In an era where the word musician is increasingly stretched thin, where social media virality often trumps musicality, and style too often eclipses substance, the state of rock ‘n’ roll has been declared deceased by cultural coroners more times than we can count. Teens, twentysomethings, and even nostalgic millennials have flocked to self-anointed “artists” who pair synthetic beats with half-baked lyrics and a wardrobe curated for algorithms rather than audiences. But somewhere on the far side of that digital wasteland, in a stadium carved into the Texas night, the soul of rock ‘n’ roll still pulses loudly, proudly, and unmistakably alive. On April 14th, at AT&T Stadium in Arlington, home of the Dallas Cowboys and, for one night, the high-voltage sanctuary of sound, AC/DC delivered a thunderous rebuttal to the notion that rock is dead. At a combined age where most people are rocking recliners rather than stadiums, Angus Young and Brian Johnson, the last two standing titans of AC/DC, did what they’ve always done best: they played as if the genre’s survival depended on it. And perhaps it does.
It was Johnson, in his trademark newsboy cap and eternally mischievous grin, who kicked off the night with a rallying cry: “Tonight, we’re gonna rock and roll and party, so just join in.” No irony, no pandering, just an invitation. And 80,000 people answered. From the opening riff of If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It) to the cannon-blasted finale of For Those About to Rock (We Salute You), the show was less a concert and more a defiant act of preservation. This wasn’t some nostalgia-fueled stroll through a greatest hits reel. It was 150 minutes of unfiltered energy, a masterclass in rock theater, and a living argument that grit, volume, and authenticity still matter.
Angus Young, still donning his eternally boyish school uniform, duck-walked across the stage like time was a rumor. At 70, he played a guitar solo that stretched longer than most artists’ entire sets, feeding off the crowd like a preacher feeding off the faithful. Johnson, whose raspy, iron-lunged howl once replaced the iconic Bon Scott in 1980, sounded every bit as fierce as he did on Back in Black, his vocals slicing through the cavernous venue like a power chord sent from Valhalla.
The setlist was a parade of raw, unfiltered classics: Back in Black, Thunderstruck (delivered at a slightly tempered tempo, as if teasing the crowd before launching into chaos), Highway to Hell, and a blistering Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, which emerged as the night’s standout moment. Even the security guards, stoic as statues at the show’s start, were swaying and head-nodding by the end. Resistance, it turns out, is futile in the face of that kind of electricity.
Supporting members Steve Young (nephew of the late Malcolm Young), bassist Chris Chaney, and drummer Matt Laug provided the scaffolding, playing dutifully behind the two frontmen, never crowding the spotlight. It was, as it always is, the Brian and Angus show. But what a show it is.
GET YOUR AC/DC TICKETS HERE
And yes, the theatrics were slightly dialed back. The massive, inflatable Rosie from A Whole Lotta Rosie was conspicuously absent. So too was the runaway locomotive from Rock ’n’ Roll Train. Yet the essential elements, the tolling Hells Bells and the climactic cannon fire, remained. If anything, the scaled-back visuals only heightened the spotlight on the music, the movement, the mayhem.
What’s most astonishing isn’t that AC/DC still tours, it’s how they tour. Most over-the-hill seniors struggle with stairs; Angus runs up them, guitar slung low, skipping and soloing without pause. Johnson dances like a man with nothing to prove and everything to give. There’s something almost miraculous about witnessing it, as if Australia secretly discovered the fountain of youth, poured it into a pint, and handed it exclusively to this band.
AC/DC has never wavered. Through disco, through grunge, through the autotuned slough of the 2000s, they have stood firm; bawdy, unrepentant, loud. Their songs still center on the sacred themes of rock: lust, rebellion, liquor, and life. That kind of consistency might seem anachronistic in today’s shifting cultural tides. But there’s a reason people of all ages, backgrounds, and playlists still scream the lyrics to T.N.T. like it’s gospel. It is, in its own way.
There’s no official word on whether this is the farewell tour. The band, in typical fashion, makes no melodrama of it. But one look at the crowd, many aware this may be the last chance to see them in this form, and the stakes become clear. This isn’t just another tour. It’s a time capsule, a sacred rite, a roaring reminder that rock ‘n’ roll isn’t dead. Not yet. Not as long as AC/DC is onstage.
Buy the ticket. Join the party. Let your soul be saved by the last real rockers.
