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Jett Superior laid this on you on || August 11, 2003 || 12:49 am

If you got a lady and you want her gone / But you ain’t got the guts / She keeps naggin’ at you night and day / Enough to drive you nuts / Pick up the phone / Leave her alone / It’s time you made a stand / For a fee / I’m happy to be / Your back door man

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap / Dirty Deeds and they’re Done Dirt Cheap

Concrete shoes, cyanide, TNT / Done Dirt Cheap / Neckties, contracts, high voltage / Done Dirt Cheap

// AC/DC, “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”

The recent ability by yours truly to download music will be the death of this here weblog. I’ve been in an orgasmic music-downloading fervor as of late.

Word to the wise: Your average AC/DC fan sports a shitty connection. Coincidence? I think not. Regardless of all that, here I sit listening to ‘Thunderstruck’ and giggling (yeth, giggling) giddily. I am such a baaaad girl.

Surely to God AC/DC (betcha never seen those two names side-by-side in a sentence, huh?) was a staple of every American youth’s music experience. We all cut our teeth on them when learning to be bad, dangerous and absolutely feral, right? Right???

I first heard the boys when I was a wee girl of nine. I was riding to soccer camp with the oh-so-cool high-school aged head coach, Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret was three things I found fascinating: Gorgeous, raven-haired and Catholic. Mary Margaret, carting a shrieking gaggle of cleated, shinguarded coltish girlchildren from the ranchtown of Verdigris into the mecca of Tulsa, casually reached out and flicked the van’s radio on. That was back when such a deed was accompanied by an audible ‘sssnick‘ sound and you had to hand-tune the dial with a knob.

She deftly found KMOD, which was commonly referred to as ‘the commode’ because they played all the trashy, ‘dirtymusic’ that would have sent your parents into apopleptic fits had they known your pristine, yet-to-be-pierced ears were being assaulted with it. Yes, KMOD –long may she rawk!– was a harbinger of back-seat pregnancy and general disrespect. I immediately loved the shit out of it.

The first song I heard there was ‘Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap’, and I deemed it sufficiently nasty so as to merit my approval. It evoked what all puritan parents both feared and predicted: A delicious psychotic hitch in my young impressionable gut, WOO!

Yes, I’m holding one forked hand aloft and headbanging for emphasis. Too bad you can’t see it; you’d simply die with hysterics.

A few weeks later, cut to our way-too-large family room. My mother had asked Joy, the Good Baptist Girl Whom We Adored and Loved To Be Babysat By, over to teach her how to weave the too-thick tresses of my sister and me into that fancy new French (freedom?) Braid Thing. As my sister had her head assaulted by the biddy attack, I fiddled with the tuning knob on my father’s monstrosity of a stereo. I found the commode, and guess what was playing? DDDDC, and I began to sing along for all I was worth:

“Dir-taaay DEEDS anna DUNDERCHEE.”

Joy’s head snapped up and she concernedly hissed, “HowdoyouknowTHATsong??” I shrugged, nonchalant, “Heard it before.” Joy gave my mom ‘a look’, whereupon my mother answered with one of concern (“What? Whaaa?”) and then they both turned to face me.

“Okay,” Joy continued, making my sister squirm because she grasped the hair in her hands a bit too tightly, “where‘d you hear it?”

“Marymag’s dad’s van, on the way to the Green County tourney last month….” I beamed. I didn’t really realize I was maybe getting my favorite raven-haired gorgeous Catholic girl in trouble. What I did realize, however, was that I was freaking two grownups (okay, one grownup and one near-grownup) right the fuck out. I had already been damned straight into the bowels of the fiery, ass-poked-with-a-pitchfork pit. There was absolute scandal, and I was the vortex of it. Fuckin’ right on, man!

Poor Marymag. She never saw it coming. She thought the Pope was bad? He got nuttin’ on the Baptist Women’s League. They like to have prayed that poor girl into a nervous breakdown. There would, sadly enough, be no more van trips to Tulsa that did not include some sort of parental somebody.

Hi. I am Beth Bigmouth, ruiner of all prepubescent worldliness training. But my hair does look lovely in French (freedom?) Braids.

Some years later I was the proud owner of an actual paying job. This naturally led to a membership in the Columbia House Record and Tape Club. You know, back when they actually sold records and tapes. I eagerly received into my sweaty, oversexed teenaged palms the entire works of AC/DC. On any given morning I could be seen bebopping down the road in the Blue Escort of Mayhem, merrily punctuating the air with a ‘Big Balls‘ singalong. Angry, frowny daybreaks were accompanied by knitted brows and ‘Hells Bells‘. I circumvented the watchful eye of my mother by keeping my catalog of AC/DC works in other tape cases: Those plastic clamshells that formerly housed Cat Stevens’ Greatest Hits and Amy Grant’s ‘Collection’. Those that I wasn’t presently listening to were shoved way back under my mattress.

Sadly enough, my lack of vigilance in paying Columbia House with a somewhat timely regard is what got me busted. There on a statement of things that had gone as yet unpaid was AC/DC’s ‘Back In Black’. Thus, I lost it (as well as Motley Crue’s ‘Shout At the Devil’) to the trash compactor. After mom had turned purple and yelled. And unspooled the tape. But not before she hit it a couple good times with a meat tenderizing hammer thingy. My eternal soul was at risk, after all.

Please recall that I am the same girl whose cousin Richie took her to see Kiss at a verrrry young, impressionable age. The fact that I fired up for the first time at that show is really neither here nor there, so I won’t mention it.

When I was seventeen, I saw AC/DC for the first time at the Mid-South Coliseum. It was a hilariously campy, high-energy arena rock show, and I saw them two more times at two other venues because they were just so much fucking fun. Sadly, I was out of the loop for the Bon Scott era, but by damn those Young boys sure can put on a show, and my rabid affections for bassists in general were not atall wasted on Cliff Williams‘ fine, skinny arse. He was lean and loose and big-pawed like all good bass gods should be. My recommendation is a hearty thumbs waaaaaay up should you ever be faced with the opportunity to catch AC/DC live. It’s just a damned fun show, if for nothing more than seeing Angus Young wearing knee breeches and getting massively spastic while still managing to churn out some mean guitar riffs. More’n likely you’ll see lots and lots of boobies courtesy of the crowd and there will be a mean contact high to be had. WOO! Fun for all!

On a lighter note, I’ve also gone way cheesey-retro and downloaded ‘I’ve Never Been To Me‘. Would you mayhap like to hold hands and sing it in round, hmmmm?

8 worked it out »

  1. Gary 8.11.2003

    Every generation has that issue. I am so old that mine was the Beatles. My parents went ballistic when I quit getting buzz cuts and let my hair grow out. They believed the Beatles were the devil incarnate and their big hit at the time was “I Want to Hold Your Hand”. Times change. Is it progress?

     
  2. Suzanne 8.11.2003

    I find myself with tiny flashbacks of the teenage years: lying on the hood of the car at the lake… t-totally stoned trying to count the clock strikes at the beginning of Hell’s Bells. What was the saying? If you counted more than 12 bells you were going to hell? The horror of it all: high and trying to count?

     
  3. John 8.11.2003

    At the same time I was into Iron Maiden, Guns N Roses, Judas Priest, and Quiet Riot. I am the proud owner of vinyl copies of Mental Health and Defenders of the Faith. A few years later I got a job and a Columbia House membership. My music taste expanded to include pop and was heavily influenced by the teen movies of the time so stuff like Duran Duran and Tears for Fears found their way in my hands. Further expansion opened me to Devo and then into the realm of “progressive” rock. Soon I has collected almost every Rush album ever made and Dream Theater was right on it’s heals.

    Platinum membership in Columbia House became a reality and it feed my ego to the point where I was not satisfied following the mainstream anymore. The early 90’s found me into Soundgarden, Fugazi, Mudhoney, and Alice in Chains. At the same time I began to realize I was in love with Rock and Roll, and the Blues. Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Django Reinhardt, and then Frank Zappa. Zappa blew me away. This wasn’t the mindlessly silly fare from Weird Al song after song. He could play and say things too.

    My experimental phase found me delving into the works of Mike Patton, Herbie Hancock, Nine Inch Nails, Ministry, and Primus.

    I’ve never really abandoned any genre, but I had my days of being wholly dedicated to having my days filled with a particular type of music.

    I never had problem with my parents over music. It was enough that we were not joining gangs or doing drugs.

     
  4. trish 8.12.2003

    Nazareth’s Hair of the Dog will also send Baptist ladies into the psych ward. Jusy FYI.

     
  5. laura 8.12.2003

    heh, during a download frenzy i once acquired “dirty deeds done with sheep” with a “baaaa!” in the appropriate place.

    sometime in my early teen years, i somehow snookered my mom into getting me prince 1999 for xmas. being the expert at denial that she was, she just pretended she didn’t hear certain lyrics.

    but mostly i spent my angsty teen years in a dark room listening to pink floyd, usually wish you were here.

     
  6. Seen the movie ‘Dirty Deeds’? It’s a little Australian gangster movie that came out last year (in New Zealand anyway) starring Sam Neill and John Goodman. Whilst it’s not the best film in the world, it does have a nice cover of ‘Dirty Deeds’ that tickled my fancy a bit. Then I discovered the AC/DC original and truthfully it dominates the cover AND the movie everyday of the week.

    Good on ya for appreciating good music at the expense of your soul/reputation. God loves the Young brothers you know.

     
  7. melly 8.13.2003

    It’s all becoming so clear to me now. When I was little, AND LIVING IN FREAKING TULSA, my sister used to play “Big Balls”. Only I had no idea what it was about and therefore, no idea why they were laughing.

    And now I know all too much about balls … which wasn’t my initial point but we’ll go with it.

     
  8. the olive 8.14.2003

    I wasn’t allowed to listen to secular radio when I was a kid. So I would stick dirty clothes under my door on Saturday mornings and tape the top 40 hits off the radio.

    I got busted when I was listening to my contraband music and my mom heard Bohemian Rhapsady coming from my room. You would have thought the house was on fire with her pounding on the door yelling “I hear Queen in there!”. Darned my luck that she listened to Queen as a kid! She took my tape in a similar fashion as your mom. :-(

     

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