“Back in Black” by AC/DC | Album Review

It's still got the power to rock your socks off, 45 years after its initial release.

This album review celebrates 45 years of the loudest resurrection in rock and roll history.

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Genre: Hard Rock, Blues Rock

Label: Atlantic

Release Date: July 25, 1980

Vibe: 🔔

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I was 11 years old when I found AC/DC. Or, more accurately, I was the exact right age when their music found me.

If you are, were, or know of an almost-teenage boy, then you’re familiar with the type: a simmering gumbo of angst, anti-authoritarianism, and questionable hygiene habits. Almost all of them crave power in musical form. Songs that can cut through boredom or disenfranchisement like a hot knife through butter, usually with a towering guitar riff or drum fill. When I was that age, the records I loved were the musical equivalent of a Mack truck speeding down a highway. Unmissable, unapologetic, and un-f***-withable. With that mindset, it’s the least surprising revelation in the world that the first CD I latched onto—the one I’ve played front to back probably more than any other in my lifetime—was Back in Black.

Right from the opening toll of the titular instrument in “Hells Bells,” I was hooked. I was all in, willingly and completely indoctrinated. I hadn’t heard anything quite like it to that point in my life. Before AC/DC, I was familiar with the pop radio hits of the day, but we’re talking mostly boy band and girl group cuts, as well as hip-hop that the neighborhood parental units approved of. But this … it was a mind-altering moment. I vividly remember being in the car on a six- or seven-hour road trip, during which I must’ve played this album at least a half-dozen times all the way through. I don’t think it left my CD player for months after that. Granted, I was too young to fully understand the weight of the grief-stricken themes it touched upon. Nor was I really paying attention. I was too blown away by the grit, thunder, soul, and danger in their sound.

If you’re on the fence about AC/DC, Back in Black isn’t going to convert you. It’s not a departure or a sonic reinvention, despite a key change in personnel before recording began. If anything, it’s an expanded, refined version of what they were already good at: straightforward, unpretentious hard rock. It’s a little formulaic and more than a little sleazy at times, but that’s kind of the point. In the best possible way, AC/DC’s music is the equivalent to an Alfred Hitchcock film or In-N-Out Burger. You experience the endorphin rush because it does exactly what it says on the tin. In other words, reliable entertainment. Nothing more, nothing less. As a result, the band’s brand has endured for over a half-century, helping them sell over 200 million records worldwide and countless t-shirts with their iconic logo emblazoned across the chest.

After I heard Back in Black for the first time, I devoured every other hard rock or heavy metal record I could get my hands on. At the time, that list was mostly made up of the usual suspects: Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Metallica, and Rage Against the Machine, with a little grunge like Soundgarden thrown in for good measure. I also purchased most of AC/DC’s releases from the 70s and 80s, where High Voltage, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, and *Highway to Hell.* Along with the latter, I had to replace my copy of this LP a couple of years ago. My accumulated scratches on my original CD copy became so numerous that the disc became unplayable. To this day, it’s one of the only records I’ve repurchased due to wear and tear alone.

I don’t think anyone could’ve predicted the success of Back in Black, even though the band was primed for a huge breakthrough. Between 1976 and 1979, they released five albums, with two in particular—Let There Be Rock and Highway to Hell—resonating with American audiences. At the dawn of a new decade, they were riding high, wrapping up some European tour dates with plans to begin work on a new record shortly thereafter. But tragedy struck before they had a chance to lay down new material. Bon Scott, the group’s wild child of a lead singer, died after asphyxiating on his own vomit following an all-night bender. He was 33. The loss devastated the band and, initially, it looked like the remaining members would disband AC/DC and go their separate ways. But, after urging from friends and family (particularly Scott’s), they decided to soldier on.

Enter Brian Johnson, a relative unknown from Newcastle who, at the time of his audition to be the new frontman, was living with his parents, repairing vintage cars for a living, and was on the verge of quitting music entirely. According to Johnson, it was Robert “Mutt” Lange, the lauded writer/producer who’s been mentioned multiple times in this newsletter, who pushed for the band’s surviving members to hear what he could do. On top of that, Scott had seen Johnson perform with his group, Geordie, shared a pint with him, and later passed on his praise of Lange and the founding members and brothers, Angus and Malcolm Young. It was a seal of approval from beyond the grave.

The new lineup and Lange repaired to Compass Point Studios in Nassau, Bahamas, to write and record the new LP. The only demo recordings from the Scott era that were transferred over were early versions of “Have a Drink on Me” and “Let Me Put My Love Into You.” Otherwise, everything else was created from scratch in six weeks. The recording process was anything but smooth, too. Tropical storms disrupted power. Equipment broke. The grief from Scott’s passing was still fresh and remained largely unspoken. And Lange, ever the perfectionist, pushed the band harder than they’d ever been pushed before.

A recollection from Johnson, on whom the producer focused particular attention:

It was like, 'Again, Brian, again – hold on, you sang that note too long so there's no room for a breath'. He wouldn't let anything go past him. He had this thing where he didn't want people to listen to the album down the road and say there's no way someone could sing that, they've dropped that in, even the breaths had to be in the right place. And you cannot knock a man for that, but he drove me nuts.

That attention to detail paid huge dividends. As an album experience, it’s still the best AC/DC has ever sounded. The arrangements are tigether, the grooves are shinier, the whole record moves like a Mad Max-style 18-wheeler decked out in black chrome and flamethrowers. You’ve got straight-ahead hard rock power in abundance, without any of the excesses that would work their way into other Lange productions later that same decade. There’s no fat on these songs’ bones whatsoever. “Shoot to Thrill” is a, well, thrilling exercise in controlled chaos, with Johnson riding the changing tempos like a stunt driver swerving dangerously close to the edge. If you like car metaphors, there’s “You Shook Me All Night Long,” where Johnson compares a raucous sexual escapade to a motor vehicle, a heavyweight bout, and (you’d think) the most satisfying meal he’s ever had. Again, I’m not here to judge. Either you’re willing to embrace that part of AC/DC or you’re not. Then you have the title track, with a guitar riff so ubiquitous it has soundtracked car commercials, sporting events, and an endless parade of music store guitar tunings with equal effectiveness. Name me another rock song that has that kind of reputation preceding it.

All that said, the best moments are the bookends. "Hells Bells" begins as a solemn funeral procession, one that takes its time ramping up to a more theatrical celebration of Scott and the shadow he cast over the band’s legacy. The tolling bell, an actual 2,000-pound monster recorded at an English foundry, is among the greatest tone setters in rock history. Angus Young makes his presence known with ominous deliberation, like a storm front closing in on an unsuspecting land mass. Johnson’s famous line, “You’re only young but you’re gonna die,” isn’t a threat—merely a promise that rock and roll has its own afterlife, independent of that discussed in holy scripture. The album’s coda, "Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution,” is a continuation of that theme, a spiteful slow burn that comes off as a middle finger to critics and killjoys. Yes, they’re supposed to be grieving, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to run away from the rock star lifestyle. If anything, it gives them an excuse to turn up the volume even louder.

At this point in my album reviews, I typically spend a few sentences discussing post-release influences, but that seems almost beside the point with Back in Black. The more interesting experiment would be to find an amateur rock musician or professional group who weren’t inspired by this record at one point or another. Foo Fighters, Guns N’ Roses, and Metallica are just a few names who’ve namedropped this LP as a formative listening experience, but that list is several miles long. There wasn’t a kid in my high school who didn’t know the words, chords, or grooves to this one by heart. I’m not saying that’s an exhaustive sample size, but the sales numbers would tell you it’s a provable trend. After peaking at No. 4 on the Billboard 200, this album has gone on to sell over 50 million copies worldwide, making it the best-selling rock album ever made.

I saw them live on their Black Ice tour in 2015, one of nearly 50,000 people who packed my hometown’s most infamous concert venue. Beyond being a rip-roaring two hours of pounding drums and razor-sharp guitar playing, it was an eye-opener to see how diverse the crowd was. Across many different ages, genders, and other demographic groups, it proved that their music had a timelessness that I hadn’t considered fully. I knew how much they meant to me, but it didn’t dawn on me how many people fell in that category alongside me. For everyone in that stadium that night, Back in Black had become a text that’d been passed down to kids and grandkids and, based on everyone’s collective reaction, will retain its ability to wow music fans several generations into the future.

For those about to rock, today, tomorrow, and years down the line, I salute you.

What’s your favorite track off Back in Black? Did this one hit you as hard as it hit me? Let me know in the comments.