If you were born in Australia after 1975, you were born into a world where AC/DC existed as a monument: like the Harbour Bridge, the Commonwealth Bank or the ABC.

We knew they were Australian, but we also learned they belonged to the world – massive and global in a way most Australian things weren’t.

AC/DC songs were always just in the air. The band was part of a schoolyard lexicon where it was “a long way to the shop to get a sausage roll”, and where dirty deeds were done dirt cheap.

The logo was striking and evil and sharp, it seemed a vital element of rock and roll. They wore the colour black. They were the colour black.

Of course, you quickly begin to learn that AC/DC are a vital element of rock and roll, in more nuanced ways than you realised – despite a sound that remained the same for decades.

Their unwillingness to change seemed born less of a stubbornness, than of a complete rejection of the suggestion that they should. Why would you want to change what you sound like, when what you sound like is AC/DC?

The band’s sales figures are outstanding, too, in case nebulous talk of sound doesn’t cut it: