Where I grew up (all over Maine, USA), upon release this album was practically handed out to every male with hair down to or past their shoulders and every female who believed in the psychic power of the camel toe. After that it was given to you moments after birth, usually on cassette.
AC/DC are my brother's favorite band (mine was Black Sabbath). As such, I heard everything they recorded up to Fly on the Wall. I was really, really sick of them by then and most especially Back in Black, as it was an omnipresent sound in rural Maine living. Everywhere you went, there it was: "I'M BAHAHAHAHACK!! BAHAHAHAHACK!! I'M BACKIN' BLACK!! YES I"M BACK IN BLAAACKUH!"
Angus Young's hard as nails power chording and terse blues attack solos, Phil Rudd's artless four to the floor drumming, Malcolm Young and Cliff Williams ultra-steady rhythms and Brian Johnson's Marlboro Man at 70 howl; it all combined to sound like fascism to me. I hated it.
It wasn't until Rick Rubin turned AC/DC's formula into a kind of folk art (see his late 80's production work with The Cult, Danzig, and Four Horsemen among others) that the power of this simple idea came into focus for me. While I won't say it made me fall in love with them, it did garner them a measure of respect that I didn't afford them prior as, in regards to straight up, balls out hard rock, Back in Black is hard to beat.
Twenty five years on from their domination of hesher culture, I can hear any number of AC/DC albums and relish in their no frills power.
By: Marshottenot.