Generic Paxil Suicide Lawsuit

Citizens Commission on Human Rights Award Recipient (Twice)
Humanist, humorist

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Malcolm Young (AC/DC)

It is with a heavy heart that I write this.

AC/DC, particularly, Malcolm Young, have been so inspirational for me throughout my life.

I remember being a spotty 14-year-old kid at a local disco. For weeks I listened to Anita Ward, "Ring My Bell", Olivia Newton-John, the Bee Gees, and other disco-type songs that just didn't cut the mustard for me.

I was waiting for something that I could tap my foot to. The DJ then spun a disc. 'Na-na-na-na-na-na-na.' I didn't have to wait to hear the lyrics, the intro was enough. "A Whole Lotta Rosie", off the album, "Let There Be Rock" reeled me in, so much so that I joined a small circle of dandruff-shakers in the middle of the dancefloor.

The rest, as they say, is history.

I went home and listened to the album that, unbeknownst to me, had been purchased by my elder sister.

It was 1978 and AC/DC had been kicking ass for a number of years. Armed with pocket money that I saved I headed toward Birmingham city centre some weeks later and purchased 'Powerage', an AC/DC classic that, to me at least, has never been any band.

Nothing but AC/DC for me.

My first live experience was 1979. AC/DC played Stafford Bingley Hall. I was down the front, I even got the thumbs up from Bon. Months later they played the Birmingham Odeon, a gig where they brought on strippers for the song, "The Jack."

I saw them religiously every time they toured and have been lucky enough to appear as an extra in two of their videos (Are You Ready and Rock Or Bust)

Malcolm was the nuts and bolts of AC/DC. I've always said, Malcolm is one of the best guitarists in the world, I've even put his guitar abilities ahead of Angus.

Yeh, in those early days I always watched Angus on stage but later I always turned my attention to Malcolm. Standing at the back, to the left as I looked at them. Occasionally moving forward for harmonies and backing vocals...then returning to his spot for more foot-stomping riffs.

He'd been ill for some time. Dementia had caught up with him along with other illnesses that the band and family kept 'in-house'.

Inevitability doesn't make life any easier and although Malcolm and I never met in person, today's news is still hard to accept. His riffs put a fire in my belly and helped me many times during my darkest hours of battling through Seroxat addiction.

He was the riff master, he always will be.

Rest in peace, you fucking legend!

Bob Fiddaman

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