Clad in leather from head to toe, Alice Cooper – the godfather of grunge, ghoul and heavy metal – looked more like the executioner than the golf-playing Hollywood hack he has become.

Punching through the cobwebbed mildew of seventies Goth-rock, Alice Cooper cracked the paint off Roseland's walls in a glittery stampede of metallic riffs and demonic gestures. He took the music forward, backward, sideways and shredded it like a discarded aluminum can. With the posture of a king at his heavy-metal throne, Cooper addressed his subjects on what real hardcore is about. And it's not about yelling four-letter words with neck muscles and eyeballs a poppin' into the microphone at every chorus, boys and ghouls! It's about crunchy guitars, phat beats, twisted lyrics and an imaginative sense of the macabre.

In a Halloween performance that was both powerfully haunting and yet somehow sincere, Cooper demonstrated his authority on the subject. He whipped out the hits with cane in hand, mocking death and destruction with a pouty sneer and a devil-made-me-do-it gaze. Rock theater at its best, equally parts vaudeville and amusement-park gore, Cooper banked on the notion that everyone likes getting scared shitless – at least on Halloween.

Alice Cooper at Roseland, 10/31/00 Photo by Glenn Emerstone © 2000 NY Rock

Reminiscent of a cheap B-grade horror flick, Cooper's performance was short on substance, but long on props with enough fog, trap doors, and ramps to keep even the most jaded creature-freak amused. The stage looked like the encrusted and battered remnants of a long-forgotten gravesite with skeletons strewn about.

During "The Battle of Dwight Fry," Cooper was beheaded by guillotine. During "No More Mister Nice Guy," he paraded around like a dapper Fred Astaire, doing the two-step in white tux, and then discarded the outfit for a bad-boy black-leather number complete with whips and chains, but no boa.

The hits flowed like blood from a cut to the jugular and included such classics as "School's Out," "Only Women Bleed," and "Billion Dollar Babies." The latter number morphed into The Who's "My Generation" and the timely "Elected." All the while, Cooper's impressive backup band remained punchy and distorted with a dredlocked Ryan Roxie leading the fiery assault of riffs and bombast.

Wearing a tee shirt with the words emblazoned on front, BRITNEY WANTS ME, and on the back, DEAD, Cooper took on a gang of masked presidential contenders for the grand finale, knocking them silly and emerging victorious, shouting his platform, "I don't give a damn about nothing!" Alice for prez anyone?

November 2000

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