There are some records that change music. There are records that can change your life. Then there are records that make you want to kick open the nearest pub door, steal the jukebox and start a riot. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap is very much in the third category.
Released in September 1976, AC/DC’s third album finds the Young brothers and the irrepressible Bon Scott still operating several evolutionary steps before they became the stadium-sized rock monsters of Back in Black. And thank Christ for that. This is AC/DC before the polish, before the mythology, before the millions.
They’re hungry, obnoxious and gloriously stupid. Oh….and they’re fuckin’ magnificent.
From the moment Angus Young’s guitar tears into the opening bars of “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”, you know exactly where you stand. This isn’t progressive rock. There are no concept albums, no ten-minute guitar solos about the meaning of existence, and certainly no keyboards pretending to be orchestras.
It’s three chords, a rhythm section built like a brick shithouse and Bon Scott telling the world exactly what he thinks of it.
“Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” remains one of AC/DC’s immortal anthems for good reason. That riff is practically a public utility. Malcolm Young locks down the rhythm with the precision of a machine gun while Angus fires off sparks over the top, and Scott spits out the lyrics with that trademark grin you can hear even when you can’t see him.
Then there’s “Love at First Feel”, which wastes approximately three seconds before getting filthy. Scott was never interested in pretending AC/DC were writing poetry for candlelit evenings, and this is the band at their gloriously uncouth best. The riff swings, the chorus sticks to the brain and the whole thing sounds like a bad decision you’d happily make twice.
And speaking of bad decisions…
“Big Balls”
Yes, really. No, we’re not going to pretend it’s Shakespeare.
It’s a bloody song called “Big Balls”, delivered by Bon Scott with the mock sophistication of a gentleman announcing the evening’s entertainment at a particularly disreputable country club. The joke is infantile. The performance is immaculate. And somehow AC/DC turn the whole ridiculous thing into one of the most memorable tracks on the record.
That’s the secret. They don’t wink at the joke. They commit to it.
Then comes “Rocker”, which is arguably the album’s purest expression of what AC/DC are about. Two minutes and fifty-odd seconds of guitar, drums, attitude and absolutely no interest whatsoever in your intellectual development. Angus plays like he’s being electrocuted, Phil Rudd pounds away behind him and Scott struts vocally as if he’s just been told that the entire world is his personal playground.
And then, lurking beneath all the beer-soaked bravado, comes “Problem Child”.
Now this is where the album starts showing its teeth.
The riff is enormous, the groove has that unmistakable AC/DC swagger and Scott sounds unhinged. There’s no attempt to rehabilitate the title character. He’s a problem. He knows he’s a problem. He’s rather enjoying being a problem. It’s a magnificent piece of hard-rock delinquency.
“There’s Gonna Be Some Rockin’” follows with a title that could hardly be more direct. AC/DC aren’t interested in making a prediction here. They’re issuing a fucking threat. There is no wasted motion. Every riff has a job. Every drumbeat pushes the song forward. Every Bon Scott vocal sounds like it has been delivered from somewhere approximately two inches away from your face.
The biggest surprise, however, is “Ride On” as suddenly the beer disappears. The lights go down and Bon sounds like a man who’s just realised that every party must eventually end.
It’s a gorgeous blues number, slow and bruised, and it provides the album with something AC/DC could easily have done without but absolutely needed: atmosphere. Angus delivers a restrained, beautifully expressive solo.
Then the Aussie bastards go straight back to being filthy with “Squealer”, because apparently emotional growth was not on the agenda.
That sense of humour is crucial to Dirty Deeds and that lack of pretension is precisely what has allowed the record to age so well.
The production is raw without being muddy, the guitars have real physical weight and the rhythm section has that almost supernatural AC/DC ability to make a simple groove sound like the most important thing that has ever happened.
Just a band in a room, hitting the songs hard.
The album was produced by Harry Vanda and George Young, and their approach helped capture AC/DC’s primitive, muscular attack. At this stage the band were still a hungry Australian outfit rather than the global institution they would become.
The rest, of course, is history.
AC/DC would go on to make bigger albums. Highway to Hell would sharpen the formula. Back in Black would turn it into a global religion.
Fifty years later, the riffs still hit like a sledgehammer. The jokes remain gloriously juvenile. Bon Scott still sounds like the devil’s favourite drinking companion. Angus still sounds like he’s trying to set fire to the fretboard.
What’s not to like?!!
Donnie’s Rating: 9/10
