Alice Cooper turns seventy next year. By any reasonable standard, he has earned the right to coast on reputation alone. The songs are classics, the character is iconic and generations of rock fans would happily pay to see a greatest-hits revue assembled around the familiar guillotine, snakes and horror-movie theatrics.
That is not how Alice Cooper operates.
Four months after the release of Paranormal, he arrives in London with a new production, a refreshed setlist and a clear determination to make this tour feel like more than a routine victory lap. The motivation is unsurprising. Vincent Furnier may be one of rock's elder statesmen, but Alice Cooper remains, first and foremost, a showman. Every night the transformation still occurs. The mild-mannered golfer disappears and the monster takes his place.
The opening acts receive a mixed reception. The Tubes prove an inspired choice, their combination of sharp songs and theatrical absurdity fitting naturally into the evening's broader aesthetic. The Mission fare considerably less well. By the time their set ends, the audience's attention has already shifted toward the main attraction.
The moment the curtain drops and "Brutal Planet" erupts from the stage, everything else becomes irrelevant.
For the next ninety minutes, Cooper delivers one of the strongest productions of his career. The set moves with remarkable efficiency, balancing horror, comedy, hard rock and vaudeville without ever lingering too long on any one idea. Every scene serves a purpose. Every song advances the narrative. There is not a wasted moment anywhere in the production.
Musically, the show is equally impressive. Cooper's voice remains remarkably powerful, while his band handles the material with confidence and precision. The setlist strikes an ideal balance between the unavoidable classics and enough deeper cuts to reward longtime followers. The newer Paranormal material integrates seamlessly into a catalogue that now spans more than five decades.
Then comes the evening's trump card.
Following Cooper's customary execution, the stage falls dark before the surviving members of the original Alice Cooper Band emerge for a brief but unforgettable reunion. Dennis Dunaway, Neal Smith and Michael Bruce helped create some of the most influential hard rock ever recorded, and hearing them perform "I'm Eighteen" alongside Cooper generates one of the night's loudest reactions.
The chemistry is immediate. No disrespect to the many outstanding musicians who have passed through Cooper's various lineups over the years, but this group possesses a particular identity that cannot be replicated. Dunaway's inventive bass playing and Smith's distinctive drumming remain among the most underrated ingredients in the original band's sound.
The evening reaches its climax when both generations share the stage for a triumphant rendition of "School's Out." It is a fitting conclusion to a concert built on the idea that rock and roll should be entertaining, excessive and a little dangerous.
Eventually the lights come up, the smoke clears and the audience drifts back into the London night.
Alice Cooper is gone.
Somewhere nearby, Vincent Furnier is probably already thinking about tomorrow's show.
The monster will return soon enough.
