AC/DC’s “Let There Be Rock” Live in Paris 1979 – A Thunderous Testament to Rock ‘n’ Roll Fury

On December 9, 1979, AC/DC took the stage at the Pavillon de Paris for what would become one of the most iconic performances in rock history. Filmed for their concert movie Let There Be Rock, this show captured the band at a turning point—blazing through their Highway to Hell tour and unknowingly recording one of Bon Scott’s final major performances.

The Paris concert wasn’t just another tour stop. It was a snapshot of a band that had mastered the balance between reckless energy and technical precision. Bon Scott was at the peak of his charisma, Angus Young was an untamed force, and the band delivered a setlist that could level buildings. From the first power chord, the audience knew they were witnessing something special.

Opening with “Live Wire,” the band launched into a sonic assault that never let up. The French crowd, normally more reserved, was swept up in the band’s relentless momentum. With sweat dripping from the walls and fists raised high, the venue transformed into a cathedral of hard rock mayhem.

Angus Young’s solo during “Bad Boy Boogie” became the stuff of legend that night. Stripping down to his shorts and duckwalking across the stage with manic fury, he held the audience in the palm of his hand for a solid ten minutes. It was a perfect fusion of theater and skill—a guitar sermon preached with Marshall amps and Gibson SGs.

Bon Scott, the lovable rogue with a voice soaked in whisky and life experience, delivered each lyric with raw conviction. Whether it was the cheeky defiance of “The Jack” or the electric energy of “High Voltage,” his connection with the crowd was palpable. He wasn’t just a frontman; he was a storyteller with a dirty grin.

Cliff Williams and Malcolm Young laid down a rhythmic backbone that didn’t just support the songs—it drove them forward like a freight train. Their chemistry on stage was intuitive, their timing surgical. Without them, Angus’s chaos would’ve had no structure. With them, it was perfectly controlled destruction.

The film’s performance of “Whole Lotta Rosie” remains one of the most fiery versions ever captured. The inflatable Rosie towered over the stage while Angus ripped through solos that seemed to pour out of him without end. The energy in the building was volcanic.

Brian Johnson would later recall how intimidating it was to step into Bon’s shoes after his passing in 1980—and watching this performance makes that completely understandable. Bon wasn’t just a singer; he was the soul of AC/DC’s early years, and Paris 1979 immortalized that truth.

The production of Let There Be Rock was as raw as the performance itself. With tight camera angles, aggressive cuts, and little polish, the film wasn’t meant to be pretty—it was meant to feel like being in the pit. And that’s exactly what it did, even decades later.

This concert also served as a reminder of how far the band had come since their early days in Australia. From pub gigs and bar fights to sold-out arenas in Europe, AC/DC had earned their place not by marketing or image, but by delivering every single night.

The tour was in support of Highway to Hell, the album that had finally broken them into the American mainstream. Songs like “Shot Down in Flames” and the title track were already becoming anthems, and the Paris crowd screamed along as if they’d known them for years.

Behind the scenes, there was tension. The band was riding a wave of success but also beginning to feel the wear of life on the road. Bon Scott’s drinking was becoming more intense, and tragically, just months after this show, he would be gone. That knowledge adds an emotional weight to every frame of the performance.

Despite the looming shadow of tragedy, the concert itself was a celebration—pure, undiluted AC/DC at their prime. There was no posturing, no fake smiles. Just five guys doing what they loved and leaving it all on stage. The result was history.

The legacy of that night in Paris lives on. It’s frequently cited by guitarists, singers, and fans as one of the rawest and most thrilling live rock performances ever caught on film. Young musicians study it, longtime fans revisit it, and new generations discover it with wide eyes.

In the end, AC/DC’s Paris 1979 performance was more than just a concert—it was a statement. A declaration that rock and roll, when played with guts, sweat, and truth, can be immortal. That night, under the lights of Pavillon de Paris, AC/DC didn’t just perform. They roared.