My friends and I were ripe with wanderlust. Flushed with our successful A level results we were full of eager optimism, savouring the first bloom of independent adulthood. We determined to go on a tour of exotic locations, exploring the strange lands of the mystical East. With a keen spirit of earnest camaraderie we were soon on the magic bus, tripping through the weird dream regions of our bizarre itinerary.
After many adventures on our transcendental travellings we all felt the call of home. As we were soon passing an international Japanese airport we decided that we would stop there, leave our cosy coach, and catch a flight straight back to our normal lives. In the meantime I curled up on my cramped seat to get some sleep, as all this excitement had left me exhausted.
But I slept too long, as when I awoke all my companions were gone and my flight home was far behind. It seems that my so-called comrades had thoughtlessly disembarked without waking me. I was hurt and disappointed at their apparent selfishness, and the lack of that fellowship so evident at our journey’s start.
Then I became aware of new passengers who had replaced my old colleagues, fresh explorers on this mystery tour. As they chatted in their familiar cliques I felt somewhat alone, although these fledgling tourists were in no way hostile or alien to me, most of them seeming to be well mannered young Americans.
By now night had fallen and our extraordinary excursion had reached the ancient pagan panoramas of India. I looked out of the windows to see vast black-green plains passing by, seemingly stretching forever in awesome vistas of rich sombre shadow. Then my sight was brilliantly distracted by the sky, which glittered bursting with a prodigious array of the most fantastical stellar constellations. It was as if all the stars had moved that much closer to Earth, and multiplied into celestial formations of dazzling esoteric abundance. Despite the uncomfortable ride in this battered old vehicle on a bumpy dirt road, I was totally captivated at the pure beauty and spectacular wonder of this exquisite vision.
I knew that synchronicity had favoured me by misfortune, leaving me deserted in this secret scene of cosmic consciousness. It appeared that the universal striving for self knowledge had come a giant step closer, and was using my perception and understanding as a means to its realisation. I recognised the yogic wisdom of the way things are and always will be, which now illuminated my very soul. I felt blessed to be observing this most precious picture, and sorry for my fleeting friends who will never witness such an incredible wonder. For me life would never be the same again.
The apotheosis of Angus, the guitar avatar, the frenetic fretter, the musical monster, the manic man machine, the living legend. A schoolboy superhero, he struts and strides his sweaty stuff, scattering scathing sparks of molten melody to his hungry hoards of adoring acolytes. Backed by the inexorably invincible, stalwartly steady, rough and readily reckoned revving of AC/DC’s rumbling rhythm section, this plucking Prometheus walks the walk while his fiery fingers sting his singing strings to talk the talk. His sharply sheer,intensely incisive, punctuated playing conducts a conduit of elemental expression and ecstatic emotion as he scraps and shapes sonic sculptures of sinewy sound. The acme of articulated ambition, cunning craft, transcendent talent and potent passion is regally reified in this valiant vision of basic blues brilliantly extrapolated into extraordinary extemporisation. For this proudly prodigious performance, for letting there be rock, and for being the one and only, Angus Young, we salute you.