big-screen close-ups show Malcolm Young’s infamous ancient Gretsch getting a thorough and businesslike work-out. This gig is the middle-aged male fantasy come true: every one is an air-guitar axe hero tonight. Though Angus's strip-tease down to his AC/DC boxers during 'The Jack' is a vision most of the women could have done without.

I’m left feeling I’ve seen the stratigraphy of rock music laid bare tonight. The classic guitar-hero arm-aloft pose, the devil’s horns, the most-ripped riffs in history, it all belongs to AC/DC. After 25 years of rock giggage, I now realise that virtually every other band I’ve ever headbanged to owes a very vital strand of their DNA to this band right here. These tunes – simple, filthy, sweaty, unpretty, untamed, gloriously un-PC and built to shake your ass – are the bedrock upon which all other rock since 1974 has been built.

God decreed “let there be rock”, but the Devil said: “Fuck it, I've got AC/DC”.

VICKY DAVIDSON