NOVEMBER 29, 2008 - The biggest surprise at AC/DC’s sold-out show at GM Place Friday night was how many fans doled out $15 a piece for a plastic pair of red-flashing devil horns. But seeing thousands of devil horns flashing simultaneously in the dark when the house lights went down?
Priceless.
But nobody came here to watch the boys bust out “Thunderstruck” as a ballad. Or do “Highway to Hell” as remixed by Timbaland. No, this crowd came here to get its collective head blown off by the raw power of the same old rockin’ songs they used to crank in the Camaro, blast at the bonfire, and feature dance to down at the Marble Arch, back in the day.
And they got what they paid for.
The rockers got things rolling with “Rock N Roll Train” from the latest album, Black Ice, following that up with “Hell Ain't a Bad Place to Be”, before firing the crowd into a frenzy with “Back in Black.”
And then, Jordan arrived.
Jordan wore a long black wig under a trucker hat, a sleeveless jean jacket and black jeans. He looked like one of the bangers from the film Fubar and had clearly shot-gunned a few too many Old Style pilsners before he stumbled along my row and took his place in front of the empty seat beside me.
He then proceeded to punch me in the shoulder, a few times; put me in a headlock, high-five almost everyone in the rows in front and behind, and rub a bald guy’s head.
He yelled stuff into my ear, all of which was indecipherable.
He flipped me off, randomly, several times.
Then he took off his pants.
His underwear came next. And he tossed them into the crowd below, where they landed on an unsuspecting concertgoer’s head.
Perhaps fittingly, that’s when a giant bell descended to the stage and tolled, signaling the beginning of “Hells Bells”, the arrival of security guards and the end of Jordan’s night.
And the band played on.
Lead singer Brian Johnson, 61 years old and strutting around in his trademark sleeveless shirt and some very skinny jeans, hit his familiar raspy notes right, even if they were occasionally lost in the amplitude produced by the rest of the band.
And then there’s 53-year-old Angus Young – who without a guitar looks like he could easily make the transition to, say, a cruise-ship shuffleboard champion – stripping down to his AC/DC boxers halfway through the set before ripping through the rest of his chords half-naked.
But even golden-aged Aussie rock gods must rest.
As I left the stadium, I spotted a police transport van with flashing lights outside Gate 8. I wondered if it was for Jordan.
If so, I hoped he still had his pants.
