thursday, february 15, 1979
daily nebraskan
page 7
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Alice is dry, but dangerous in Omaha concert
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Alice Cooper walked into the press conference looking
quaintly fascist. From the black leather jacket draped
with medals covering a motorcycle shirt, to the tight,
faded blue jeans that stopped just short of the pointed
leather boots, his mere appearance hopes to squelch all ru
mors that he has mellowed.
His face is gaunt, but his eyes are clear. His hair has just
been done by a blender.
"Can I have a coke with ice?" he asks someone. "No,
wait . Do you have any blood?"
He enjoys the role; the kind of guy nobody would
let his daughter marry.
Cooper's Tuesday night stop in Omaha was the second
on his 1 7 city midwest tour. His latest stage extravaganza
entitled "Madhouse Rock" is based on Coopers new al
bum Fnm the Inside and chronicles his recent success in
conquering the bottle.
Dying
"I was drinking two quarts of whiskey a day. . .literal
ly." he pointed out. "I felt myself dying. I had never been
out of control and then I suddenly had no reference
point. Near death was really the last straw."
Believing that his cool outward appearance had kept
people from realizing he was near insanity, Alice commit
ted himself to a alcoholic treatment institution.
"The psychiatrists had a field day," he laughed. "It was
tragic at the time, but it was the best thing that happened
to me. Before, performing was a task, now I'm enjoying it
because I just feel so much better."
Cooper, who has established himself as being some
where between the P.T. Barnum and Salvador Dali of
rock, was obviously attracted to the ordeal's theatrical pos
sibilities. Loony bin
"Pluck a guy from Beverly Hills, take him 3,000 miles
and drop him in a loony bin. You just can't resist writing
a show about that," he rationalized.
The result was another mammoth undertaking of props
and choregraphy. "Madhouse Rock" incorporates
110,000 pounds of props, sound and lighting equipment,
including a 40 feet by 40 feet breakaway movie screen, a
rotating doctor's table, electric chair, Rolls Royce, giant
needle and syringe, and of course, a boa constrictor.
Other carefully performed visual effects include danc
ing poodles, spiders, nuns, and whiskey, tequilla, and
Southern Comfort bottles. The $1 million price tag of the
show reflects Cooper's repeated insistence that visualiza
tion does nothing but add validity to the music. He be
leives this to the point that he will cheat in his songwrit
ing by warping a satisfying lyric to enable more theatrics
on stage.
Audience control
"I like manipulating the audience," he admits. "I think
it's great, and I don't think they (the audience) mind, be
cause that's what a showman is supposed to do. This aud
ience will plug into my brain for awhile and see what's go
ing on."
Indeed, he still is the Alice Cooper that first introduced
the multi-media stage show to the thrilled youth and hor
rified parents of the early seventies.
The claims of recent sell-out surround a successful string
of subdued love songs. The situation was brought about
by Cooper's introspective nature during his low points of
alcoholism, and his lack of control in choosing his albums'
single releases.
There seemingly is a new strength in the emaciated rock
star. As excited as he is about his new, sober life, the
focus of his intensity is on a return to untamed rock.
Minister's son
A self-avowed schizophrenic, he speaks of Alice in the
third person, claiming that 15 minutes before showtime
the character takes over the body of his true identity, Vin
cent Furnier, the son of a Detroit minister. But nobody
calls him Vince.
"I thought that Alice was going to get real soft after
the alcohol thing, and it just didn't happen," viewed his
alter ego. "He got even more menacing to me. I don't even
trust him on stage anymore."
"Alice is now more powerful without it (liquor). Now
he's fast and hard." explained Cooper. "We're totally into
rock and roll, the next album is going to be just absolutely
blast rock and roll. I want to do the highest energy album
ever."
Though some believe it will be hard for Cooper to
regain the public hype and musical standard of his Billion
Dollar Babies days, sellouts for his concerts are virtually
ensured.
Anxious crowd
True to form, Omaha's Civic Auditorium was packed,
the younger than average crowd was anxious, unsure of
what to expect, and incited by the familiar strains of "I'm
Eighteen" and "School's Out" both of which still provide
a fitting anthem for this new, restless generation of Alice
Cooper fans.
"Ego and competition are 75 percent of what drives
me," said Cooper. "Not the kind of ego that's obnoxious,
though-real ego-the kind that I really care about blast
ing the audience away. The other part is competition. I
really want to blow a lot of people off the stage."
Someone asks, who? Alice says "guess" and blows a
kiss intended to define the other purveyors of loud stage
theatrics. The point is understood.
To many, he still stands as the epitome of decadence in
America, a lable he apparently has no intention of chang
ing. He smiles knowlingly and crawls back into his night
marish character.
"Alice is a household work," he grins menacingly.
"Parents are still scared to death of me."
v
Review by Casey McCabe
Photographs by Bob Pearson
