I am listening to the AC/DC two-disc live set from 1992 in my cubicle, iPod earbuds snugly in place. This is dangerous music in corporate America. It makes me want to sail down the hallways in my rolling office chair. It makes me want to stand on the giant Xerox printer and jump off. It makes me want to use staplers as percussion instruments.
In truth, these are some of the most Neanderthal-like and misogynistic of all lyrics in a genre that is filled with swill. I have no excuse, except for Angus Young. But I'm telling you, there's something about those power chords. No drugs. Just sex, sex and rock 'n roll. And power chords.