It Don't Mean a Thang if it Ain't Got That KERRRANNNGGG!

I will confess here, knowing that my transgression will be seen by a bare handful of folks, to doing something some people might consider un-clergy-like just yesterday.

I bought the album at the left at Wal-Mart.


Yes, I know, AC/DC are everything that's evil in rock music except for "Stairway to Heaven" wrapped up in a package and tied off with a bow of bad taste. Yes, I know their guitar player is a 53-year-old man wearing a schoolboy uniform, something that usually isn't -- and probably shouldn't be -- seen outside of felony indictments or FBI stings. Yes, I know that "singer" Brian Johnson bears a weird resemblance to Tom Jones and has a range that alternates between Donald Duck on a whiskey bender and Grover the Muppet gargling some gravel. Yes, I know that their lyrics frequently feature, and by "feature" I mean "are almost entirely made up of," off-color puns, phrases and images. Believe me, the 44-year-old guy that I am has explained all of this and considered it at great length.

But the teenage ear-splitter that I used to be has the same answer every time: Yeah, but they ROCK, man! He doesn't say "dude," because that hasn't caught on yet in his world. And he wins the argument. He was a little confused that he had to get this album at Wal-Mart, because he doesn't remember Wal-Mart being the kind of place that would have an exclusive release deal with a band like AC/DC. Don Ho, maybe.

He also wins because he reminds the old guy who's taken over his space that Messrs. Young, Young and Johnson rely more on being bawdy that downright vulgar. Vulgar is just what it says, but being bawdy takes a little bit of wit and wordplay. Bawdy leers like vulgar does, but it always puts in a wink to say, "Isn't this a little bit over the top?" And he reminds the old guy that the schoolboy thing and a lot of the other showmanship the band does ought to tell the listener not to take the package too seriously.

And if all that fails, he reminds the old guy that whenever he hears the opening chord to "You Shook Me All Night Long," the old guy remembers being behind the wheel of a two-door, four-color 1968 Chevrolet Impala, listening to an AM radio through one speaker, turned up loud enough to make whatever noise it produced unintelligible and not caring at all because he was behind the wheel and he had his license and the whole wide world was before him.

Plus, they rock, man.