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AC/DC have Melbourne history. They have anthems. They have power. They have money. And they have fans – 60,000 of them at this show alone. And these aren’t just your run of the mill gig-goers (though many may be outside of this band); these are diehards, the kind that come after having already spent their hard-earns on the ticket and spend further on the likes of $30 programmes and $20 devil horn headbands. And $50 for an AC/DC t-shirt – have these people never been to the Queen Vic Market? But the fans buy, and within a matter of hours upon arriving at Etihad Stadium it would be clear why they have such devotion.

Back in black and back in town for the first time in nearly a decade, one the most prominent rock and roll bands of all time, AC/DC, attracted one hell of a crowd – multi-generational with plenty of families – to one of the biggest shows Melbourne has had in some time. And they lived up the hype.

In the meantime, the behemoth venue was to be filled with the sounds of local rock acts, Calling All Cars and Wolfmother. It’s often hard to know whether a support act at an event of this scale is worth bothering with. Given, from the back of the arena, all you could see was a lawn of glowing red horns, it was clear this crowd was interested in one act alone (note the lack of afros available at the merch stand).

Calling All Cars was clearly a band excited to have the opening slot, and who wouldn’t be with a free pass at tens of thousands who’d arrived in the arvo to secure a good spot. Singer Haydn Ing was enthusiasm personified as he plugged his album and ran everywhere he was allowed (he probably would have killed to get a shot on AC/DC’s runway). The songs weren’t doing a great deal for anybody, though, and in a throwback to the sounds of mainstream 90s punk rock, AC/DC couldn’t have been wanted more.

Wolfmother were no reprieve. Whilst, again, the enthusiasm from the band was there, the set list made up primarily of material from the wailing Cosmic Egg and a whole lot of “jamming” that was more like “let’s just punch our guitars for four minutes” didn’t cut it; it was one delusional album plug. When he chose to sing instead of outright warble, Andrew Stockdale actually sounded very confident in his massive surrounds, but there was little going on to make his band’s set anything memorable. Even the usually winning set closer, Joker and the Thief, didn’t change anyone’s mind – this was a night about one act alone.

A darkened stadium and cartoon introduction marked the beginning of the main event. Across the big screens, the devil appeared riding a train with some of his ladies, and every implied sexual cliché ensued. Yet, the train was to crash, and from the flooding of lights and pyrotechnics appeared the stage’s centrepiece, a train wreck, along with Brian Johnson, Angus Young, Malcolm Young, Cliff Williams and Melbourne born Phil Rudd. The band’s latest single was the first to be belted out, with Rock ‘n’ Roll Train explaining their derailed locomotive. Johnson squawked, Young strutted, and the crowd erupted in elation.

Back In Black was quick to appear, immediately drawing out the pride of the city that call AC/DC their own, as every voice roared along. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap had a similar fist pumping energy, announced by Johnson as a special treat for a reason. The rave-like barrage of lights in Thunderstruck was another early moment of joy, and the buzz (no pun intended) within the closed-roof stadium had to felt to be believed.

Given the money that went into this tour, the amount of stage “decoration” seemed surprisingly less than expected. There were no walls of amps, pyrotechnics were kept to a minimum, and the elevated circle was given little use. But both Johnson and Young, now 62 and 54 respectively, were nothing but captivating the entire set – a testament to longevity of AC/DC as a straight-up, good-time rock ‘n’ roll band. Young skipped down the runway, taking every opportunity he could for a guitar solo. He was constantly playing only the neck of his guitar whilst his other hand hailed for a bigger reaction. He leaped constantly, rolled about the floor and even took one moment to drop his pants and flash the AC/DC across the ass of his jocks. Johnson kept up the energy as well, with shout outs and hefty vocals that proved he was in fine form indeed.

Whilst several Black Ice tracks emerged in the set’s early moments ( War Machine and Big Jack amongst them), it was soon about anthem after anthem. Johnson sprinted up the runway to swing on a giant bell’s chain for Hells Bells, jets of fire appeared on T.N.T., and the giant inflatable (toe-tapping) Rosie appeared, mounted on the train towards the set’s end – the only introduction needed for Whole Lotta Rosie. Shoot to Thrill, High Voltage and the singalong highlight of the night, You Shook Me All Night Long all appeared, as did the chests of half the women in general admission during that track and The Jack. When you were on the big screen, it was instinctual.

AC/DC had the crowd at their will before they’d even come to town – the army of black t-shirts are the most devoted you’ll find. It seemed aptly indulgent, then, that the band flooded the crowd with lights in the final track Let There Be Rock, so they could gaze down upon one tiny proportion of their massive global fan base and think to themselves, “Yep, we’ve still got it”. And how does this rock band finish things off? With a guitar solo courtesy of Young, of course. Mind you, as great as that idea might have sounded at the time, 20 minutes later when Young finally relented you couldn’t help but think, “Huh?”

With surprisingly little chanting on the crowd’s part, AC/DC returned for their obvious encore. Highway to Hell was first, with Johnson marching down the runway to encourage the congealed mass of sweaty black tees. Never have just a disgusting mass of bogans been so pleased with themselves, each other and a band. Finally, For Those About to Rock (We Salute You) ended the set that fans have been waiting nine years for. Whilst the track might have seemed oddly placed as a finale, anyone who ventured into the city to continue their Saturday night would have quickly realised that indeed the AC/DC army would continue rocking.

For men aging into their 50s and 60s, AC/DC are still rockin’ strong. Many might cringe at the antics of “old men”, sure, but ask the Melbourne crowd their reaction and they’ll be saluting the band now and forever. After twelve months of tour hype, Melbourne’s three AC/DC concerts could well be the band’s last here– who knows? At any rate, those in attendance can consider themselves pretty darn lucky.