Album Review

On Black Ice, their first new disc in eight years, the Australian hard-rockers AC/DC take some shocking risks. First of all, they attempt a fusion of disco and house music on a few tracks. Then there’s Angus Young’s stunning decision to shelve his electric guitar in favor of a dobro on several songs. French horns, violas, and xylophones add baroque touches at every turn. And lead singer Brian Johnson opens up about the strain of years of high-pitched singing in the country weeper “God, My Throat Hurts.” It’s a stunning departure that…

Oh, who am I kidding? Black Ice is basically the same record that AC/DC has been making for 35 years. As for me, I find comfort in knowing that some things don’t change. If you don’t know what you’re going with this band then you haven’t been paying much attention. Angus is going to fire cacophonous riffs at you while sneering all the way, Phil Rudd is going to beat his drums without any semblance of mercy, rhythm man Malcolm Young and bassist Cliff Williams are going to keep their heads down to avoid the shrapnel, and Johnson is going to gargle on assorted sharp, pointy objects and call it singing.

The formula has always worked before, so why mess around? And there is still no better music to play if you want to get yourself fired up. I can already picture high-school basketball teams all over the country cueing up first single “Rock N Roll Train” as they prepare to come out for the pre-game lay-up line.

Anyone hoping for introspection should best be on their way. The assault can best be summed up in one of the Young brothers’ typically aggressive lyrical assaults: “Smash, grab, take it,” as screamed by Brian in front of the trademark AC/DC angry-mob backing vocals. And rest assured that there is enough innuendo on hand to make Benny Hill proud.

Since the frame of the album will always be the same, any AC/DC record will rise and fall with the individual songs, and a few on Black Ice stand out. “Anything Goes” is an effective tribute to a groupie, and “Stormy May Day” works up a prime apocalyptic lather. Despite the generic title, “Rock N Roll Dream” slows the pace just a tad from the typical boom-bap rhythms the band prefers, and Johnson actually attempts some soulful, non-screeching in the verses. Hey, you take whatever variety you can get.

Too often, Black Ice goes on auto-pilot. The sonic wallop is unrelenting, but 15 songs worth of it eventually grinds you down. And as great a producer as Brendan O’Brien is, he might have mentioned to the band that “Decibel” and the title track have the same exact riff. A little editing would have gone a long way.

But, at this point, an AC/DC review is pretty much irrelevant. There aren’t any surprises, unless you count the fact that these veterans still bring the thunder better than youngsters half their age. So what if the closest thing to high culture here are the Roman numerals on the track listings? It’s no Back In Black, but Black Ice delivers the goods, surprises be damned.

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