‘Brian’s Lives’ (Against) is an unusual book in literature rock. In the memoirs of Brian Johnson (Gateshead, October 5, 1947), there is no display of cool tastes, no orgiastic episodes, no epic about winning against all odds, no hells of addiction, no displays of sensitivity and innate talent, no gossip about colleagues. His autobiography is the flat and humorous story of a working-class rocker to whom one day in 1980 the Virgin appeared in the form of a call to replace the late Bon Scott as AC/DC singer. He was 32 years old and was the lead singer of Geordie II, a semi-professional group with no greater aspiration than having a good time and getting a few good pounds a week on the circuit of clubs for workers in the north-east of England. He also had a business installing custom vinyl car tops. Before, the recording industry had given a good beating to his group Geordie, who wanted to do hard rock and was forced to get closer to the glam vibe. Later, in 2015-2016, would almost go completely deaf courtesy of AC/DC’s thunderous direct. This is Johnson speaking from his home in Florida, with his manager serving as a little-used listening aid.
How are your ears?
Fortunately, we have the wonderful new invention of Professor Stephen Ambrose. I used it a few months ago at the Taylor Hawkins tribute concert [el batería de Foo Fighters, fallecido el 25 de marzo de 2022], at Wembley, and it was fantastic. I also used it in rehearsals with AC/DC [para el ‘tour’ de ‘Power up’, de 2020], but then the covid arrived and we could not turn. Works! I’m very happy because I thought it was the end. She was in a deep, dark pit that she thought she would never get out of. It’s a joy to hear the guitars again, the melody, everything.
Have you ever cursed the brutal volume at which AC/DC plays?
Well, it’s part of the show. People who work in factories call this a work related injury. Volume is a very important part of the excitement of the ‘show’. This is the mystery that many music critics don’t understand or at least didn’t understand, now it seems they do. ‘It’s just noise!’ they said. But the fans did get it. They understood the power of volume and AC/DC couldn’t let them down. Add to that the little bands I was in before AC/DC. There comes a time when it takes its toll on the ears. There are a lot of musicians affected, although few as much as me. The point is that I am fully capable of doing my job again. But I am much older.
I seriously considered not going to the audition with AC/DC. I was afraid the big London racket would trample me again
How did it feel at 32, fronting Geordie II in working-class clubs, with no prospect of recording or climbing the rock ladder?
Geordie II was one of the most upbeat and fun bands I’ve ever been in. All the members were wonderful characters. When I first got the call to audition with AC/DC I seriously considered not going because with Geordie I had gotten fed up with the big London rig, and I was happy with my little business and my little band. I was afraid they would trample me again.
But he went to the rehearsal.
Two. I didn’t believe it until Malcolm [Young, guitarra rítmica de AC/DC] my name is. It was a Saturday. I had just come back to my parents’ house, where I lived, from playing a few games of pool in the pub with my friends. Mom and dad were home. I had bought dad a bottle of whiskey because it was his birthday. The phone rang and Malcolm said, ‘Do you want to record an album with us?’ I asked him to call me back in ten minutes. To know it wasn’t a joke. And Malcolm called again. We agreed that the manager would call me on Monday to fix everything.
A fairy tale, right?
Exactly. He told my mother about it and she said: ‘Oh, that’s great. Would you like a cup of coffee?’ She didn’t get what it meant. What I did was open the bottle of whiskey that she had bought for my father! When I explained it to the Geordie II guys I told them not to worry, that she would surely be back in two weeks because she would have screwed up something. But the most fantastic six weeks of my life followed, recording ‘Back in black’ in the Bahamas, which wasn’t even written. And until today.
What did you learn performing with Geordie II at Newcastle area venues of the Working Men’s Club and Institute Union?
Many things. Miners and steelworkers would go to these clubs and they would pay 50p and they would sit there very serious and expect you to give them a good time in exchange for their valuable money. It was a tough audience. They didn’t give a damn about rock, in fact you couldn’t be too loud, but if you knew how to do it you put it in your pocket. ‘Don’t let me be misunderstood’ was one of our best assets. The humor helped. Our drummer, Davy Whittaker, had gone to see Pavarotti perform. I would ask him: ‘Did you like Pavarotti?’ ‘No, they kicked me out of the show,’ he would reply. ‘Because?’ ‘Well, Pavarotti doesn’t like to be sung with him.’
At the first concert with AC/DC I felt like when I did the first parachute jump, but without a parachute. It was full of Bon Scott memorial banners, and I was in the middle of it.
Do you remember your first performance with AC/DC?
Yes. It was in Namur, in Belgium, and it was crazy. She had decided to do a quiet thing to test the songs from ‘Back in black’, which had not yet been released. A ‘show’ for 2,000 guests. But the night of the concert there were those 2,000 people inside and 2,000 more kids outside, and there were no mobile phones. Doors were opened for everyone. It felt like when I did the first parachute jump, but this time without a parachute. It was full of banners in memory of Bon Scott, and I was right there in the middle. At the end of the gig, Malcolm told me, ‘Good job.’ I survived. It was a very special night for me.
What did you think of the punk revolt?
Old fashioned, old music. A lot of that music was rubbish, really bad. But all kinds of music have a right to exist. Then came the new romantics with their hairspray and all, and there we were AC/DC in our jeans and T-shirts. AC/DC hasn’t followed any trends. On the contrary, Geordie was dictated by the record company how to dress and how to sound, and that killed the group.
Had you really not tried any drugs before AC/DC, as you say in the book?
There was no in my circle. In my working-class Newcastle, cigarettes were the only drug. It was difficult even to get a bottle of wine. We drank beer, sure, and maybe some whiskey on Saturdays, but there were no drugs. Not even hash. The first joint I smoked was one made by Cliff Williams. [bajista de AC/DC] to celebrate that Malcolm’s wife had had a girl. I coughed for 20 minutes. But she gave me a smile from ear to ear. We put on a still raw mix of ‘You shook me all night long’ and I thought it was the best rock and roll song in the world. Then I was groggy.
My heroes are comedians, but I don’t have the necessary talent
Can you imagine what your life would have been like if you hadn’t received the miraculous call from AC/DC in 1980?
No idea. Shortly thereafter the decline of the workers’ clubs began due to factory closures and unemployment, but I would still have had my little business. What is certain is that he would have continued singing. My heroes are comedians, but I don’t have the necessary talent. Maybe I would have joined a church.
What do you think of Margaret Thatcher?
It was the devil for the workers. For me it was complicated because the unions tried to overthrow the government with strikes, and I didn’t like that because the government had been voted for by the people. She stood her ground. Politicians are words, words and words. Thatcher acted, she did something, and I have to admire that. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as she makes her out to be. The thing is, you should never trust a politician. My theory is that if you don’t vote, politicians don’t have a job. There are other ways to govern a country beyond the politicians. We do not need politicians but wise people. How can someone who knows nothing about trucks, highways and trains be Minister of Transport? If we don’t vote, politicians will disappear.
Any working-class son who gets ahead is a hero to me, and I don’t tell you if he reaches a certain level anymore
Do you consider yourself a hero of the working class?
For the car. I would never see myself in such a high light. I’m working class and I’m proud of it, but… Any child of the working class who gets ahead is a hero to me, and I don’t tell you if he reaches a certain level anymore. Because it’s very difficult.
Have you considered asking the producers of ‘Peaky blinders’ for image rights for the use of the cloth cap that you turned into a pop culture icon?
Hey, yeah, he’d be worth some money for that. Take note! [le dice a su mánager]. Now seriously: when I was young all the men, and I mean all, wore it. At the end of the factory shifts you would see hundreds and hundreds of those caps. There was even a very nationally famous comic book character, Andy Capp, who was characterized by that cap, and he was a ‘geordie’ [natural de la región de Newcastle]. I wore it for the first time at a Geordie II concert that I went to, like so many times, straight from work, but this time, in the middle part, my eyes were red because of the glue and other shit in my hair. and that they had mixed with sweat. My brother Maurice lent me his cap for the second part of the show and the public loved it. With the cap it was one of them, another ‘geordie’. Since then it became my blue blanket or my teddy bear, I couldn’t go on stage without it. Everyone wants to be remembered for something, and the cloth cap doesn’t seem like a bad reason to me.