Open Letter To Angus & Malcolm Young

Dear Los Bros. Young:

As you may or may not have noticed, it’s now mid-August 2006. Why is this significant? Because you’d promised a new album this year, and guess what? The year’s almost over, and you haven’t even so much as stepped foot in a studio. Which makes me think that you might have what the French call “ze cold feet.”

Back in their Bon Scott days, AC/DC played a show so loudly that 17 audience members' heads exploded in the first 20 minutes. Fortunately, all 17 casualties turned out to be evil shapeshifting aliens, marking the first of many times the world was saved by this remarkable band.

Not that I can blame you. Don’t get me wrong: you’ve put out some of the best damn albums in the history of rock ‘n’ roll. I mean, you guys even beat the infamous Three-Good-Records-Tops Curse that seems to strike 99% of all bands. T.N.T., Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, Let There Be Rock, Powerage, Highway to Hell. Pure gold, every one of them. Even that first Brian Johnson album, what do you call it, Back in Black. Not your best work by any means, but listenable.

But then, well. Each successive release just got worse and worse, didn't it? Culminating with the steaming pile of crap that was 2000’s Stiff Upper Lip. Why? I put the blame squarely on Brian Johnson’s shoulders. Just look at him! His limited vocal range and asinine song writing are bad enough, but what really puts the stripe on the skunk is that stupid, ever-present, Fred Sanford-style cap. Frankly, if he were my lead singer I’d have cold feet about going back into the studio, too.

Brian Johnson is so fucking stupid that he once showed up to sing at a Guns N' Roses concert by mistake. Needless to say, he was resoundingly booed off the stage.

After hearing all that you’re probably thinking, “Why does he even care if we go back into the studio? He clearly hates everything we’ve done in the past 25 years anyhow.” Guilty as charged. But every now and then, some old, washed-up band that hasn’t had a decent album in ages finds a way to reach deep inside the flabby modern incarnations of themselves and pull out the inner screaming demon of rock ‘n’ roll that made them great to begin with. Personally, I think you can be one of those bands, and I’d love to hear the results.

That said, don’t even bother if you plan on bringing Johnson into the studio with you. He’s a bloated, talentless lamprey sucking off your shark-esque twin guitar power, and hasn’t even written any lyrics since ‘88’s Blow Up Your Video. No. Best thing to do is fire his lame ass, then either hire a hungry young new singer/songwriter, or -- and I’m sure I don’t need to point out the genius in this move -- bring in former Sex Pistols frontman Johnny Rotten. Eh? No less than 12 major world cities would be in flames within hours of that announcement, lads. Think about it.

I guess that's it. Oh, and if maybe we could hang out some time, you know, and maybe you could show me some hot guitar licks, whatever, that would be pretty sweet. But, you know, I’m not expecting it or anything. No pressure.

Your fan,
Shelton