I can put an exact date to my earliest memory of Alice Cooper. On November 2nd, 1978, he appeared on The Muppet Show, performing Welcome To My Nightmare with several of Jim Henson's puppets. Many of those 'monsters' looked like something right out of Where The Wild Things Are, which was much more in my wheelhouse at the time. At five, I wasn't exactly blown away by his imagery, or by the way he weaves songs and stories and entire eras together. I wasn't in awe of his groundbreaking shock-rock theatrics or curious about his unique relationship with his stage persona. I wasn't yet impressed by his stamina, his ability to stay afloat decade after decade and still keep putting out great music. I was far, far too young to appreciate his stage shows, which I have yet to see in person.

That all came later.

Fast forward about ten years. I'm a rebellious, misfit teenager and a budding metalhead. Alice was in his Poison era, but I was more interested in his earlier stuff. I preferred Billion Dollar Babies and School's Out over Trash. Anyway, I picked up a cassette copy of Alice Cooper's Greatest Hits at some point. I don't recall exactly when or where. What I do know is that it changed my life.

I was already writing by then. I got bit by the writing bug pretty early. By high school, I was spending most of my free time either reading, writing, attempting to play guitar, or riding horses. I was far, far away from ever considering writing as a career. It was just a hobby, something I liked to do.
And then I heard Desperado.

To be fair, this probably isn't his best song. It isn't the coming-of-age anthem that I'm Eighteen is, or the summer freedom theme of a generation, School's Out. It wasn't as creepy as Cold Ethyl, as ethereal as Welcome To My Nightmare, as snarky as No More Mr. Nice Guy, or as heartwrenching as Only Women Bleed. I suspect that few of Alice Cooper's fans list it among their favorites. But even so, it's Desperado that I connect to the most.

Why?

I heard a story in that song.

Before long, I started to see the story. Eventually, I decided to write my version of that tale out. I think I still have the piece somewhere. As best as I can recall, it was about a hitman and his target, a saloon whore, out in the Wild West. Of course, I named it after the song. Desperado was the first—and to this date the last—Western I ever wrote. More importantly, it was the first story I wrote all at once. I sat down before my typewriter (yes, I'm that old) and wrote the whole thing in one shot. I didn't write it so much as I channeled it.

I remember just sitting there afterwards, holding a stack of freshly-typed papers, and wondering what the heck had just happened. Was I possessed? Was I crazy? Was I remembering a past life?
Nope. Turns out, I was a writer.

As a writer, there is nothing better than those moments where words just pour out of you. I call it brainvomit. It may very well be some form of madness. I don't know what it was about that song, but something about it resonated with me, and opened a floodgate in my mind. Desperado isn't the only song that has kicked me into the zone, but it was definitely the first.

Things get a bit weirder from there. For some reason, that tape started sounding very, very strange shortly after I wrote that story. It actually sounds like it was backward-masked. Just on one side, which is even weirder. I still have that cassette somewhere. It still sounds fucky. To be honest, it sounds creepy as hell. There were a few other odd occurrences that happened around then, concerning the story and the song. Nothing mindblowing, but enough to tell me that I have some crazy juju with that song. But that's another can of worms.

Soon after that, I started writing what is now called fan fiction. I wrote novels' worth of crap about my favorite TV characters and movie stars and musicians. I still have that stuff, too. It literally fills a trunk. My parents started letting me write in Dad's man cave downstairs. I imagine the unending clacking of the typewriter was probably driving them nuts: a year or two later, they got me a word processor.
I kept listening to Alice Cooper as I got older. I blasted School's Out at the beginning of every summer, and cranked I'm Eighteen incessantly when I hit that milestone. To this day, whenever I meet friends in a bar with a jukebox, I always play Welcome To My Nightmare, partly because I love it, and partly because it's so long … more bang for my buck. I've bought his albums and his comic books. I loved his creepy cameo in Prince of Darkness. But Desperado is still my favorite. (For the curious: here's a link to the live version of the song.) 
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I've always wanted to see Alice Cooper live, but something has always prevented it: work, money, timing, something. As of now, he's still tied with Iron Maiden for the #1 spot on my concert bucket list. So far, the closest I have come is seeing an uncannily realistic Alice Cooper impersonator, who was the unannounced entertainment at a bar I met some friends at one night. (If I recall correctly, he actually jumped up onto our table at one point.) Hopefully, one day I'll see the real Alice. Until then, I'll keep buying his records. That's small thanks, but it's the least I can do for the man who broke down that invisible barrier between my imagination and the blank page.
 

--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?

So, I like Alice Cooper, but I think I’d have to fairly describe myself as a greatest hits fan. The first Alice Cooper song I remember hearing was "Poison" - almost certainly on Top Of The Pops - and as a budding metal head, I dug it a lot. I also remember reading reviews of his live show in Raw magazine that made it sound awesome - part gig, part live horror show.

Later, there was "Hey Stoopid", "Feed My Frankenstein" and eventually I picked up an actual greatest hits, and discovered "Eighteen", "Elected", "Under my Wheels", "Only Women Bleed", "Billion Dollar Babies", and of course that ultimate youth anthem, "School’s Out."

Still and all, I’d have to say my overriding impression, at first, was of an artist that took themselves very seriously. "Poison" gives no impression of having a sense of humor, and "Hey Stoopid" was a pretty stone faced anti-drugs song. "Feed My Frankenstein" was a different barrel of monkeys of course, but it was for a comedy movie, so I figured maybe that had given a license to goof a bit.

That image I’d built got more nuanced as I really absorbed the hits album, of course. There’s a lot of humor there, much of it very pointed, and some superb storytelling, character songs… I started to get a sense of a range, of depth. Eventually, in November 2007, I got to see the man perform at Wembley Arena (Motorhead and Joan Jett in support).

It was a great show - the band was amazingly tight, Cooper’s voice was in great shape, and the staging itself was as spectacular as I’d always been led to believe. And it was a relentlessly crowd pleasing set, all the hits present and correct. That said, as I filed out, ears ringing, I was happy that I’d done it, and felt no desire to ever go again. The show had been slick, well oiled, note perfect… and, I felt, like it ran exactly the same, every night, in every city. That’s not a criticism, to be clear; it takes a lot of skill and talent to be that on the money night after night, and it’s a level or professionalism not many bands can meet. But such an approach does, by design, boil out spontaneity - and that’s what I find I most enjoy in a live show; a feeling of edge, of danger; a sense that the performer are pushing themselves outside of their comfort zone, and that anything might happen.

This show wasn’t that. And I was very happy to have gone and seen, and figured if I wanted to see it again, I’d pick up the DVD.

I give this lengthy preamble because when John Boden announced this project, I was excited to be a part of it, but I also knew that I didn’t know what to go for. I didn’t want to pick a classic someone was in love with, but equally I didn’t want to get lumbered with some obscure album that another writer might have a relationship with that I couldn’t touch. And eventually, I threw myself on his mercy. You pick me something out, John - pick me something that’ll give me a sense of the Alice beyond the hits.

Sure, said John. Do Lace and Whiskey, said John.

So here we are.

And true to his word, there’s not a single greatest hits track on here, so I came to it fresh. I’ve listened to little else for the last fortnight, trying to absorb the album into my mind, make sense of what it’s offering and trying to say. Here’s what I’ve got.

Opener "It’s Hot Tonight" sets the stall out well; a funky hard rock riff with a bluesy edge. The rest of the band swiftly joins is, some tight soloing dropping neatly into the verse lyric. The vocal is well delivered - a little cleaner than the Alice growl I am used to, and delivered here with some kind of slight delay effect on the mic, but it’s still a powerful, sleazy voice. The song itself is superbly atmospheric, musically invoking a close summer evening that feels simultaneously energizing and oppressive. Already, I feel like I’m getting a wider sense of Alice as a writer and performer.

That feeling continues as "Lace and Whiskey" begins, the intro on guitar and strings evoking almost a movie score, before the guitar lick leads down to the verse. The verse riff itself is a rolling, staggering affair, matching the vocal content, Alice describing staggering through the dark. The cover art evokes hardboiled crime fiction, and the lyric could apply to that, of course, but given Alice’s full blown alcoholism, which by ‘77 was in full effect, let’s just say the metaphor works on more than one level. There’s some lovely piano work on this one too, low in the mix but there. Like the previous track, it ends suddenly, simply closing on a chorus line.

"Road Rats" is a peon to the roadies that keep a tour on the road, literally and metaphorically. The subject matter is similar to Motorhead’s "We Are The Roadcrew", and while Alice’s take is somewhat slower, it’s by some measure the loudest track on the album so far, with a crunching low guitar riff driving the song forward. This is a pounding, straight ahead rocker, and it’s superbly played by all involved.

Three songs in, and while I’ve been enjoying hearing new-to-me songs, I’d have to say I’m not hearing anything that I could call a startling surprise - sure, there’s the aforementioned smoother than expected voice, and some interesting musical flourishes on Lace and Whiskey, but overall, I’m not hearing anything that Greatest Hits Alice didn’t gesture at.

That changes abruptly with "Damned If You Do", a foot down stomper that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on a Skynyrd B-Side. The lyric is a story of ill advised love on the road with a woman who has prior commitments, with a fair bit in common with "Gimme Three Steps". It’s funny, charming in a sleazy kind of way, but most of all surprising, with some banging honky tonk guitar driving along, and some nifty slide guitar underneath. It’s a cracking tune, for sure, but Alice Cooper? Really?

And then "You And Me" starts playing, and I’m just lost.

It’s… well, it’s a ballad, in form at least. Acoustic guitar, slowly played, high harmonies in the choruses, and yeah, the subject is love; specifically, the love of a long term blue collar marriage, complete with watching TV under a blanket, sharing popcorn, in place of a night of passion. It’s tender, and delicate, and quite unlike anything I’ve ever heard from Cooper.

I don’t especially like it - in fact, it’s one of my least favourite tracks on the album. I think that’s mainly down to me struggling to see how Alice Cooper in ‘77 can have the first clue what normal life looks like. A song like this stands or falls on if it connects with you emotionally, and it left me cold. But that said, it certainly expanded my view of what an Alice Cooper song could possibly be.

"King Of The Silver Screen" is next, and the weirdness continues. It starts out simple enough, a grand intro leading into a bobbing staccato guitar riff, lyric extolling the virtue of the golden age of Hollywood, refrain that matches the title. The second time through, there’s a new lyric following the refrain, before the riff drops into a creeping piece of music that’s been used often in movies and cartoons, but that I was unable to find the name of.

On the third time through, the pattern repeats, but this time, as it draws to a halt, "The Battle Hymn Of The Republic" comes crashing in, before Alice sings ‘I could have been a star’, at which point a piano and delicate vocal pick up the verse… and then the guitar comes growling back in for an extended (and pretty superb) solo. It’s a profoundly odd moment, but I think it works - even when he does it again at the end of the last refrain, where he declares himself the Queen of the silver screen, and the Battle Hymn crashes back in as he rants and raves over the top of it, sounding like he’s using a megaphone, and the hymn itself crashes to a stop mid-line, an out of place cymbal crash bringing the song to a halt. It’s nuts, and mildly disturbing, and I really, really dug it.

"Ubangi Stomp" is a two minute 50’s rock and roll stomper (literally, it’s a cover), and it’s played pretty straight, piano leading the tune, Alice delivering the vocal like a Jerry Lee Lewis fanboy. Around the 1:13 mark, the song drops out for a lovely bit of tom playing, before picking back up for the last verse and chorus. It’s really well nailed down, and again, suprising more for the fact of its existence than anything especially out there with regard to the song itself.

And then there’s "(No More) Love At Your Convenience". About which the kindest thing I can say is that apparently literally everyone did a disco tune in the 70’s, and if this one is no better than Kiss’ effort, well, it’s no worse. Still. It’s an unironic Alice Cooper disco tune.

Moving swiftly on, "I Never Wrote These Songs" is a melancholic affair, acoustic guitar picked in a minor key, Alice’s vocal high and delicate. Given that the year would end with him placed in a sanitarium, the vocal here feels poignant - though even without knowing that, the vocal is strong and heartfelt throughout, with a stripped, unpolished quality that’s hard to ignore. The song itself is layered with strings and piano, and, at the end, a spiraling bluesy sax solo. The instrumentation is similar to "You and Me" but this feels so much more heartfelt. It’s over in three minutes, fading like a ghost.

The album ends with "My God", a song that opens with a lengthy church organ intro, before piano, guitar and drums come in. The piano leads the riff, drums underpinning with a series of tom rolls, Alice’s voice back in a very produced mode, but good and strong. The lyric is… well, it’s a prayer, no other way to read it. Describing the voice of God as the voice of conscience, ‘still and small’, yet strong, guiding, offering a path to redemption. Again, it’s hard to divorce the song from knowledge of Alice’s biography, and where his alcoholism was soon to lead him. This isn’t the sound of rock bottom, but it’s clearly a song about faith, and a belief in its power to heal and save.

The album was, relatively speaking, a commercial failure. Following the King Of The Silver Screen tour, none of it was ever played live again, with the exception of opener "It's Hot Tonight". Alice would go into a sanitarium halfway through that tour, and his following early 80’s output he would later describe as his ‘blackout albums’, due to drug and alcohol abuse so sustained he cannot recall much of their recording.

For me, it was certainly an eye opener. An album of two halves, that opens strong and closes weak, but also one that greatly expanded my understanding of Alice as an artist, and one where even the weaker elements throw some interesting light on the man and his processes (aside from "Love At Your Convenience", which is flat out bad and wrong).

I am glad I got to spend some time with it, and I am really excited to find out else Alice was up to outside the Greatest Hits work.

 
 
You can go to Hell. And so, Alice Cooper follows up the titan Welcome to My Nightmare with Goes to Hell. The album is a continuation of the conceit of Welcome to My Nightmare, the further stories of Steven and the terrible things he sees in his sleep. I never picked up on that tidbit about the album early on. I always felt like Goes To Hell was Alice Cooper setting up for his Broadway debut with an album full of rock-laced showtunes. I am still waiting for a Billy Joel or Abba-esque Broadway musical that mashes up the tunes from Nightmare and Goes to Hell a la Movin’ Out and Mama Mia respectively.
 
At the time of its release, 1976, the album was variously received. There was and has since always been a polar appreciation of Goes to Hell. You either love it or hate it. There is no middle ground on this album. When it was first released, it put off a lot of established Alice Cooper fans who were already skittish from the breakup of the original band and then slapped in the face with the new musical direction Alice Cooper, the performer, was taking. Time, I believe has been this album’s friend as more have moved to the love side than the hate.
 
The songs can be a tough pill to swallow at first listen. I believe having the rocker, Go To Hell, lead off the disc was smart. Starting out with the perpetual crowd pleaser makes the rest of the songs more palpable. The song starts out sluggish with a bottom heavy base that sucks you in when the drum finally pounds and leads into the catchy march and chorus.
 
For criminal acts and violence on the stage
For being a brat
Refusing to act your age
For all of the decent citizens you've enraged
You can go to Hell
 
 
The song itself, is a condemnation of the character, Alice Cooper. Most of the song in fact is sung by the band as a whole, castigating Alice and cursing him to Hell. But, as Alice Cooper is the character you love to hate, wishing him an eternity in Hell is basically a complaint. In fact, Alice only sings one refrain solo. The rest of the song is based around the hooky chorus. It’s all quite brilliant lyrically and musically. One of the best set up songs of any album.
 
The rest of the album transforms into what can only be described as Alice on Broadway. Each subsequent song would be a perfect fit, sonically, in any 70’s era Broadway show. Songs like You Gotta Dance, Didn’t We Meet and especially Give The Kid A Break would be a seamless fit into the musical Grease. It’s songs like those that put off a lot of the tried and true Alice Cooper fans. But, I think, if you’re patient with the songs and give them a few replays and a fair shake, you’ll find that even though, musically, they are a departure from the prior catalog, they are still all uniquely Alice Cooper.
 
Other Broadway sounding songs like I’m Always Chasing Rainbows could be the crescendo tune in Cats starring Alice Cooper. There is a hot latin number that would be great in a hot Alice Cooper conga number, Wish You Were Here. And what fantasy epic wouldn’t be happy to close out it’s show with Going Home?
 
There are a few songs that don’t commit to the show tune vibe of the album. The song I’m The Coolest makes you feel like you’re in a smoky jazz lounge as you listen and agree that, yes, Alice you are the coolest hep cat in town, ya dig? You could tell me that Didn’t We Meet was co-written with Billy Joel and I wouldn’t hesitate to believe it was a throwaway song from 52nd Street. Without a doubt, Guilty, is probably the truest sounding Alice Cooper song on the record and provides a rocking moment on the album when it is needed most.
 
Of course there has to be a ballad. From a marketing standpoint it was a necessity following the success of Only Women Bleed on Nightmare. This time we get I’ll Never Cry. And as a marketing tool, it worked to a degree. But deeper than the fickle motivation, the song is an admission from the man behind Alice of a drinking problem that would lead to a dramatic downturn in output after this album.
 
In point of fact, Alice Cooper who always placed more emphasis on the live show that the recorded albums, never toured Goes To Hell because he was hospitalized as a result of his drinking problems. Though he recovered he would soon spiral into deeper drug and alcohol addiction for a long period of time. Commercially, this album would be his last success until 1989’s Trash when he was finally clean and sober once again.
 
Goes To Hell isn’t the type of album that grabs you by the neck and screams in your face at the first listen. I can’t blame any die hard Alice fan for not liking it, especially when it was first released. But Goes To Hell when examined over the course of Alice Cooper’s career thus far stands true to the man and the music. Like any great artist with longevity, his sound is ever evolving. The sound on Goes To Hell is a unique experience in the Cooper discography. It sounds like nothing before and nothing since. And through all 11 tracks, despite its radical departure from his usual style, it is still uniquely Alice Cooper.
 
...And he can go to Hell!

 
The cover of Alice Cooper Goes To Hell is ugly. It’s crude and simple. It’s just Alice’s face, equipped with a dazed, crazed leer, colour-shifted a sickly green, gazing out at the viewer from a vague red-orange transition that might be meant to represent hell or just the lack of imagination and/or budget in the design department. Compared to the stylish, suave cover of its predecessor, Alice’s solo debut and smash hit, Welcome To My Nightmare, it seems like Goes To Hell has decided to embrace its destiny as the ugly stepchild, the less successful follow-up to a breakthrough album, right from the cover.
 
Which goes to show that you shouldn’t always judge a rock album by its cover, because Goes To Hell is as potent, madcap, haywire and enjoyable as the album to whose storyline it offers a continuation. Primarily composed by axeman Dick Wagner and producer Bob Ezrin, the music is groovy, funky, prime arena rock with more than a touch of vaudevillian tinsel and swagger. The musical muscle of the album is further reinforced with returning second axe, Steve Hunter - find him playing an essential role on albums by everyone from Lou Reed to David Lee Roth - and bass wizard Tony Levin replacing my partial-namesake, Prakash John (who would also do a stint with Reed - funny how you find some of the same players on records by artists who seemingly occupy different ends of the spectrum of rock). Allan Schwartzberg, another returning player, mans the drums for the most part with Jim Gordon pinch-hitting at one point.
 
But Cooper has always surrounded himself with ace musicians, in tune with both his vision and the changing zeitgeist - down to the sometimes embarrassingly hair-metal vibe of his comeback albums of the late 80s and early 90s. What has always mattered most is the form our master of revels finds himself in, and despite roaring alcoholism and a case of anaemia that would put paid to plans of a tour behind this album, Alice Cooper is ready to rock and roll and lose his soul on this album. Track by track descriptions are a poor second place to listening to the real thing - never more than a click away today- so I’ll pick out some highlights.
 
The album opener, and title track, is a fine rocking stomp with a primo hook, as Cooper indicts himself for crimes against decency and taste. A lovely, ghoulish piece of self-incrimination and a cheeky rejoinder to the moral panic that has always graced reactions to his career. I’m The Coolest is a fine, loping piece of braggadocio, carried by a stand-out groove by Levin. I Never Cry mines the balladeer vein of Only Women Bleed, while the trilogy of Guilty, Wake Me Gently and Wish You Were Hear carry the infernal journey of Steven forward. Schmaltz - never too far from Coop’s methods and desecrations - gets an outing in a cover of the 1917 Carroll-McCarthy joint, I’m Always Chasing Rainbows, also made famous by everyone from Bing Crosby to Barbra Streisand. Never let Cooper be accused of shying away from strange bedmates.
 
By turns bombastic, crazed, sentimental, sniggering, snivelling and even kind of elegiac by the end, this is an unjustly overlooked entry in the Alice Cooper catalog. It may not have the hit-machine firepower of Nightmare, or the burly rock stomp of the early group albums. It also comes in at the beginning of years of drinking and mental and physical health problems that would fuel albums like the loony-bin memoir, On The Inside, and the one Alice Cooper doesn’t even remember recording - DaDa. But none of that lessens the impact and integrity of what is on record here. Something that separates the some-hit-wonders from the real rock aristocrats is a discography that rewards delving into deep cuts and lesser known albums. I actually found this album in a bargain bin over a decade ago. And what a bargain it was, for a package of such catchy, well-crafted songs that add up to as harrowing and layered a narrative as Alice Cooper has ever created for us.
 
And maybe the cover art is actually kind of brilliant. Because who wouldn’t feel a bit green confronting the criminal career and hellish destiny painted for us here by an ailing Alice Cooper and his crack squad of musical collaborators?