AC/DC's Rhythm Rock Hero Malcolm Young Ends His Career

December 23, 2014 12:52 AM

16 0

Our tickets are in the rafters. Row XYZ. It's 1980 in the Brendan Byrne Arena in East Rutherford, New Jersey. My older brother is a senior in high school and I'm a freshman. His friend has a van and a warm six pack of Milwaukee's Best. I reluctantly drink mine with authority and turn the car radio to eleven -- Back in Black on cassette tape. My brother's friend sees how terrible our seats are and laughs. He suggests we rip the stub off his seat after he gets in. We'll then hold his stub over our XYZs as the usher examines it with a flashlight. It works. We're on the floor, heading toward the stage. The crowd is a raucous one, not that friendly. Black biker jackets, shit-kicker boots and stark pugnacious stares. This coupled with the testosterone, beers and brown weed and everyone's on edge. A fight breaks out, punches thrown. It's a war zone. We may or may not get out alive. Security is in yellow jackets. They grab two drunk thugs and drag them past us to the exit. Perhaps we'll sit in their empty seats. My brother has his finger on my lower back. He does not care about the fights, the aggressive vibe. He only wants to get closer and closer to the stage. I move when he moves, pushing through people who really don't want to be jostled. "Sorry. Excuse us, sorry."

When the lights go out the crowd roars and I look up to see a two ton liberty bell descending from the stadium ceiling. It says AC/DC on the side and singer Brian Johnson comes on stage to pummel the "Hell's Bell," with a sledge hammer. Bong!... Bong!... Bong! When I get my footing I can see him, An...

Read more

To category page