When you're AC/DC, you don't even have to try. You've sold more albums in the United States than Michael, Mariah and Madonna, you've been around (and have been repeatedly voted 'Best Rock Band in the World') since 1973, and your fans, to their detriment, don't expect anything of you other than a medley of blues-rock songs they can shake their manes to.
And that's exactly what the Scotch-Aussies have turned in with Black Ice. Their much-anticipated fifteenth studio album contains absolutely nothing that'll win over a new generation of fans (nor will the preposterous band pictures in the inlay cover, which sees the ageing quintet look like a bunch of alcoholics on their way to a Harry Potter convention). The point, which becomes clearer with every bristling riff, is that AC/DC's distinctive sound and formula is so well-established by this stage, that they've no incentive to change it.
That doesn't mean that Black Ice is not fun, though: producer Brendan O'Brien's alleged advice that Brian Johnson should tone down his squawking definitely pays dividends, and much of the album is framed by his strained, crude growl. The amount of bawdy references to 'rock', and the number of blatantly recycled riffs are also unintentionally hilarious, but when they're lifted from glugging beauts like Spoilin' for a Fight, She's On Fire and the more reasoned Stormy May Day, they seem like charming, inconsequential foibles.
The amount of times you'll find yourself thinking 'This sounds like a rip-off of 'You Shook Me All Night Long'' happens a little too frequently, perhaps - but that only validates the original point. The only thing that would have been surprising is if AC/DC had released their own version of Kid A - and who wants to air guitar to that?
