Fly on the Wall (1985)
1. Fly on the Wall
2. Shake the Foundations
3. First Blood
4. Danger
5. Sink the Pink
6. Playing with Girls
7. Stand Up
8. Hell or High Water
9. Back in Business
10.Send for the Man
By the mid-1980s, the fire that once lit up AC/DC’s world stage had dimmed—if only momentarily. Five years prior, the band had been among rock's most thunderous titans, shaking coliseums and stereo systems with an infectious combination of raw riffage and relentless swagger. But with the rise of lacquered hair and polished mediocrity courtesy of MTV, AC/DC found themselves floundering for relevance in a market increasingly allergic to their brand of blistered authenticity.
The result? Fly on the Wall—an album as misunderstood as it is mishandled. Unlike its forebears, this record was self-produced by the band. Admirable perhaps, but catastrophic in execution. What emerged was a curious mess of muffled mixes and head-scratching vocal choices. Brian Johnson, who once screeched through tracks like a lightning bolt on gravel, now sounded submerged in a vat of syrupy treacle—his vocals so buried in the sludge of production that the title track barely manages to announce itself.
Let’s be clear: nobody turns to AC/DC for poetic lyricism. But when the singer sounds like he's shouting through a steel ashcan in a wind tunnel, not even the primal power of a riff can save the day. First Blood becomes a casualty of its own muddled mayhem, its would-be menace reduced to murk.
Perhaps sensing the winds of change, the band might have flirted with updating their sound to match the aesthetic of the new breed: spandex, teased hair, and studio shimmer. If so, their attempt was mercifully half-hearted. Tracks like Shake Your Foundations and Sink the Pink show glimpses of the AC/DC we once knew—simple, stomping, and gloriously dirty. There's a melodic punch and rhythmic thrust to these songs that could have rattled arenas, had they only been allowed to breathe beneath the mix.
But such sparks are fleeting. Danger, for instance, is not merely a misstep—it’s a full-bodied nosedive. Johnson croons in a baffling low register, turning menace into monotony. The result is alien and uncharacteristic, like watching Angus Young take the stage in khakis. This was not the AC/DC the world had been promised.
New drummer Simon Wright does his job without fuss, but no one believes that Rudd’s departure is to blame for the album’s shortcomings. Rather, it's a case of a legendary band caught in the undertow of an evolving industry, unsure whether to fight, adapt, or hide in the shadows.
Still, in true AC/DC fashion, crank the volume, down a shot of something flammable, and these tracks might still hit. Not because they’re masterpieces—but because even in their darkest hours, AC/DC understood one sacred truth of rock: sometimes noise is enough.
It wasn't their last gasp by any means, but Fly on the Wall marked the moment when the mighty AC/DC teetered—not toppled, but trembled—at the edge of irrelevance. Mercifully, they would soon roar back.
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