ALICE COOPER IN SUMMERLAND: ANDREW Freudenberg TAKES IT FROM THE INSIDE

24/8/2018

BY ANDREW FREUDENBERG

--Picture this.

You’re the anarchic son of a preacher. Taking a woman’s name and smearing your face with make-up, you hit the road as a rock and roll singer. Your shocking stage show, and cynical catalogue of horror tinged heavy rock, makes its mark on the staid 1970’s music scene. You become a big star. Unfortunately, life on the road takes its toll and, before you know it, you’ve become an alcoholic who can’t get through the day without a drink in your hand. When you throw up blood one morning it’s clear that you have no choice but to check into a sanatorium and fight your way back to fitness. It takes three months

On release from this doubtless gruelling experience you decide to go back into the studio and record an album based on your experiences. You don’t have a band as such, so it is up to you to recruit some like-minded crazies that can help birth your artistic vision. Who do you hire?

You’ve worked regularly with Dick Wagner, a talented lead guitarist, so he’s obviously in. You need someone to co-write with, a skilled lyricist, so who better than Bernie Taupin, co-author of most of Elton John’s hits? Hmmm… As he’s on board, why not hire Elton’s band too? To top that off, what could be more rock’n roll than a member or two of Toto? Throw in a couple more session musicians and you have a, sort of, band.

Regular producer and rock legend Bob Ezrin isn’t available, so you hire David Foster, a man later to become legendary for his slick productions for the likes of Chicago, Celine Dion and many more. Essentially, you’ve assembled a middle of the road super-group, a collection of some of the most professional and least edgy musicians available at the time. What the hell were you thinking?!

What now? Well, it’s time to write some songs that depict the hell that you’ve been through. Time to lay down some heartfelt and introspective lyrics perhaps, let your fans know a little about your pain. Or not. You’re Alice Cooper after all; your songs have always had a humorous edge. You deliver horror with a wink and a nudge and nothing should be taken too seriously. There’s conflict at play here and boy, does it show. One minute a song is morosely reflecting on the sadness of a padded cell, the next there’s an ode to a suspender wearing sex demon of a nurse. You write a song comparing your plight to a dog on death row, and then a darkly hilarious duet about chopping up your lover’s husband’s body and hiding it in the trunk of your car. I think it’s safe to say that the tone is all over the place, sometimes touching, sometimes dark and more often than not, very funny.

Here’s the shocker though; having painted this picture of imbalance and poor choices, I absolutely love this album. Sometimes going a little wrong is the right thing to do. It’s a tribute to Alice’s strength of character and the quality of song writing on display that the end result is actually one of his best works. The dichotomies between the character

Alice and the more straight-laced Vincent Furnier, the alcoholic and the former alcoholic, the serious intent and the unavoidable sense of humour, are all on display here.

This is one of those albums designed to be admired on vinyl, visually at least. The front cover is Alice in full make up, looking no healthier for his break. This opens up to reveal a gatefold interior displaying numerous characters from the songs, all hanging out in a hospital lobby. I know we’re all used to the miniaturisation of CD art these days, but it still seems a shame when these little touches are lost.

The title track opens the album, immediately displaying the crisp production, mature arrangements and melody that typify the record. Backing vocals and orchestral stabs send a clear message to fans of the older rawer sound, that they may be in uncharted territory.

‘Wish I was Born in Beverly Hills’ picks up the pace nicely before ‘The Quiet Room’ dials it back down. The latter is a more sombre ballad set in a padded cell. Both are great songs and typify the tonal mismatch that perhaps only Alice could get away with.

‘Nurse Rozetta’ is a quirkier affair, spinning a tale of an incarcerated Preacher falling under the spell of a demonically sexy nurse. It’s a strutting groove with loads of personality.

Next up is one of my favourites, ‘Millie and Billie’. Initially it appears to be a fairly straightforward gentle country rock duet, but it quickly plunges into darker territory. I challenge you not to sing along with the ‘Criminally Insane’ refrain during the chorus.

‘Serious’ is another stomping tune with a strong chorus. Definitely one of the album’s highlights. Anyone who has strayed too far into hedonism might appreciate where he’s coming from with this one.

The album’s premier ballad and single, ‘How You Gonna See Me Now’, is probably the most emotionally honest song on the record. Alice/Vincent wrote it for his wife, as he reflected on how he might be perceived after his time in the asylum. It manages to be both emotionally raw and corny simultaneously.

‘For Veronica’s Sake’ sees Alice comparing himself with his similarly incarcerated dog. It’s fairly ridiculous but carries itself with a strong melody.

‘Jacknife Johnny’ is the tale of a former Vietnam Vet. Suffice to say it’s a slow and somewhat stiff number, and my least favourite here. To my taste it just fails to bring anything interesting to the party.
The album finishes with ‘Inmates (We’re All Crazy)’, a definitive finale that merges horror, Broadway Musical and rock. It’s a more complex and staged arrangement than the rest of the album, with shadows of ‘Welcome to my Nightmare’ in places. As time goes on it has worn a little thin on this listener’s ears but still remains worth a listen to the uninitiated.

I didn’t hear this album until five or six years after it was released. Coincidentally though, in the same month that it came out, I got my first exposure to the enigma that is

Alice Cooper. I speak, of course, of his appearance on the Muppet Show. I shall ramble on about that elsewhere, but suffice to say that my nine-year old self was both mystified and intrigued at the time. He didn’t actually perform any songs on ‘From the Inside’, presumably because they wanted the established hits rather than unknown material. It was a well-timed piece of promotion though, whether precisely planned or not. It’s a shame that they didn’t cover the album at all, but presumably a duet with Miss Piggy singing, ‘I don’t want your children growing inside me, they’re frightening and gruesome and sad’, didn’t get past the planning stage!

One of the problems with reviewing an album that you’ve been listening to on and off for more than three decades is perspective. When I first heard it, in the context of early 80’s hard rock and my particular path through that minefield, it sounded a lot tougher than it does now. Obviously, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but for me, with the exception of ‘Millie and Billie’, it’s the harder driving tracks that remain solid favourites. ‘Serious’, ‘Wish I was Born in Beverly Hills’ and ‘Nurse Rozetta’ specifically.

Having said that, as a whole it still entertains with a twisted quality all of its own. For Cooper fans, it’s a no brainer, but beyond that opinions may vary. Who knows what fresh ears will make of it? If you’ve a taste for melodic rock, the slightly gothic, a dark sense of humour or just want to see what Alice Cooper is all about, give it a try. What’s the worst that can happen?