‘It’s a deal,’ I said. Pete Townshend was in the grandiose concept solo album phase of his career. In 1989, he did Iron Man: The Musical, which featured Pete, John Entwistle, and Roger Daltrey on two songs, as well as special guests Nina Simone and John Lee Hooker, but it still flopped. No one wanted to hear Pete Townshend doing conceptual music outside of The Who. By contrast, AC/DC were still gods of rock’n’roll. I thought that if they had the right support, they could write another hit album. It was about time. I made the trade with Doug, and I looked forward to the challenge of working with the band.
AC/DC had never allowed anyone from Atlantic into the studio before, and they were reluctant to play the record-company game. I thought having a history as a recording and touring artist might encourage them to be more open with me than some of the pencil-pushing label guys they were used to. I wanted them to see me as someone who was on their side and had done what they’d done. I hoped my insider angle would pay off, and I had some connections to them that I thought might thaw the ice. When I was in Simon Dupree & the Big Sound, we had played some festivals with the Easybeats, the band that featured Angus and Malcolm Young’s brother George as well as Harry Vanda, who co-produced AC/DC’s early albums. Plus, I had produced Gentle Giant albums, and I knew working closely with producers was important to AC/DC. I also knew their managers: Stewart Young, who also managed Emerson, Lake & Palmer; and Steve Barnett, who worked for Gerry Bron.
I called Stewart to talk about AC/DC moving over to ATCO and said, ‘I’d love to work a little bit with Angus and Malcolm when they’re in the studio, if that’s okay with them.’
To my delight, they were fine with it. They were ecstatic about being off Atlantic as the guy who signed them had left the label and they no longer felt connected to the company. They were pleased that their new label head understood music—not just business—and were interested in working with me to help them revamp their sound.
Knowing that a great producer could help put them back on track, I called Bruce Fairbairn, who was excited to be asked to work with the band. (I mean, really, Bob? Who doesn’t like AC/DC?) They went out to Bruce’s place in Vancouver and felt invigorated working on a new record for a new label in a new environment. In a way, it was a rebirth, and suddenly they felt more inspired and creative than they had in ages.
It’s so easy to be complacent about new AC/DC songs. Even the band members recognize that everything they do is going to sound inimitably like AC/DC. They’ll never branch off in a crazy art-rock direction or add samples and electronic beats to their music. At the same time, while there are bands that can approximate AC/DC’s bluesy hard-rock sound, no one can effectively imitate it in a meaningful way that stands the test of time. That said, it’s easy to listen to a new AC/DC riff and say, ‘Yeah, it sounds like AC/DC.’ But it’s harder to know right away if it’s going to be good AC/DC or classic AC/DC.
I went to Vancouver a number of times to check on the band’s progress and help with some of the song arrangements. Welshman Chris Slade was drumming for them at the time, on what would be his only record with the band. He replaced Simon Wright, who had left to join Dio. Angus Young told Chris not to play any drum fills or breaks whatsoever, just kick drum and snare. Unconventional as this was, it turned Chris into a metronome, and he kept perfect time. In most other bands, a drummer who doesn’t swing or play fills would make the music sound stagnant. But as I learned by watching them in action, the rhythmic surge and punch in AC/DC came from the rhythm guitarist, Malcolm Young, and he’s a large part of the reason why they were so incredible.
You don’t realize it until you see the process unfolding, and it’s fascinating to watch. Everyone in the band understood that Malcolm was the anchor and root of every song, and he had such a great connection with his brother, Angus, that Angus could intuitively play leads and fills on top of Malcolm’s riffs and they always filled any gaps and perfectly complemented the rhythm parts. The chemistry between them was explosive, and the rest of the band fleshed out the sound. If there was a break in a song, it was followed with a resounding boom that released all the built-up tension in a rush of sound.
AC/DC perfected this formula years before they signed to ATCO. Maybe they became complacent at a certain point. But there was a new energy to the songs they worked on with Bruce for The Razor’s Edge. The opening rapid-fire hammer-on and pull-off thing Angus does on ‘Thunderstruck’ is as iconic as Eddie Van Halen’s solo in ‘Eruption,’ and perhaps even catchier. As the song builds, Malcolm turns up the heat with a funky little part, and the song his critical mass with the pre-chorus before lightning strikes in the chorus. Genius.
I have to admit that as great as that song was, I felt that ‘Moneytalks’ should be the first single. It surged at a mid-tempo, it was more simplistic, and I thought it contained the most accessible hook on the album. Angus and the band’s managers all thought we should go with ‘Thunderstruck,’ so we did, and it blew up. That confirmed something I had believed for years: by far the best A&R guys are musicians. They’re the ones who know their fans and the marketplace the best.
The Razor’s Edge was a global sensation that hit like a cluster bomb at just the right time. ‘Thunderstruck,’ ‘Moneytalks,’ and ‘Are You Ready’ all became go-to radio tracks, and the album hit #2 on the Billboard 200 and remained on the chart for seventy-seven weeks straight. Bruce also produced the 1992 album AC/DC Live, which was recorded during the tour for The Razor’s Edge and was also a big success.
I made another big trade with Doug Morris soon after I acquired AC/DC. Stevie Nicks was on ATCO, and I swapped her for Bad Company, who had been signed to Atlantic. That switch happened after Bad Company’s manager, Bud Prager, told me that Doug had made it clear that he had no interest in another Bad Company record with vocalist Brian Howe, and the band would love to be on ATCO. I knew Brian from many years back. He was from Portsmouth and a fan of Gentle Giant. He could be arrogant and full of shit, but I could tell him to ‘Shut the fuck up for a minute, will you?’ and he would accept it from me since we had a shared background. It was a rocky time for the band, and there was grating friction between guitarist Mick Ralphs and drummer Simon Kirke, but they had written some great songs with producer Terry Thomas for their 1988 album Dangerous Age, which did quite well. Still, it wasn’t the breakthrough Atlantic had hoped for. I thought I could help them change that, and I did. Holy Water came out in 1990, and the title track was a worldwide hit. The album went platinum in the US. As far as trades with Doug went, I was two for two.
I helped reboot Bad Company a full seventeen years into their career. By contrast, I signed the Boston-based group Dream Theater, who have now been together for almost forty years, before most people knew who they were.
I had just hired a friend from England, Derek Oliver, to be an A&R man, and he introduced me to the band. They had already released an album on Mechanic through MCA, When Dream And Day Unite, but it was mostly composed of the songs they wrote in the late 80s when they called themselves Majesty, and since the record company didn’t consider it a priority, practically no one heard it. Soon after that, they were dropped, and no other labels were interested in them.
Derek liked the band and invited them to come into the office to play us some of their new songs. At that point, Dream Theater only had a four-song instrumental demo, but when drummer Mike Portnoy played the songs for us, I felt like they were very well put together. They were obviously influenced by progressive hard-rock bands like Rush, but they were heavier and more metallic. The musicianship was tight, and it was clear that these guys were talented.