Malcolm Young, the rhythm guitarist for AC-DC, died last week. He was 64. I was never a huge AC-DC fan, but I do have a huge appreciation for their music, and I’d be the first one to say that sometimes, nothing sounds better than the head-banging, gut punching rock n’ roll of an AC-DC song.
In college, we had a room mate from San Antonio, Texas who was a huge AC-DC fan, and I will forever associate him with their music. Dan played their records in his dorm room, he played their records on his radio show, and he played air guitar along with them whenever he got rip-roaring drunk—which was often. He loved the less than subtle outrageousness of the songs' lyrics and knew them all by heart. Dan and AC-DC went together like Crystal Light and vodka; his afternoon beverage of choice. |
Soon after I met Dan my freshman year at Kenyon, I was convinced there were no laws in the state of Texas. He arrived on campus in a sporty green Scirocco with four boxes—each containing four handles of liquor—that had “fallen off a truck back home.” He was a math and physics wiz who liked to prep for our freshman English class together with a couple of 16oz cans of Robin Hood Cream Ale. You didn’t dare lend him your car unless you wanted it used as a roto-tiller on someone’s lawn in Mount Vernon on the way back from making a beer run. Sophomore year he returned from Spring break without his classic VW; aptly named after a hot, dust-laden wind. When we asked what happened he told us a tale which, to this day, I cannot verify as true, but like all good stories it just gets better every time it’s told.
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According to Dan he was heading home on some desolate stretch of freeway when the engine seized and the car died in the middle of nowhere, sandwiched between two jersey barriers squeezing two lanes down to one. Fortunately he could see a convenient store a short distance away, so he abandoned his car in the cement chute and trotted towards the store to call for a tow truck. With a truck on the way he started walking back to his car as dusk began to fall, and that’s when he heard the whining engine of the approaching car. From the overpass he watched as another car entered the chute where the Scirocco was parked and hit it hard enough to create a “significant ball of fire.” My roommates and I stared at him in disbelief.
“Holy shit! What did you do?” “What could I do,” he responded in his nasally, laconic drawl. “I walked back over to the convenient store, bought a six pack of beer, and sat on the guard rail drinking while I watched my car burn.” Pretty unbelievable right? About as unbelievable as a grown man performing high energy rock n’ roll in an English school boy’s uniform for nearly 50n years! |
My second encounter with AC-DC was in 2009. The band was coming to the Verizon Center and my friend Jim traded away some hockey tickets for concert tickets so we could go. I was skeptical at first, but he convinced me this concert was on my musical bucket list and it needed to be checked off. I was not disappointed. I mean, how can you be disappointed sitting in an arena bathed in the red glow of plastic light-up devil horns worn by hundreds of cute heavy metal devils? How can you be disappointed when the concert begins with a bawdy clip of animation starring the band riding on a train that crashes through the screen and protrudes onto the stage like a real locomotive wreck? How can you be disappointed by a band who pulls out all the stops and delivers not just a concert but a first rate rock n’ roll spectacle for over two hours? Trust me, long time fan or not, you cannot be disappointed.
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AC/DC Black Ice Tour Visuals from onedotzero on Vimeo. |
It is a long way to the top if you want to rock n’ roll. Nobody knew that better than Malcolm Young when he finally checked out last week on the highway to rock n’ roll heaven. Thank you Dan. Thank you Jim. Indeed, sometimes, nothing sounds better than the head-banging, gut punching rock n’ roll of an AC-DC Happy Medium Song of the Day. (Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)
Malcom Young
1953-2017
R.I.P.
1953-2017
R.I.P.