AC/DC had been gone for eight years when Black Ice was announced. No one had any expectation of a new record; the band had seemed to be in elder statesman mode, having signed with Sony after nearly three decades on Atlantic, reissued their entire back catalog (US versions), and released the multi-DVD set Plug Me In. But then, in August 2008, the word came that there would be a new album in October. And it would be available exclusively at Walmart. Which didn’t stop it from hitting #1 the week it was released — the first time they’d topped the Billboard charts since For Those About to Rock We Salute You in 1981.

Produced by Brendan O’Brien (the band had talked to “Mutt” Lange first, but he wasn’t available) and recorded in the same studio — The Warehouse in Vancouver — where they’d tracked 2000’s Stiff Upper Lip, the album has a thick, beefy sound, moving away from the explicitly bluesy approach of Stiff and 1995’s Ballbreaker and back toward the hard rock of their 1980s work. Tracks like “War Machine,” “Smash ‘N’ Grab,” and “Spoilin’ For A Fight” have the muscular aggression of the classic era, while “Decibel,” “She Likes Rock ‘n’ Roll” and “Money Made” have the funk grooves they’d long since proved were equally within their wheelhouse, and “Stormy May Day” features Angus Young playing slide guitar for the first time ever on an AC/DC record, and it sounds great, recalling Led Zeppelin’s “In My Time Of Dying.” And “Anything Goes” is a terrific surprise, the guitars ringing like the Young brothers had been listening to Big Country in their off time. The thing about Black Ice is, no matter what you like about AC/DC, there’s something on it for you.

That’s partly just due to quantity: The album is 15 tracks long, with a 55-minute running time, easily the bulkiest package of their career. But it’s also due to the sound. O’Brien put the band in a room and recorded the music live, giving the music a power it didn’t have on Ballbreaker or Stiff Upper Lip. The songwriting is also stronger — lyrically, they’re still the kings of meaninglessness, but the choruses are stronger than before, fist-pumping and singalong-worthy.

Brian Johnson reportedly sang for only one hour a day while making Black Ice, in order to keep his voice strong. And indeed, this is his best vocal performance with the band — the high nasal screeching that had been his trademark for decades is rarely heard here, replaced with a more soulful style. He sounds both rejuvenated and transformed; at times, he attains an almost Tom Jones-ish power.

If Black Ice has a serious flaw, it’s just that it’s too long and has too many songs. Each one is good, and some are very good; the band wring as many variations as possible out of their core sound. But they’re AC/DC. They do two, maybe three things. Ten songs is perfect; fifteen is way too many. Unfortunately, it’s hard to pick which five should have been cut, with one exception: “Big Jack.” “Big Jack” sucks.