Scotland is Alice's wonderland

Caroline Boucher in Glasgow

(Disc,
Nov 1972)

Where else in England would everybody be on their feet before you're onstage; dance on the very parapet of the balcony; sing along word perfect; chuck lighted cigarettes from the balcony on to people below so the air smelt of singed hair.

That's how it was for Alice Cooper's only British date of 1972 at Green's Playhouse, Glasgow. And the Scottish kids who so often seem to miss out on big acts really made their gratitude felt.

Sadly, because the plane was late we missed Phlorescent Leech and Eddy, but everyone I spoke to said they were great. Alice has improved drastically since I last saw him at the Rainbow over a year ago.

Musically now, the band is very tight and the act much more polished and continuous than it used to be. Plus they have a really excellent lighting system.

Although Alice still isn't the ultimate in showmen, it was the best gig I've been to since early Led Zeppelin. Going to shows mainly round the London area you tend to forget what audiences are really like, ones who enjoy themselves and leap about and get off on the band.

With the band playing so well now, and the sound balance so good, Alice is a bit of a let down. Thank God he's stopped wearing that appalling black suit with specially drilled holes in it, but for the gold sequined trousers and top he's now sporting, he could lose half a stone for a start. One term at drama school could make Alice.

At the moment all his ideas are great, but go off at half-cock because he hasn't the ultimate panache to carry them off. His movements are inhibited and self-conscious, he has virtually no stage presence and he never MOVES, just sidles.

For all that he and his manager's ideas are lovely. The act starts off with some of their best rock and roll numhers, well linked and leading into Alice's famous little trappings - the sword onstage, the python which he all but stuffs down his trousers. Then there's a sequence from "West Side Story," the Jets song, which would probably make Leonard Bernstein blench but is always good for royalties.

That culminates in a street fighting sequence with the audience screaming for Alice as he attacks his guitarist with a knife. With much wobbling and knocking over a high hat the drummer manages to leap over his drums and also joins in, at which point two police sirens go off at the back and the stage blacks out apart from the revolving siren lights.

This point was a too lengthy link with much scuffling onstage as Alice was rigged up to his scaffold and after an even more tedious interlude of mock thunderstorms, the lights went up and Alice was hung with a nicely realistic jerk of the trap going from under his feet.

Then back again for more goodly rock, and a lengthy encore of "School's Out" with Alice chucking out posters. Or if you were in the front few rows Alice spat some chewed up poster at you.

The band is a joy to watch. The guitarists move really well, the drummer is impressive to look at if not to listen to, and they play an excellent set with some of the best timing and phrasing you could wish to hear.

It sounded more like "violence, violence, violence," and at that moment Alice had his finger on a trigger that could have sparked off a hundred knifings in this city where violence has always been a way of life.

Alice Cooper was turning Glaswegians on at a rate they'd never known before on any rough Saturday night. And the Scottish kids lapped it all up in a feverish excitement that would have beaten any Celtic/Rangers or ethnic/religious clash the city could invent.

They weren't actually yelling "violence," but it sounded like that and it might just as well have been.

It was a scarey five minutes and the cops down at the front, with their black and white chequered hatbands, couldn't figure out this guy with a girl's name, a snake, a sword and a knife who was about to be hung by his band.

Maybe the bass player ought to be arrested, or perhaps the drummer. He was nasty the way he lunged with a switchblade.

Alice in Scotland on Friday sold out in a matter of hours and these kids -- mostly male -- couldn't get enough of the transvestite freak whose stage show mixes the macabre with rock on a more than 50-50 basis.

Alice is a killer, a violent psycho whose street battles probably reflected Sauchiehall Street's more seedy evenings better than any other rock artist on the road.

To the more weak hearted of us, it would probably shock. To the violent in mind, it doubtless inspires. Alice maintains that his act does not encourage violence, but saps the violent energy from the kids, leaving them too expired to follow in his footsteps.

Whatever else it is no-one can argue that Alice presents the most spectacular act of any group, taking theatre/rock to its absolute limits.

Though there's better hard music around, Alice gets full marks for presentation, full marks for effort and full marks for stunning effect.

The act is timed to perfection, with each gesture building up to the moment when Alice dangles from the noose at the right of the stage.

It opens with clouds of bubbles engulfing the musicians from each side of the stage, and, as the music grows louder, our hero slinks on, dressed in gold lame pants as tight as sunburned skin, and a black leather top gripped together with loosely fitting thongs.

There's evil in the air the moment he struts on to the stage. He's like some ballet dancer whose legs have grown tired and whose eyes -- blacked with make up -- have seen more heavy nights than the devil himself. He's right out of a Hammer film.

The musicians really ought to be hunchbacked old men, with Alice goading them with a whip to thrash them into playing harder. Perhaps he could breathe fire into the speaker cabinets, or juggle human skulls between numbers.

Nothing, like nothing, would be too much for this guy.

His first prop is Yvonne, a boa constrictor snake, which curls around Alice like a spiral staircase. Yvonne could if she wanted to, grip hard enough to squeeze Alice's guts out through his mouth, but her training's good, and her tail flashes up between Alice's legs.

Next prop is a sword which Alice swishes within inches of his musicians and fans. Is he going to swallow it? . . . No, but he gets dangerously close to slitting his own throat. The sword is replaced with a knife, a lethal looking blade designed more for meat than bread, and here the fun really starts.

A dustbin is brought on and garbage littered around the stage to transform Alice's rostrum into a New York, Lower East Side ghetto -- just like the West Side Story settings.

The next bit is really hot, taken deliberately from the West Side Story routine. Alice and musicians become the Sharks and the Jets -- "When you're a Jet, you're a Jet from your first cigarette to your last dying breath" -- and, as pre-recorded tapes take over the soundtrack, a switchblade battle takes place.

The whole scrap is acted out faithfully, with the band and Alice lunging for each other until drummer Neil Smith and Alice are the only ones left standing. The rest lie crumpled alongside the garbage, groaning and writhing like it was all for real.

But Alice, dear Alice, cops it first and Smith stands, arms aloft, in a victory salute. The crowd are yelling "Alice, Alice, Alice" and it's here that the mind plays tricks. Is it "violence, violence, violence" they're shouting?

Smoke is coming from somewhere and the din is deafening. Alice is moving again, clutching a broken bottle and stumbling towards the drummer. Knife aloft, he lunges at Smith and stabs him between the shoulder blades.

The deed is done, police sirens fill the air and orange lights -- they're orange in America, blue over here -- flash on the amp tops.

"What shall we do with him?" asks a guitarist and the cry is unanimous. The audience, delirious with violence, are acting as judge and jury.

"Hang him" is the cry.

Alice is bound with rope, and the band do a quick change -- one is the masked executioner (hunch-backed, of course), another the cleric reading from the good book, and another the lone drummer beating out a solemn roll on the side drum hanging off his shoulder.

And while the kids yell their encouragement, Alice is forced upstairs towards the gallows while the masked executioner urges him along with a blazing torch. The noose is fitted around his neck and the din grows louder and louder.

A massive crash, accompanied by some mock thunder and lightning, signifies that the convicted Alice is no more. He dangles from the noose, apparently lifeless. Smoke pours out from beneath the gallows and the set has reached a horrific climax.

But there's more to come. The smoke continues to belch out into the darkness, engulfing the entire stage and most of the front rows including the row of police men whose torches flicker hopelessly through the mist.

And while all this is going on Alice is cut down (to be replaced by a skeleton), and dressed as a Presidential candidate. Three minutes later, when the smoke has cleared, the lights are brought up to reveal a new man, in white tail suit, cane and top hat, urging voters to place their cross next to his name.

Stupified by what has happened, the crowd are all out of their seats drunk with excitement which is further encouraged as Alice expertly flicks the cane around and distributes posters into the throng.

It was a superb piece of showmanship, and the bolt was driven even further home when Alice came back for an encore.

The opening bars of "School's Out" signalled his re-appearance. Saving the best known number until the end always pays dividends and on Saturday, coupled with a further distribution of even more posters -- some of which he chewed first -- it transformed the show into an orgy of idiot dancing. A great climax to a great show.

Alice is a Jekyll and Hyde personality. On stage the Hyde in him thrashes out violence at its most extreme, but off he's the passive Jekyll, quieter and more reserved than most rock personalities. He might feed his snake on rats, but that's the only gesture to make you shiver.

He firmly believes that seeing his violent act does not encourage fans to follow in his footsteps.

"I don't think it incites violence at all. It doesn't get me off watching someone else get violent, so why should it affect the kids?

"When I was using the doll to kill in the previous act none of the rest of the band was involved so we changed that to involve everybody.

The hanging scene, says Alice, could easily go wrong. Twice he escaped luckily, and once he was knocked out for about five minutes after hitting his head on the floor of the gallows. Piano wires are strapped around him to give the "dangling" effect, but after they've been used for awhile they stretch -- thus making the rope tighter around his neck.

His reason for playing Scotland was simple.

"We've already done this act in London, and don't intend to repeat ourselves.

"We were going to put out a Christmas single saying 'enjoy this Christmas because it might be your last' but we decided against it."

Alice is likely to be back in Britain in May or June of next year with a new set which will go on the road in the States first.

"By the time we get to doing the next act in England it'll be really sparkling."

Alice is still swinging - by the neck

Chris Charlesworth reports as Alice Cooper brings his violent rock to Glasgow - a city where violence is no stranger...

(Melody Maker,
Nov 1972)

Live: Alice Cooper

(Record Mirror,
Nov 1972)

The audience seemed to be paying homage, rather than enjoying the band and I've never seen so many fists thrust out in salute. Musically the band fell short on a number of counts, but nobody can deny the incredible effect the sheer energy and excitement their power play had.

The gig was the opening of Alice's European tour which Is the last chance we will have of seeing the Killer act. Most of the set was taken from the Killer album, with the exception of Eighteen, Elected, Gutter Cat Versus The Jets and School's Out, and it was strange to hear the audience singing along with the band, knowing each number word for word.

Those who have seen the act before said it was much tighter than when Alice brought it to Britain before and the band broke the set down into sections, playing several numbers in each section. The lapses between the chunks were consequently more apparent and at one time the crowd started slow handclapping -- purely from frustration.

The act really began to buzz when Alice brought out his snake and twirled it around his legs. The run in to the superbly executed hanging sequence at the end of the act came in the form of Gutter Cat, a number which shows what imagination the band have -- musically -- and I hope is a pointer to what they will attempt in the future. Alice fights with his band, and the choreography for the number enhances the visual effect.

Kids were actually screaming "Don't kill him" as Alice was led to the gallows which dominated one side of the stage and the screams could have been heard miles away as our hero dangled lifeless from the end of a rope.

But like all good fairy stories, there was a happy ending and out he ran with his white top hat and tail coat on to lay on Elected and School's Out for an encore. It was all a little too much to take in, what with enormous balloons racing round the auditorium, smoke filling the stage and posters being thrown out to the audience after Alice had caressed his body with them.

Musically there are better bands, hut nevertheless Alice Cooper generates excitement. Visually they are a superb band. It's fun rock. Love it till death.

They destroyed it -- stomped it into the ground, kicking it, stamping on it, jumping on it with both feet, until it was just another piece of the garbage on the stage. No treasuring love tokens from the fans in this group.

Impulse

I won't bore you with the details of diverted flights, local trains, and Glasgow in the rain, but the state I was in by the time I got to Green's Playhouse on Saturday, it had to be a pretty good gig to get me going.

We got there late because of all the transport problems, and outside the theatre there were a few very be-draggled kids being shouted at by a harsh voiced and extremely unpleasant police woman. I'm not a violent man, but I felt a sudden desire to kick her.

Controlling this rash impulse, I shot through a deserted foyer, through a room full of policemen sitting at empty tables, and up into a part of the theatre called "divans", which in English is the circle. Flo and Eddie had been and gone, I'm afraid, and the people were in full cry for Alice.

Exciting

It was beautiful, warm, and infectiously exciting inside the theatre, and I immediately understood why so many bands say audiences in Glasgow are among the best anywhere -- when you've got all that going on before you even get on stage, it must be hard to play badly, and easy to give out everything you feel.

Then the lights went down -- it's a cliche, but dimming lights in a packed theatre still give me a strange kind of thrill -- and the band took the stage, last-minute tuning, and then slowly building into the first number. Then came Alice, dancing into the spotlight to ear-splitting sereams of "Uh-layce"; you'd imagine a crowd chanting in any accent or even language would sound much the same, but the broad Glaswegian pronunciation of Alice was really marked.

I've seen Alice Cooper twice before -- the first time was the "Love It To Death" set at the Rainbow, and then the final performance of "Killer" at Wembley. Tonight it was "Killer" again, modified to exclude infanticide and replace it with a knife-fight, but Alice himself looked better than I've ever seen him. It's strange that with all this glitter and make-up around, the band don't strike you as strange at all -- in fact they mostly looked almost conventionally dressed -- but Alice's costume was masterly.

No tawdry, ripped tights this time, but gold glittering pants, a black leather lace-up top, kind of braces that strapped round his crotch for the cod-piece bit, and heavy, panda-eyed make-up streaking down to his jaw. Other times, his appearance created an effect; this time he looked great, the ultimate bi-sexual sex object, He stood there for a while, just letting everyone take it all in.

The gallows were shrouded in a black drape for the first half of the set, and the band rocked out, playing out the rock and roll star part of their performance. They do it well, rocking hard, and including "I'm Eighteen", which must rank as one of THE teenage rebellion songs.

Then Alice came on with a metal dustbin and tipped garbage all over the stage to set the scene for their adaptation of the West Side Story gang fight sequence. He pulled a knife and slouched around, singing and flicking the blade for a while, and then while tapes provided noise in the background, he took on the band in a hammy but nonetheless effectively staged fight -- people jumping off the drumkit, charging around the stage, collapsing on the ground; Alice staggering and biting on a capsule to make blood pour out the side of his mouth.

The audience cheered him on against impossible odds, gasping at every thrust, responding in a way that was half Victorian melodrama -- hissing the villain and cheering the hero -- but a little more for real. And tonight they were cheering for the villain, for Alice against the odds. So when he'd slain the other four, and they were asked to take up the chant "Hang Him". "Hang him", they didn't... not where I was in the audience anyway.

The execution took on a kind of crucifixion atmosphere; it wasn't a baby-murderer they were hanging this time, it was their Alice. There was very little cheering or shouting at all as they dragged him to the gallows, and the thunder and lightning effects as he dropped through the trap seemed like a scene from one of those giant scale Hollywood bible movies. I don't know what reaction I expected from the audience -- cheers or screams or what -- but the feeling of really heavy tension in the darkness was very impressive.

And then the lights came up on the stage, the band swung into "Elected", and Alice came dancing back, resurrected in white top-hat and tails. All through the set there'd been shouts of "Nixon out -- elect Alice", and I can't help feeling some of those people would vote for Alice if they got the chance.

There was enough energy left for an encore, and anyway they hadn't done "School's Out" yet, so back they came, chanting for release and playing the poster game. Every time Alice threw a poster out, there'd he a writhing scrum about 20 feet radius round where it landed. And so it was over -- there was very little shouting for a second encore and you felt that everyone had put so much into that night, that there really wasn't any desire left. You don't often feel that after a concert in London.

Return of the bi-sexual sex object

Alice Cooper, Glasgow. Report by Steve Peacock

(Sounds,
Nov 1972)

Broken ribs and fake blood

SPECIAL REVIEW OF THE ALICE COOPER CONCERT BY NICK KENT

(New Musical Express,
Nov 1972)

The real meat of the flick hung in the presence of three juvenile-delinquent acne-ravaged sub-literate hoods who hung around various ghettoes, casually cutting up old women, young virgins and almost anyone else who caught their fancy with impressive-looking switch-blade knives.

Jeezus, they looked mean! One of them wore shades and motorcycle jacket, another had a Batman cape and looked like Fabian and the third was ultra-repulsive, complete with schizoid eyes and punk debauched features. The thing is, they were all probably clean-living, blue-eyed boy student actors picked for the role but they looked the part. They looked far more authentic than any of the greased-up dog princes portrayed in "The Blackboard Jungle", or James Dean's "Rebel Without A Cause" or Brando's "The Wild Ones". And they looked more authentic than Alice Cooper.

By now, you should know that the Coopers have dropped their AC-DC pretensions and are now well into good ole ultra-violence. Sure, they come on in satin and gold lame but that's soon dispensed with in favour of more raunchy pseudogutter kid threads.

Cooper walks on stage at Green's Playhouse in Glasgow holding a bottle of booze and panting sneers to the audience. The rest of the band are content to strut around the stage in the established macho postures while bassist Dennis Dunaway occasionally tries to imitate the motions of a buffalo on amphetamine.

The first thing you notice is that Cooper is clumsy. He's carrying booze but he's not drunk -- he's staggering a little and the stage is much too small. The numbers are all predictable -- they kick-off with "Public Animal No.9", and then it's "Be My Lover" and "Under My Wheels".

The band are tight, musically adequate with the two-guitar set-up keeping safely to those predictable but nonetheless welcome power chords. Then it's the snake routine during "Return of the Spiders". "Yvonne" curls around Alice's crutch just like it did at Wembley and the Rainbow. (It's at this point that one vaguely wishes that Cooper would come out from behind his props and exert some real charisma). But no -- a musical interval of 'Halo of Flies" follows with a bass-and-drums battle, identical to that featured on the "Killer" album.

After this comes the real show. Cooper appears with a dust-bin full of rubbish, which he immediately tips over the stage. Now that would have been great if the band had just found some dustbin in the street and brought it in, rubbish and all but no! The trash was just pieces of cardboard and in fact, it wasn't even a real dustbin. If there is to be this reliance on props, surely couldn't some measure of spontaneity be provided as well. Why didn't Cooper throw the garbage directly at the audience? (Now that would have been real classy).

The band play "Gutter Cat vs. The Jets" - musically they are never anything less than proficient and usually alwavs exciting - while Cooper plays with a switch-blade knife. The music ends and the band squat in menacing postures around their equipment. A fight follows: guitarist Buxton is cut and there's a big knife-fight between Cooper and drummer Neal Smith. It's good, and looks almost authentic of course, Cooper kills Smith and then it's straight into the "Killer" hanging sequence which you must know all about.

Nothing has changed there at all and one still asks oneself how Cooper doesn't break his neck when the platform drops away. The lights go out and there is much fumbling around onstage while the sound system puts over "blasted heath" sound effects.

Then the band burst out with "Elected", which doesn't have the pomp and majesty of the recorded version.

Cooper performs it well -- he is always good but seldom great as an actor/performer and this is what leaves me, for one, dissatisfied. Alice Cooper are a fine rock 'n' roll band who make great albums but, live, they leave something to be desired. Not in relation to the breadth of their stage vision but in their latently hampered ability to carry the ideas off with an overpowering degree of force and, more important, spontaneity.

Cooper himself just doesn't possess the magnetism of a Jagger and certainly not a Presley. Even someone like Jim Morrison had more of a stage-mystique than Alice has and he didn't have stage props.

I've purposely ignored to talk about the audience up until now, because in many ways they were the real show. From the first moment they were on the chairs - they seemed to be all young kids under 20 - putting out as much energy as the band, but with a difference.

For a start, these Glaswegian brats know more about street fighting than the five middle-class bored American rich-kids collectively known as Alice Cooper ever will.

While Cooper was smearing fake blood on his face, kids with broken ribs were being dragged out of the hall, Cooper's ultra-violence chic, contrasted with the real violence going on amongst the brats, was great rock 'n' roll irony, and the whole scene was beautifully capped during the knife-fight and hanging scenes, when masses of self-conscious peace-signs were thrown in the air.

This repartee between the band and the audience culminated in the finest moments of the concert, during the ready-made teenage anthem "Scbool's Out" when Cooper shouted out "Y'know, you're all crazier than we are - I think that's why I like you." It probably wasn't a spontaneous comment but it sounded spontaneous and that's really all that mattered.

Ultimately, an Alice Cooper gig should not be judged simply by examining certain aspects at a time. I enjoyed myself, the audience enjoyed itself and the Coopers seemed to enjoy themselves - it was great entertainment even if one is beginning to, perhaps, demand more from Cooper than he is capable of.

After the show, it was party-time. The main suite of the Central Hotel, Glasgow, was covered with "Alice Cooper in '72" balloons, the waitresses, all middle-aged, wore "Alice Cooper-Elected" straw hats and there were the usual number of jollities in the room.

Cooper minus make-up, plus unshaven features, dirty neck, tee-shirt, slight beer-gut and broken jean-zipper was the perfect gentleman, signing autographs constantly to any idlot who asked for one.

Middle-aged ladies appeared from nowhere to have their napkins signed by the "star" (no one actually knew who he was but he was the reason that they were being kept awake by hordes of screaming dervish-like kids making their presence felt down in the street, so he must be someone).

Glenn Buxton was getting outrageously drunk and, at a suitable point in the evening had a cake-fight with Cooper's road manager (it was Buxton's birthday, y'see). Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman did a great constant comedy routine even though they were each sitting on different tables and a good time was had by all.

And now a few garbled mumblings from our sponsors:
Alice Cooper to pre-pubescent autograph hunter: "What's your name?"
Pre-pubescent cutie with coy abandon and Glaswegian accent: "Christine".
Alice: "I had a girfriend called Christine once. (Pause). She's dead now."