It was close to midnight when AC/DC arrived at CBGB. No-one working at the East Village venue was aware of any invitation being extended to the band to perform at the club, but as local power-pop quartet Marbles exited the stage and the Australian group pushed through the crowd carrying their guitars and amplifiers, no-one dared speak up to challenge the bullish interlopers.
Malcolm Young’s group were still buzzing from a gig earlier in the evening, opening up a three band bill, headlined by The Dictators, at the Palladium on East 14th Street: Angus Young hadn’t even bothered changing out of his blue velvet school uniform for the short trip downtown. The prospect of playing New York’s infamous punk rock dive bar appealed to ‘DC’s sense of mischief and their love of in-yer-face confrontation. Though the hard-bitten Aussies were dismissive of English punk rock’s posturing and politics – “In every interview we did when we came to London we’d be saying, We’re not fucking punks, we’re a rock ’n’ roll band,” Malcolm Young told this writer in 2003 – they had a grudging respect for the US scene.
“The punk thing is pretty cool in America,” Angus Young conceded. “It’s just a young thing, a new breed type thing.”
Ahmet Ertegun, the President and co-founder of Atlantic Records, arrived at CBGBs on the evening of August 24, 1977 to find Bon Scott standing outside 315 Bowery pissing into a jar. Given the legendarily horrendous state of CBGB’s toilets, the record mogul may well have applauded the singer’s resourcefulness. He was certainly impressed by the lack of nerves the band displayed when they stepped onto the club’s stage.
In terms of song selection, ’DC’s second set of the night, ushered in by Cliff Williams’ throbbing Live Wire bass line, was identical to their first, but CBGB’s anarchic ‘anything goes’ vibe suited the Aussie quintet’s raw energy better. During The Jack, Scott hoisted Angus Young onto his shoulders for a walkabout, both men bare-chested, dripping sweat on bemused patrons as they parted the audience. For his closing solo on ’DC’s muscular take on blues standard Baby, Please Don’t Go, Young exited the building through the front doors, exchanging pleasantries with the Bowery’s homeless community outside the club as he peeled off R&B licks in the muggy Manhattan air. This didn’t tend to happen at Talking Heads or Television shows.
