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Rating: Old but gold.
Being myself a novice regarding concerts and not understanding a damn thing about musical technique, this review is more of a report, rather rough for that matter. A report from a young lad who has been led to rock, or rather diverted from a view of "music" as simple noise to shoot into your ears during moments of boredom, by the songs of these young lads who go by the name of AC/DC. Essentially, the ones who always make the same songs, forty years of a career that took them from Australia to the world's spotlight, during which singers, bassists (did they even exist?), drummers, and rhythm guitarists have alternated. But not Him.
Leaving aside the boring report of the pre-concert [yes, it was quite hot, yes, I went to the stands with seats ("and what kind of fan are you?" you'll say), yes, the Virgin Radio DJ set first and then Vintage Trouble entertained quite well] and the criticisms made of the poor organization of the spaces for such a great event, at 21:20 something finally moved. A video with animations of dubious quality appeared on the big screens to introduce Our Guys and shortly after the riff of "Rock or Bust" burst in along with Angus and the rest of the gang on stage. I don't know if they wanted to finish as soon as possible or what else, but the succession of tracks was destructive. Eighteen were fired in succession, with breaks of no more than twenty seconds between each.
Young Steve and Williams Cliff, fifty-eight and sixty-five years old; impeccable work on the melodic-rhythmic section, planted in their positions for the entire duration of the concert as it should be. Don't ask me the differences between Mal and Steve because I didn't notice them. The bass as low as usual, but I can assure you that Cliff is really there, not a hologram.
Slade Chris, sixty-eight years old; a hammer, impeccable on the drums, almost as metronomic as Rudd but less mechanical in movements.
Johnson Brian, sixty-seven years old; providing vocal performances as of twenty years ago is unthinkable, the weight of the age factor on his voice is burdensome, for this reason, he seemed the least in shape to me. On the first songs, far too overshadowed by the rest of the instruments, in the end, he was also appreciable (but I missed the high notes before the chorus of "Let there be rock").
Young Angus, sixty years old; I couldn't believe my eyes. Sixty years old, and this good man jumped and ran like a madman across the stage without holding back on every single song, churning out riffs and solos as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Going back to the initial topic: you might tell me that technically there are a hundred better than him, that his solos are very basic scales, very basic bends, very basic everything. But this man in terms of passion, explosiveness, magnetism, presence IS rock 'n' roll. You see it in the facial expressions, in the sweat dripping everywhere from his soaking hair, in his being a showman who doesn't just give you smoke, but all the roast in the world.
The ultra-confirmed setlist works: the songs from the new album didn't clash at all, short but catchy and effective, above all "Baptism by fire"; the less hyped "Have a drink on me" and "Sin City" make their very respectable figure, while I would have omitted "Rock 'n' roll train" for a "Dog eat dog" or "The Jack" (or again, my most coveted dream, a "If you want blood" proposed very little during these forty years). The classics work marvelously, I will never forget the overwhelming "Whole Lotta Rosie" where in singing "An-Gus!" during the first riffs there were only two of us in that part of the stand, stared at as if we were crazy. "Dirty Deeds..." delivers like a charm, "Hells Bells" is almost relaxing in its being funereal and martial, "Shot Down in Flames" a real stab, of the others there's not even to discuss; I would have something to say on "High Voltage", maybe I'm too attached to the Bon version but this one, which I awaited more than others, did not fully satisfy me. There you go, Bon indeed represented one of the flaws of the evening; remembering him on the occasion of his birthday would have been appropriate, even if during "Let there be rock" his statue is also projected on the mega-screens. Another small flaw is perhaps the very little interaction with the audience by Brian; it didn't bother me that much, I don't know if it was different in other concerts, but maybe some people would have appreciated a few more jokes or dialogue with the crowd. The audience, at least from what I saw in my surroundings, made me shiver; people sitting, texting for three-quarters of the concert (but what did you come for?), people taking selfies with "Thunderstruck" in the background, people leaving thinking the concert was over without realizing "Highway to Hell" hadn't been played, in short, you name it. These gentlemen probably didn't realize they were in front of rock monuments playing for the last time in our country; yes, because for me AC/DC has churned out albums that, while not shocking or revolutionary musically speaking, have helped bring rock back to its purest, most testosterone-charged, granite, wild, fun origins, making it accessible to a vast audience and carrying their philosophy forward for forty years, never stepping back an inch despite the criticisms, despite the problems, despite everything. What can I say, if not thank you? What can I wish for you, other than to hear a band live that moves you as much as seeing them moved me? Long live AC/DC, long live Rock 'n' roll.
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