. . . or too young for that matter.
Back in May when I took Krusty to the Bludgeon Your Head With Someone Else's Fist Fest, I told the Littlest Loaf Pincher I'd take him to see any group he wanted to see. I knew full well that the kid's an old schooler and he'd never pick anybody who was still young enough to strut it on stage.
He didn't disappoint. He picked his favorite band. No way on earth those guys would climb out of their iron lungs long enough to rock a sold-out arena full of thinning mullets and rock-show virgins.Boy was I wrong.
AC/DC can still bring it. And I aint talking some pansy-ass watered down, unplugged version of once-great stadium anthems. I'm talking two-plus hours of gut-wrenching, ball-busting, face-melting, throat-shredding rock and roll.
Sure, Brian Johnson sounds like Burgess Merideth filtered through a quart of rot-gut whiskey. But that's the beauty of the band from down under. You ain't gotta be able to sing to sing along. All you need is a throat and some wind. Lots of wind.Their hair is thinner, and their bodies aren't quite as tight as they used to be, but the music never missed a beat. From the first lick of Angus' Gibson to the last cannon blasts of "For Those About to Rock," The sixty-something rockers danced, cavorted, and sweat -- lots of sweat -- their way through all their classics.This may be showing my age a bit, but one of the best things -- aside from everything else -- was the fact that from the first notes of The Answer's opening set, to the trip out to the parking lot after AC/DC brought the house down, not one single four-letter syllable was uttered on stage. And that's refreshing in a world where posers think they have to be foul to be offensive. (What I muttered in the traffic jam leaving the show is another story.) Kids, take note. Lace you lyrics with thinly-veiled sexual innuendo and benign threats of violence if you wanna be a real rocker.I'll be deaf for days, but it was worth it. Not only for the first-class rock show, but for the look on the LLP's face as he banged his head old-school. Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go gargle with old razor blades. It's the only way I can think of that Brian Johnson recuperates between shows.