By Jeremy Hallock
By James Khubiar
By Observer Staff
By Kelly Dearmore
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
After he went through, the line broke up into little groups around each member, and I actually heard this guy, who was dressed like Brian Johnson with the touring cap and black leather vest, offer the singer his girlfriend. She was one of those 43-year-old rock chicks with the shag haircut and the '70s groupie garb, and on hearing this Johnson wheeled around as if he suddenly had something to do.
Just then, he saw me admiring my backstage pass, autographed by Angus and Malcolm Young. "Here you go," that talentless yob said as he took my pass and signed his name, right between the signatures of the Young brothers. Oh, well, what am I doing collecting autographs anyway? I'm 40 years old.
I went to get Al so we could leave, but he was deep in conversation with Malcolm Young, who seemed confounded by consonants just a few minutes earlier. I couldn't really get close enough to hear what they were talking about, as a crowd had gathered around, but they ended up rapping for about 10 minutes. When they finally shook hands and we were on our way, I remarked to Al that he and Malcolm seemed to be getting on quite well. I wanted to know what Al had said to him. "Oh, I just asked him what kind of pick-ups he had on his favorite guitar."
The members of AC/DC don't have hobbies. They don't play golf or date models or try to get young people to vote. They only serve one purpose and have one function. They are here to rock your world, and when they're not doing that, they don't exist. The next day, I couldn't find my autographed pass, and I haven't seen it since. I must've left it in the cab.
AC/DC performs April 4 at Reunion Arena.