It’s rather pointless to review an AC/DC box set—you either love the band and have the thing already ordered or on your Christmas list, or you’re not going to bother. Since I am nothing if not a sucker for lost causes, I therefore direct this review to the uninitiated—those who might not “get” how a hard rock band can parlay a single, simple equation (4/4 rhythm + cool riff + screaming vocals x songs about sex) into a 35-year career. Please let me explain. Also, since the band is the collective king of the double-entendre, and such wordplay may be a bit confusing, I shall translate the song titles contained herein, so the uninitiated may better grasp of the meat of the music.
AC/DC songs live and die by the riff—that distinctive, distorted, wicked cool Angus Young guitar figure, roughly the aural equivalent of a he-wolf stalking his mate while thinking about all the other mates he’s going to do later on that night, after he and the other he-wolves have a few beers. Young got better at coming up with these riffs over the years, which leaves lacking some of the previously unreleased Bon Scott-era material collected here on Disc 1.
“Poster I Use for Masturbation” (i.e., “Stick Around”), for example, is built around a snoozer; only Scott’s leering vocal keeps the thing interesting. “Leave Me Alone So I Can Masturbate” (”R.I.P. [Rock in Peace]“) bears no riff whatsoever, unless you count the basic I-IV-V blues chords that chug behind the singer. (more…)

JACKYL
I was ready — so ready — and fired up to tear into the new AC/DC album like a grizzly bear on chubby hikers. These old guys have been cranking out the same album all career long, including a jump from deceased lead singer Bon Scott to longtime and current singer Brian Johnson. The AC/DC pattern is simply a thudding stomp of a beat, a concise riff, often dumb lyrics based on substances, debauchery, lust and mayhem and a voice that could never work in any other setting. Add in the predictability of material, a chunk of years off, another one of these cheesy Wal-Mart distribution deals and the AC/DC logo becoming a fashion statement as bland as the Nike Swoop and there should have been no reason for me to be kind to Black Ice.