PHILADELPHIA — AC/DC frontman Brian Johnson made a promise shortly after taking the stage at Lincoln Financial Field on Tuesday night: “We’re gonna do the same thing we always do.”

It was met by a roar of approval from the sea of fans sporting red light-up devil horns, reaffirming that the Australian-born band’s multigenerational audience expects nothing less — or more.

Throughout its more than half-century history, AC/DC has belonged to a stunted-but-exultant branch of the rock family tree that stubbornly refused to evolve past the bracingly simple riffs, the strutting duckwalk of Chuck Berry and the lyrical concerns of a hormonal adolescent.

That these sentiments are coming from a group of men in their 70s has rarely been an issue for rock icons of a certain age, but AC/DC has clung to its aura of misspent youth with an impish fervor that shrugs off questions of dignity with a raised pint and a lascivious grin.

At 78, Johnson remains the gregarious, leering charmer with the air of a man perpetually perched on his favorite barstool, even as he skulks around a stadium-size stage. A decade after being replaced on tour by Guns N’ Roses frontman Axl Rose due to hearing loss, Johnson sounded strong despite a few stumbles — swapping verses on “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap,” which he acknowledged with a chuckle, or missing his entrance on “Whole Lotta Rosie.”

A voice that in its prime sounded like a junkyard dog snarling double entendres through a barbed-wire fence suffers the ravages of age differently than a more finely honed instrument. But Johnson managed to summon his gloriously serrated howls when he needed them, talk-singing his way through the rough patches as if sharing a private joke.

Which brings us to Angus.

The poster boy for arrested development, Angus Young still sports a schoolboy uniform at 71 (royal blue for this occasion, topped by a bright yellow cap emblazoned with his first initial). With his shock of gray hair, Young looks less like the juvenile reprobate gone to seed of his younger days, more like a student cursed, mummylike, to wander the halls of his school for all eternity.

The sole remaining member from the band’s 1973 founding, Young is indisputably the star of the show. From the opening riff of “If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It)” to the closing cannon fire of “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You),” the guitarist remained in perpetual motion throughout the two hour-plus show while churning out nearly two dozen indelible riffs. He eventually removed his tie, bashing it against his strings for the solo to “Sin City,” and even took the mic to growl a couple of lines of “Dirty Deeds.”

The leaps that accompanied each song’s final crashing chord don’t quite achieve the height they used to, and the blistering fretwork on “Thunderstruck” has slowed a step or two, but Young commands attention like few guitarists can. He quite literally eclipsed the rest of the band for an extended solo showcase on “Let There Be Rock”: As the rest of the stage fell into shadow, he first duckwalked to the end of the stage, where he was hoisted skyward on a raised platform, spinning and spasming on the floor as confetti erupted around him; then ascended to a catwalk atop the bank of Marshall amps to engage in an extended call and response with his adoring audience.

Johnson and Young both have personalities outsized enough to split the spotlight between them, necessarily so as the touring version of the band is otherwise filled out by hired guns. Longtime bassist Cliff Williams and drummer Phil Rudd remain official members of the band and contributed to the most recent album, 2020’s "Power Up," but have been replaced for the tour by Chris Chaney, formerly of Jane’s Addiction, and Slash’s Snakepit/Alanis Morissette drummer Matt Laug. From half a football field away, Stevie Young could pass for his late uncle Malcolm, clad in all black and jittering along with the steady chug of his rhythm guitar.

AC/DC’s first Philly stop in seven years came two-and-and-a-half years into its “Power Up” tour, which finally wraps up Friday in East Rutherford, New Jersey. Its namesake album was given two nods in the 21-song setlist, with “Demon Fire” and “Shot in the Dark” fitting snugly in with the classics. The title track from 2000’s "Stiff Upper Lip" was the only other song drawn from the band’s 21st-century output.

Otherwise they stuck, as promised, to the familiar, accompanied by unobtrusive visuals: columns of flame for “Highway in Hell,” monochrome and static for “Back in Black,” a bell lowered from the rafters for “Hells Bells.”

Opening the evening, as they have throughout the lengthy tour schedule, was the Pretty Reckless. Led by former child star and model Taylor Momsen, who has been moonlighting recently with the sporadically reuniting Soundgarden, the band shares the headliner’s penchant for amped-up, blues-based rock, if not its gift for memorable riffs.

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