George Young and Harry Vanda couldn’t make the show, so they sent trusted Albert Music executive Fifa Riccobono to see AC/DC’s new singer. The venue was Sydney’s Rockdale Masonic Hall, packed to the walls with curious fans wondering how the former singer from Fraternity would fit into this loud young band with the schoolboy guitarist. Then Bon Scott walked on stage.
“He came out with a tooth missing, wearing this skin-tight satin one-piece outfit,” Riccobono recalled. “I remember thinking: ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’”
It was not a promising start to his first gig with the band. Bon didn’t even know all the words yet, he was still learning the songs. But as the set unfolded, something happened.
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“You couldn’t take your eyes off him because he was so charismatic,” Riccobono continued. That was the part that caught the exec off guard. At that stage in his life, she thought Bon was crude. The image certainly didn’t help. Yet the longer she watched, the more obvious it became that Bon possessed something you couldn’t teach. There was no sense that he was auditioning for the role. No feeling that he needed to prove himself. “It felt like he’d always been there.”
After the show, Riccobono went backstage expecting more of the same. Instead, Bon completely disarmed her. “He was so charming, friendly and welcoming that I walked away with a completely different opinion.”
The next day, she reported back to George Young and Harry Vanda, AC/DC’s mentors and producers. “I told them he fit.”
That night marked the beginning of a friendship that would last until the very end. Over the years, Riccobono came to understand the contradiction at the heart of Bon Scott. The man who often looked like a pirate could be remarkably thoughtful. The guy known for his one-liners and mischief never forgot the people who helped him.
Bon respected Malcolm and Angus Young enormously, but he also brought something different to AC/DC. He had already spent years paying his dues in other bands, learning lessons the younger musicians had yet to encounter. “He’d tell the younger guys: ‘Don’t do what I do,’ because he was a bit of a character.”
The two friends occasionally clashed. During one argument, Riccobono had finally had enough and walked out of the room. “When I came back my desk was covered in flowers. That’s who Bon was.”
Then there was the Scotch. One day, Riccobono was driving Bon back to his hotel after he’d purchased an incredibly expensive bottle. Bon offered her a drink. She refused. “I said: ‘No way. We’re not opening that unless it’s a special occasion.’” Bon’s response captured his outlook on life better than any lyric ever could: “You’re here. I’m here. That’s a special occasion.”
For all the stories about excess and chaos, those are the moments that stayed with the people who knew him best. Riccobono remembers the postcards. The letters. The phone calls asking for help on behalf of friends who had fallen on hard times. How he remained loyal to people long after success gave him every excuse not to. “He never forgot the people who had helped him.”
Only a few days before Bon died, the phone rang again. He’d been spending time with Malcolm and Angus. The band were preparing for their next chapter, and Bon could barely contain his excitement. He kept talking about the new songs, the new riffs, and how eager he was to get back into the studio. Then George and Harry walked into Riccobono’s office with the news: Bon was gone. “I remember thinking: ‘No. I just spoke to him.’”
Riccobono remembers something else: a man who could walk into a room looking completely wrong for the job, and then somehow make it impossible to imagine anyone else doing it.
