Last man standing
Are classic rock bands too big to fail?
Talk about drama. One guy suffers dementia and has to leave the band, another is charged with threatening to kill two people and has to leave the band, a third faces total hearing loss and has to leave the band, and a fourth gets fed up and says, in a more diplomatic way, “the hell with it ... I’m leaving the band.’’
It’s been a challenging couple of years for AC/DC, the revered hard rock pioneers whose rigorous adherence to pummelling three chord rhythms bathed in sexual innuendo has helped it navigate musical peaks and valleys for four decades.
But things may be about to change.
With only one original member remaining at the conclusion of their current tour, AC/DC faces the existential question plaguing all rock acts in the twilight of their careers: Is it time to pack it in?
Logic says yes. You don’t want to die onstage. Or hit the road with zero original members. You have your legacy to consider, your pride. Your dignity, for God’s sake.
Then again, when has dignity ever entered the equation in rock and roll, an unholy union between country and R&B that has courted controversy throughout its existence?
The Beatles — the most revered rock band of all time — ended their stratospheric career not in a blaze of glory, but in a litany of badmouthing and lawsuits that dragged on for years.
The Rolling Stones, who knew their days as cultural rabble-rousers were at an end, went disco in the ’70s and spent the next four decades trying to regain lost credibility. “Lord, I miss you, child.”
The Who, after the death of drummer Keith Moon in 1978, staged a much ballyhooed farewell tour, then — tossing integrity to the wind — regrouped a dozen times, to increasingly diminished returns.
Let’s be clear, the concept of dignity is better used to sell sports cars and expensive watches than anything to do with the so-called devil’s music.
And AC/DC — a multimillion dollar brand that transcends time, space and demographics — will do what it has to to survive.
“AC/DC are much too large and lucrative a corporation to simply shut down,” critic Eduardo Rivadavia told ultimateclassicrock.com of the Australian rockers known for head-banging anthems and a lead guitarist dressed in schoolboy knickers.
“And I think we’ve seen enough evidence that audiences will keep on buying tickets to hear those songs — just as long as someone, anyone, is head-banging convincingly in a schoolboy outfit.’’
To be fair, it’s only in recent years that the idea of turning bands into franchises — a sort of musical McDonalds — has been bandied about.
If you look back to rock’s golden age, none of the artists talked about surviving beyond the length of their latest hit single.
It was about a quick buck, getting your song on the radio, consorting with groupies.
But then something weird happened, something that gave these fly-by-night rock acts a second life, and a third.
First it was FM radio that moved music from a one-size-fits-all mandate to a billion tiny sub-genres: Art rock, punk rock, hard rock, alt-rock, blues-rock, glam rock, prog-rock, indie rock.
Then it was satellite radio, YouTube and self-assembled Internet playlists that splintered musical genres, until even the niches had niches.
Suddenly, there was no unity, no consensus, just musical cult acts that couldn’t get traction in a mainstream culture devoted entirely to Top 40 dance pop and female empowerment anthems.
This, of course, was great news for the classic rockers of yesterday.
Because there was no one to replace them, they never had to retire.
Consider the top touring acts of the ’80s: Bruce Springsteen, U2, Rolling Stones, Madonna, Michael Jackson, David Bowie and Pink Floyd, all (reasonably) contemporary at the time.
Thirty years later, with the exception of Adele, Beyoncé and Justin Bieber, the top grossers are all from the same era: Bruce Springsteen, U2, Rolling Stones, Madonna, Roger Waters (of Pink Floyd) and Paul McCartney.
If Jackson and Bowie weren’t dead, they would be on this list as well.
And while AC/DC enjoyed their greatest commercial success with 1980s’ “Back In Black” — the bestselling rock album of all time — their 2008 “Black Ice” tour holds the record as the fourth highest grossing, with their current “Rock or Bust” tour not far behind.
So it’s no surprise that instead of lamenting the loss of vocalist Brian Johnson, who was himself a replacement for deceased frontman Bon Scott — the band hired Guns N Roses frontman Axl Rose and issued a terse statement thanking Johnson for his “dedication to the band” and wishing him well on his “future ventures.’’
In other words: “So long, sucker. You won’t be hard to replace. We did it once before.”
But that’s the thing about rock bands, especially those from the ’70s. They were pretty faceless to begin with, so replacing ailing members, even singers, isn’t the big deal you might think.
Can you name the lead singers of Boston, Styx, Foghat and Chicago?
If these acts showed up in your town with a lineup of complete impostors, would you even know?
“I used to think only Kiss would transition smoothly into postmortem touring with the help of human stand-ins, robots or holograms,” notes music writer Rivadavia.
“But I’m increasingly convinced that any successful rock band can keep their show on the road forever more, given proper planning.’’ It’s not unthinkable. Last year, Foreigner played Kitchener’s Centre in the Square without one original member.
Other than a single concertgoer who wrote me a ticked off email, no one noticed, or complained.
Queen has been headlining stadium shows with Adam Lambert in place of deceased frontman Freddie Mercury since 2011, with Paul Rodgers filling in for six years before that.
At this point, there’s a new generation who doesn’t know Mercury even existed.
Jefferson Starship has had 37 different members at last count.
Other than Grace Slick, who can name even one?
And get this, The Glenn Miller Orchestra is still out there, playing big band classics around the country 72 years after its leader passed away in a plane crash (I can guarantee there are no original members in that band).
In the end, it’s about branding. You pay $200 per ticket for the AC/ DC sound, and that’s what you get.
Whether the original singer — or entire classic lineup — has retired or kicked the mortal coil completely, is not the point.
It’s the experience that counts. And in the world of 2016 pop culture, it doesn’t pay to ask too many questions.