An Open Letter from Robert Plant to Angus Young and All Rock ‘n’ Roll Fans
To Angus,
And to every soul who has ever lost themselves in the roar of an electric guitar,
It’s not often I put pen to paper like this, but every now and then, the past calls out to the present and demands a moment of reflection—and celebration. Angus, my friend, this one’s for you. And it’s for every fan who’s ever felt their pulse sync to the thunder of drums and the cry of a six-string.
We’ve both walked this winding road for decades, seen the rise and fall of trends, and watched the world change in ways none of us could’ve imagined when we first stepped onstage. But through it all, one thing has remained constant—the fire, the unrelenting, unapologetic power of rock ‘n’ roll. And you, Angus, have carried that torch with fierce pride and unmatched energy.
I remember the first time I heard AC/DC. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t polished. It was raw, loud, and utterly thrilling. There was a primal pulse in your sound that refused to be ignored. And then there you were—half my size and ten times the voltage—duck-walking across the stage in that schoolboy uniform like some unholy hybrid of Chuck Berry and a Tasmanian devil.
You became a symbol, not just of your band, but of the essence of rock itself: rebellion, joy, danger, and release. Your guitar didn’t just play—it preached. And while so many came and went, shifting with the times, AC/DC stayed defiantly rooted in your truth. You didn’t chase trends. You were the trend.
And let’s talk about Malcolm for a moment. Your brother was the quiet engine that drove it all forward. The two of you—yin and yang, rhythm and lead, grounded and airborne—were lightning in a bottle. That partnership was one of the great foundations of our music. When Malcolm passed, it was a loss for all of us, a reminder of how much of ourselves we’ve poured into this music and how much it’s given in return.
But Angus, you kept going. You didn’t hang up the boots. You strapped on the Gibson, stomped your feet, and turned it up to eleven. And in doing so, you reminded the world what this music is really about. Not nostalgia—but life. Gritty, loud, real life.
To the fans, to the lifers in the front row and the kids discovering “Back in Black” for the first time—I see you. I hear you. You’re the reason any of us ever made it past the first club gig. You’re the heartbeat. The ones who know that when the lights go down and the first chord hits, the world makes a little more sense.
We’ve all lost people along the way—Bon, Malcolm, and far too many others. But what remains is the legacy they left behind, and the power of the music to outlive all of us. And that’s the beauty of rock ‘n’ roll—it’s immortal not because of us, the players, but because of you, the believers. The fans who kept buying the records, showing up to the shows, passing the torch down generation to generation.
Angus, you’ve given the world something priceless. You’ve reminded us all that sometimes, the most profound truths come not from philosophers, but from the scream of a guitar solo or the stomp of a beat that just won’t quit.
So here’s to you, brother. To the riffs that shook the heavens. To the sweat-soaked stages and the packed-out stadiums. To the legacy of AC/DC and the indelible mark you’ve made on every kid who’s ever plugged into an amp and dreamed.
And to the fans, young and old—keep the faith. Keep it loud. Keep it real. Because rock ‘n’ roll isn’t just music. It’s a heartbeat. And as long as you’re out there, it’s alive and kicking.
With admiration,
Robert Plant
