bon scott

A quick trawl through the memory banks shows that AC/DC books have figured more prominently on my personal playlist in recent years than almost any others. You’re entitled to ask why.

It’s not that I’m a fan of the band or anything like that. The personal take on them runs along these lines:

Their music is formulaic in a way other “band brands” like the Ramones have never been. Yes, the drummer (Phil Rudd most prominently) swings like the proverbial shithouse door in a cyclone, but there’s not much else doing in the songs apart from well-meshed, chugging riffs. The lyrics were inane (not always a bad thing), the solos predictable (one man’s classic is another man’s so-so), and the whole package was seemingly contrived (songs about venereal disease, schoolboys chucking browneyes) to attrract and repel a certain broad audience. Americans especially took to them in a way they never did with punk.

Frontman Bon Scott had a certain lewd charm but it always seemed that The Powers That Be (that’d be Malcolm and Angus) imposed a certain way of doing things – and god help anyone who wanted to depart from the template. 

Adventurous is one thing they have never been but, fuck, they have marketed themselves well.  

So why read books about them? 

Landfill – Suburbia Suburbia (self released)

Suburbia Suburbia’s new album, “Landfill”, is anything but rubbish. It is bloody awesome, It is full of screaming guitars, loads of wonderful harmonica and rolling bass lines and pounding drums. It’s just bloody good.

Suburbia Suburbia is Tony Townsend on vocals, Robdog Dekker (guitar), Allan 'Krock' Lyon (harmonica), Robbie Jib(bass), Rowie Riot(lead guitar) and Noel Gardner (drums.) They also have Ian Taylor (rhythm guitar) and Mark Godfrey (bass) on a couple of tracks.

These seasoned musicians have come up with eight tunes that just rock - a combination of blues and good old pub rock and roll. I cannot recommend this highly enough because it’s pure gold.

Headonism
By Peter Head with MJ Cornwall
(BookPOD)

The history of Australian rock and roll is chockablock with yarns about people who had their shot at The Big Prize. Adelaide-born Peter Head (nee Beagley) gave it a better shake than most,  rising to prominence as pianist for prog rockers Headband, touring his bum off and playing in a pre-AC/DCband with some bloke named Bon Scott.

This is a man who rubbed shoulders with everyone from Elton John to John Mayall, John Farnham to the Rolling Stones.Adelaide-raised, Head did what a lot of Aussies did in the‘60s and followed his nose to work as a muso in England...only to suffer the same fate as many, if not most, of his peers and have it rubbed in Pommy squalor.

In the ‘80s Head transplanted himself to Sydney and became a fixture in the piano bars of Kings Cross. It was probably a natural progression for a bloke who kicked off his career as a 13-year-old backing bump-and-grind dancers in seedy Hindley Street bars. Along the way, he directed stage shows, toured nationally with the likes of Robyn Archer, carved out a regular place on the bill of the Adelaide Festival, filled in as backing pianist for “Here’s Humphrey”. 

Let’s face it, rock’n’roll is absolutely and completely stupid and ridiculous. That’s why I love it. And the more stupid and ridiculous it is, the more I like it. 

Gimme some lycra clad idiot climbing up a speaker stack screaming about how rock’n’roll they are, or some sweaty Hornbag dancing on a bar carrying on about kebabs and chlymydia (Hi Celia) and I’m in heaven. 

Sure I like serious bands, but jeez they’ve gotta be very very fucken good to cut the mustard..... or the cheese. A good bit of cheese with rock’n’roll is also a very good thing.

I can’t go past a dumb and ridiculous band even if they are a bunch of talentless losers. Just as long as they rock and make me giggle. Bonus points awarded for juvenile toilet humour because that’s the best kind of humour.

I just want to be entertained, and I want to have fun.