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AC/DC
Stiff Upper Lip (Alberts/EMI)
Reviewed by Christophe Chuvan
When I accepted to write reviews for Cosmik Debris(which wasn't long ago, say, a week), I immediately tried to set some standards by which I should abide. The first thing I thought of was objectivity: I would always try to keep some measure of objectivity so I wouldn't become completely self-absorbed in my musical world. I didn't want all my reviews to sound like they were the Second Coming of Christ.
Well, forget that. Because this world is cruel, because someone somewhere likes to screw up your good resolutions, it just so happens that the new AC/DC album was released the very same week I started my contribution to this magazine. I mean, we're dealing with freakin' AKKAH-DAKKAH here. How can one nurture any noble thought of objectivity when one's taken the old tennis racket out of the closet and playing the hell out of it in front of the mirror? Did I mention people have been looking at me strangely these last two days? It might have to do with the stupid grin that's been stuck on my face since I've first stuck this album in my CD player.
AC/DC's music reaches out to that adolescent living inside every one of us and stimulates reflexes that even your hormonal glands forgot existed. Regardless of how you feel about the famously limited artistic vision of this band (I can't believe I used the terms "artistic vision" in an AC/DC review), about the screeches emanating from Brian Johnson's throat or the salacious wordplays they call lyrics, if you haven't tapped your foot to the beat of an AC/DC song at least once in your life, you better call your doctor quick because you must be dead.
To describe the contents of the album seems like a pointless exercise because, with this band, you know exactly what you're gonna get. But then, pointless exercises aren't always this fun. You can only admire a band that has never lost its focus in 30 years. Actually, describing a locomotive, solidly anchored to its tracks, rushing down a straight line with no deviation in sight, would probably be closer to the truth. The crushing riffs are there, the pounding drums are shaking your guts like expected, and the razor-sharp solos are still slicing through your ears like they did the first time you heard "Back in Black" all these years ago.
They turned down the distortion a bit, though. After the heavy metal excursions of the late 80's, the return to the roots begun on 1995's "Ballbreaker" is more evident here. Some of these songs sound like they were born during the "Powerage" sessions and Angus is reminding the world again of something he always knew: it's not how much fuzz you apply to it that makes a guitar sound heavy, it's how you play it. There's just enough overdrive that the guitars still bite, and bite they do. George Young, the older brother who produced most of the band's classic albums in the 70's, also makes a welcome return at tweaking the buttons, adding to the overall "vintage" effect.
If anything, this is a masterful demonstration in making the most of minimal arrangements. Any more basic than this bunch of songs and you'd find yourself dancing around a fire to the sound of tribal drums. You could say they've got it down to a formula but it wouldn't pay justice to the skills involved into crafting these 12 little nuggets. These songs don't encapsulate the essence of rock'n'roll, they let it bleed all over your ears. By the way, did anyone ever tell the Young brothers that there were other time signatures than 4/4? Probably not but, even if they knew, I'm sure they couldn't care less. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
© 2000 - Christophe Chuvan