I recently attended a show on what will almost certainly be AC/DC’s final world tour. The concert was quite simply a master-class in old school rock ‘n’ roll. A bunch of guys, who probably should know better, giving it two hundred and ten percent for two and a half hours to a stadium full of like minded, albeit somewhat inebriated, souls. They managed to cram in everything you would expect from such a show. All the classic hits, a few songs from the new album – which is far better than anyone ever thought it would be – two gargantuan video screens with custom made cartoons to accompany some of the songs, a fantastic set, complete with steam train, lasers and enormous inflatable woman, and a simply phenomenal firework display. For reasonably good seats I paid the princely sum of £60. Now in my days at college I would certainly never conceive of spending that kind of money on a two and a half hour show. In fact even now it still seems rather a lot. But just take another look at what they threw in to it. Weeks afterwards and I’m still talking about the damn thing. I’m meeting some friends for a few drinks tomorrow night and I know that the AC/DC extravaganza will come up again, along with yet more photographs, it simply was that good.
To be honest, growing up I was never really a ‘died in the wall’ AC/DC fan. Although a regular down the local rock club, I always liked a few ballads on my rock ‘n’ Roll smorgasbord, and as any fan will tell you; DC don’t do ballads. I do own a good few albums though, and pranced around to many a hit during my days at college. What made this concert so special however, was that this time I was able to take my nine year old son along with me. Cai has been listening to an increasingly diverse range of music over the last year or so and I figured this would be an excellent addition to his musical education. Being old school, I was also fairly confident that bad language would be kept to a minimum. Needless to say he absolutely loved it, from the opening cartoon to the last, deafening rocket. I’m glad to report that short of one or two subtle (and one or two less than subtle) innuendos, I was also proved correct in my assumption about the language. Consummate professionals have no need to ‘F’ and ‘blind’ their way through a gig; their music does the talking for them.
Unfortunately however, this was all in stark contrast to some of the rubbish, laughably calling itself support. I’m not in the habit of naming names but I’m sorry to say their music was as pointless and appalling as their language. Thankfully Cai remained un-phased by it, wondering only why the automatic ‘beep’ didn’t cover up the swearing.
To be honest, growing up I was never really a ‘died in the wall’ AC/DC fan. Although a regular down the local rock club, I always liked a few ballads on my rock ‘n’ Roll smorgasbord, and as any fan will tell you; DC don’t do ballads. I do own a good few albums though, and pranced around to many a hit during my days at college. What made this concert so special however, was that this time I was able to take my nine year old son along with me. Cai has been listening to an increasingly diverse range of music over the last year or so and I figured this would be an excellent addition to his musical education. Being old school, I was also fairly confident that bad language would be kept to a minimum. Needless to say he absolutely loved it, from the opening cartoon to the last, deafening rocket. I’m glad to report that short of one or two subtle (and one or two less than subtle) innuendos, I was also proved correct in my assumption about the language. Consummate professionals have no need to ‘F’ and ‘blind’ their way through a gig; their music does the talking for them.
Unfortunately however, this was all in stark contrast to some of the rubbish, laughably calling itself support. I’m not in the habit of naming names but I’m sorry to say their music was as pointless and appalling as their language. Thankfully Cai remained un-phased by it, wondering only why the automatic ‘beep’ didn’t cover up the swearing.
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