Sometimes it’s as if you don’t even know your own flesh and blood. Take my quiet and staid eldest brother. I just learned that back in 1973 he went to see Alice Cooper’s Billion Dollar Babies Tour at the Spectrum in Philadelphia attired in a polyester outfit he had gleefully stapled with billions of dollars worth of play money. “Unfortunately,” he told me,” the whole effect was that of a flapping goony bird when I walked. REALLY not cool. I looked like a total a-hole but went anyway; good drugs will suppress any feeling of stupidity.”
My oldest bro stoned and papered in phony greenbacks? It seems implausible. But back then Alice Cooper seemed to bring the freak out of everybody, from preteens to hardcore metalheads to people like my brother, a glam-bam-thank-you-ma’am kinda guy. Formed in 1969, by 1973 Alice Cooper had gone from being an obscure band of musical absurdists (check out “10 Minutes Before the Worm” if you don’t believe me) on Frank Zappa’s Straight label to Warner Brothers and superstardom, and were at the very peak of their popularity thanks largely to the success of “School’s Out” and an outrageously macabre stage show that included hangings, ritualistic baby doll dismemberment, and the wholesale beheading of innocent chipmunks.
Little did the band know that by the next year (following disappointing sales of Muscle of Love and the usual personality conflicts compounded by drug abuse) it would break up, leaving newly solo front man Alice Cooper to do stints on Hollywood Squares along with the likes of Paul Lynde, release dreck like “Only Women Bleed,” and in general become a parody of a parody of his faux ghoulish self.
Which is why I elected to review 1974’s Alice Cooper’s Greatest Hits. It contains many (but by no means all) of the strongest songs off the “classic” Coop line-up’s five Warner Bros. LPs, but doesn’t force you to sacrifice “I’m Eighteen” by choosing Killer or to give up “School’s Out” by opting for Love It To Death, and so on. And unlike the some 720 other Alice Cooper “best of” compilations out there, the 1974 Warner Bros. package is an actual (for the most part) case of truth in advertising, right up there with The Rolling Stones’ Sucking in the Seventies (it truly sucks!) and Herbie Mann’s Push Push, the cover of which features a shirtless Herbie, his man pelt slathered in what appears to be motor oil, with a flute thrown over his shoulder. I have no idea where he contemplates push pushing that flute, but I’m reasonably certain it’s illegal in the United States and all its territories except American Samoa, where you can pretty much do with a flute whatever you want.
Album opener “I’m Eighteen” is a garage rock gem and an anthem to youth trapped at an ambiguous age, from its great opening guitar riffs and harmonica cries to Cooper’s lyrics about not knowing whether he’s a boy or a man, and how he doesn’t know what he wants or even what he’s talking about. All he knows is he “has to get out of this place,” and I can remember as if it were yesterday how I felt the same way, and how much I loved the song’s chorus, and Glen Buxton’s sustained guitar riffs, and the blast of organ that marks the song’s end.
“Is It My Body” is far from my favorite tune on the album, but the opening guitar riffs are tres hip, Dennis Dunaway’s bass throbs menacingly, Buxton’s guitar work (especially the solo at around the 1:40 mark) is brilliant, and Cooper’s vocals are inspired. That said the shifting melody and chorus have never moved me, and the lyrics (Is it my body you want? Really, Alice, are you serious?) are uninspired to the point of banality.
Still, “Is It My Body” is a veritable “Stairway to Heaven” compared to the lame “Desperado,” which to its lasting shame isn’t even as good as the Eagles’ song of the same name. Why this clunker is included but “Caught in a Dream” or “Long Way to Go” aren’t will have to remain an unsolvable mystery, like where babies come from or why Don Ho doesn’t just change his name to Don Slut and get it over with. Alice’s spoken word shtick is dumb, and the lines “I wear lace/And I wear black leatha” are even dumber, and about the only thing I like about “Desperado” is the way Alice sings, “I’m a killer/I’m a clown,” because that second line marks the only time in this Chef Boyardee spaghetti western of a song he doesn’t sound like a great big fake.
Fortunately “Desperado” is followed by the fabulous “Under My Wheels,” an out-of-control 18-wheeler of a tune that opens with Cooper singing, “The telephone is ringing/You got me on the run/I’m driving in my car now/Anticipating fun” while Buxton plays some classic rock’n’roll riffs and the cymbals crash like a Mach 1 into a maple tree. And on it goes until the song speeds up, a horn section comes in, and Alice gives out a great scream and begins to repeat the lines “Under my wheels” as Neil Smith goes berserk on the skins. Meanwhile Buxton plays some tremendous boogie as Alice begins to stutter (“got chu, got chu, go- go- go- go-” etc.), Neil Smith continues to bash away on the drums, and the horns freak out, closing out the tune in a cataclysmic clash, clamor, and caterwaul.
“Be My Lover” is a great rock’n’roller, with an opening that reminds me of “Sweet Jane” with its very VU guitar line and simple bass drum thump as Alice sings, “She struts into the room/ Well I don’t know her/But with a magnifying glance/I just sorta look her over.” Then the bass comes in, leading up to a chorus complete with back-up singers followed by lots of crashing cymbals and more Sterling Morrison-school guitar. I love it when Alice sings, “Told her that I came from Detroit City/ And I played guitar in a long haired rock and roll band/She asked me why the singer’s name was Alice/I said ‘listen baby, you really wouldn’t understand’.” And so it goes until some pounding drums signal the song’s transformation into a slow burlesque ending with some huge drum crash and Cooper screaming, “Owwwwwwwwn!… Owoooooooon!!!”
Sure, it’s been played to the grave and beyond, but the opening guitar riff of “School’s Out” still moves me because it may just be the greatest opening guitar riff ever. A catchy anthem to youth revolt almost as powerful as Mott the Hoople’s “All the Young Dudes,” “School’s Out” features what may be Cooper’s finest vocal performance ever and some really clever lyrics (“Well we can’t salute ya/Can’t find a flag/If that don’t suit ya/That’s a drag,” not to mention the punning and hilarious “Well we got no class/And we got no principles/And we got no innocence/We can’t even think of a word that rhymes”). Why, it even includes a child’s chorus, as well as a fantastic guitar solo by Buxton. And best of all it scared the shit out of parents everywhere, especially with its line “We got no innocence.” And I remember well how that final line “School’s out… COMPLETELY!!” (followed by a ringing bell sounding the end of the school day and blessed freedom) seemed less like a line from a song than a prophecy and a promise, even if I always wound up resentfully returning to my accursed desk and the fucking pledge of allegiance come September.
“Hello Hooray” has an odd back story; written by an obscure Canadian folkie named Rolf Kempf in 1968, it wound up being covered by both the flower-loving Judy Collins and the corpse-loving Alice Cooper, making it perhaps the most versatile song in rock history. And you’ve got to love it: from its fractured opening guitar chords to Cooper’s “Hello!/Hooray!/Let the show begin/I’ve been ready” it made the perfect concert opener. “Roll out!” sings Cooper, “Roll out with your American dream and it’s recruits/I’ve been ready/Roll out!/Roll out with your circus freaks and hula hoops/I’ve been ready,” accompanied by piano and some big cymbal tintinnabulation and strings, and on it goes with Cooper singing, “I can stand here strong and thin/I can laugh when this thing begins” and then, as the song reaches it orgiastic crescendo, “I feel so strong/So strong/God, I feel so strong/I am so strong.” It’s one of my all-time fave song endings, and one of Cooper’s finest moments, and even if he’d gone on to record nothing but schlock like “Thrill My Gorilla” I’d still love him, spider-eye makeup and all.
“Hello Hooray” is followed by the wonderful and hard-rocking “Elected,” with its big guitar opening, throbbing bass, and Cooper’s “I’m your Yankee Doodle Dandy in a gold Rolls Royce/I wanna be elected.” “Elected,” which is a revamped and reworked rendition of their Pretties For You cut “Reflected,” is almost as anthemic as “School’s Out,” what with Cooper promising the kids, “We’re all going to rock to the rules I make.” I adore the way he strains to hit the notes (“Halleluuujjaghagh!”) as much as I love the big horn section, and how we kids loved it when Cooper shouted, “And if I am elected/I promise the formation of a new party/A third party, the Wild Party!” Then there’s the great chorus, and the ecstatic ascending scales that lead up to Cooper singing rapturously, “You and me together/Young and strong!” From there on in it’s all horns and delirium, until Cooper shuts down his campaign with the lines, “Detroit, Chicago/Everybody has problems” followed by that wonderfully callous coup de grace, “And personally, I don’t care.”
“No More Mr. Nice Guy” boasts some very funny lyrics, lots of superfine guitar riffage by Buxton, and a sneer of a chorus, and whenever it comes on the car radio I shout, “Yes!” It opens with some very cool guitars, then Alice sings, “I used to be such a sweet, sweet thing/Till they got a hold of me/I opened doors for little old ladies/I helped the blind to see.” But suddenly he’s a pariah; even his own pets (“My dog bit me on the leg today/My cat clawed my eye”) and men of God (“I went to church incognito/When everybody rose/The Reverend Smith, he recognized me/And punched me in the nose”) feel the need to physically assault him. But he’ not going to take it anymore, singing, “No more Mister Nice Guy/No more Mister Clean/No more Mister Nice Guy/He said you’re sick, you’re obscene.” It’s a great song and reflects how a prankster with a macabre sense of humor named Vincent Furnier must have felt having successfully transformed himself into the boogeyman of an entire generation of frightened and disgusted parents and decent citizens all across our pusillanimous and puritanical land.
I always wondered who the guy was swapping vocals with Cooper on “Billion Dollar Babies.” Turns out—and talk about your odd bedfellows– he’s none other than Donovan, the Sunshine Superman who gave us the great “Atlantis.” I’ve always loved their entwined vocals, just as much as I love the very Grand Funk drums and wah-wah guitar that open the song and the great guitar interplay at the 1:20 mark. Dunaway’s bass is a thing of wonder, and Cooper and Donovan (who echoes the Coop line for line) play the ghoulish shtick to the hilt with such lyrics as, “We go dancing nightly in the attic/While the moon is rising in the sky/If I’m too rough, tell me/I’m so scared your little head will come off in my hands.” Towards the end the billions turn into zillions, the guitarist gets really freaky, and the song closes with the echoing sound of Dunaway’s bass.
Another one of my faves, “Teenage Lament ’74,” is a less hard-rocking “I’m Eighteen,” and might as well be called “I’m Fifteen.” A very perty mid-tempo number, the introductory guitars (which bring to mind vintage Ronnie Wood) are followed by Cooper singing, “What a drag it is/These gold lamé jeans/Is this the coolest way/To get through your teens?” “Teenage Lament ‘74” features a great chorus (“What are you gonna do?/I’ll tell you what I’m a gonna do”), some very sweet backing vocals (including a few “doo wop doo wop doo wops”), and a nice guitar solo by Buxton (or possibly Muscle of Love sessions musicians Mick Mashbir or Dick Hunter, the guitar virtuoso who played on Lou Reed’s Rock’n’Roll Animal and who would later form the nucleus of the second Alice Cooper band). I love the part where Cooper sings, “I picked up my guitar/To blast away the clouds/But somebody in the next room yelled/’You gotta turn that damn thing down!’” Towards the end the song picks up speed, a guitar does some great note strafing, and then the whole shebang fades out to the sound of the back-up singers repeating the chorus. It’s a wonderful number, really, and quite a different cup of tea from the hard-rocking Cooper boys.
In “Muscle of Love” Cooper keeps referring to the muscle in question as his heart, but his knowledge of anatomy must be very limited, because he’s obviously singing about his dick. (I should cut the Coop some slack; men often confuse the two.) In any event, “Muscle of Love” is an homage to that blessed day when you finally discover just what said muscle is good for, with Cooper singing, “I read Dad’s books like I did before/Now things are crystal clear/Lock the door in the bathroom now/I just can’t get caught in here.” “Muscle” opens with some very Skynyrdesque guitar, then throws power chords at you like ball-peen hammers. “Holy muscle of love,” goes the chorus, “I got a muscle of love,” and it’s followed by some groovy cymbals and ascending guitar riffs as Cooper adds, “Must be a gift from above.” I totally dig the way Cooper’s voice goes from low growl to a twisted yowl in a heartbeat, and by that I do mean a heart and not that other male body part. Anyway, the song’s over in a flash, and seems to be mostly chorus, but if it’s not Alice Cooper’s best song it still makes me laugh because it’s so dumb, but in a good rather than a bad way, which is more than can be said about every song ever produced by BTO, Bad Company, ELP, and about a hundred other seventies’ bands I could name.
Alice Cooper went on to further fame and fortune, quit drinking, took up golf along with a billion other dickheads, and ultimately went on to become that cliché of clichés, a born-again Christian. He’s put out numerous solo albums, and I’m told some of them are excellent. But I have no inclination whatsoever to check them out, probably because having heard such skunk-stench as “You Gotta Dance” and “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,” I’m simply unwilling to tolerate the suffering necessary to separate the wheat from the chaff.
No, I think I’ll roam forever in the halls of Cooper’s 1969-74 past, listening to the songs that rocked my youth, made me a card-carrying member of the Wild Party, and gave me the hope that some crazy brave soul would blow up my school and put paid to my “edumacation” forever. In my mind Cooper passed away then, it’s just that nobody ever got around to burying him, which is appropriate (if he isn’t a zombie, who is?) but still sad. But then again everybody has problems. And personally, I don’t care.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
