AC/DC
– Back in Black
This wasn’t just a comeback. This was a resurrection dressed in black denim and spitfire riffs. Back in Black isn’t the sound of a band mourning—it’s the sound of a band refusing to die. Bon Scott was gone, but AC/DC didn’t collapse into sentimentality. Instead, they brought in Brian Johnson, cranked every knob, and built one of rock’s most enduring monuments to survival and excess.
Best of…
The genius here lies in its simplicity. Mutt Lange tightened every screw, but left the engine roaring. These songs don’t mess around. They stomp, strut, and snarl with clarity and force. Angus Young’s guitar is a weapon, sharp and mean. Johnson doesn’t try to replace Bon—he wails from his own corner of hell, raspy and unrelenting. Together, they make this feel less like a tribute and more like a fist through the grave.
Every track hits a nerve. No ballads. No experiments. Just pure, unfiltered AC/DC: meat, grease, and swagger. The album doesn’t shift gears, because it doesn’t need to. It found one that works and burns rubber until the needle’s buried. There’s no depth to plumb—just a dozen ways to set your speakers on fire.
Choice Tracks
Hells Bells
That opening bell toll is more than theater—it’s a declaration. The slow build is pure menace, and by the time Brian’s vocals land, it’s already too late. You’re in it. And it only gets heavier from there.
Shoot to Thrill
Fast, filthy, and built to shake the walls of every arena in existence. Johnson tears through the chorus like it owes him money, and the rhythm section drives like it’s fleeing the cops.
Back in Black
The riff is carved in stone. It’s as iconic as anything in rock history—lean, mean, and instantly recognizable. This is how you kick down the door to your own legacy. No tears, just thunder.
You Shook Me All Night Long
Pop sensibility sneaks in, but it’s still wrapped in barbed wire. Maybe their catchiest chorus, but the verses are still pure sleaze. This is AC/DC’s idea of romance—fast, loud, and gone by sunrise.
Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution
A perfect closer. Slower, yes, but with swagger for miles. Johnson growls his manifesto while the band swaggers behind him like they own the block. It’s a raised middle finger to critics and an open invite to the faithful.
Back in Black doesn’t just honor the past—it torches it, rebuilds it, and cranks the volume higher. It’s not delicate. It’s not subtle. But it’s immortal. And for a band that stared death in the face, it was the only way forward: loud, raw, and defiantly alive.