Normally, an evening with Alice Cooper comes with a reasonable chance of somebody losing their head. Tonight, Glasgow’s Pavilion Theatre hosted something altogether more civilised, with Alice, Billy Sloan and a conversation.
Presumably, getting a guillotine through the stage door was more trouble than it was worth.
The occasion was Cooper’s Devil on My Shoulder book tour, giving fans an opportunity to hear from the man whose career has provided enough material to keep several therapists in holiday homes. With Sloan asking the questions, the instruments could take the evening off. Alice had plenty to say.
There’s something wonderfully funny about the supposed corrupter of civilisation becoming the sort of person you’d happily spend an evening listening to over a cuppa.
Parents once worried about what Alice Cooper might do to their children. These days, those children probably worry about whether they’ve left enough time to get the last train home.
His entrance earned a standing ovation before the conversation had properly begun. A generous welcome, certainly, although after decades of being executed for our entertainment, the man has probably earned the right to arrive at work to some applause.
The appeal of this format is obvious: Cooper’s history is stuffed with extraordinary people and deeply improbable situations. But having a good story and knowing how to tell it are different skills. Alice understands timing, delivery and the value of letting an absurd detail do the work. You don’t spend that long creating theatrical mayhem without learning a thing or two about keeping an audience interested.
The familiar chicken incident received another airing, alongside recollections of the early band and the creation of “School’s Out”. That particular poultry tale has followed him around for decades; somewhere, surely, a chicken’s descendants are still waiting for their royalties. The evening also fell on the anniversary of original guitarist Glen Buxton’s death, lending the band’s history an added poignancy.
Beyond the famous stories, there was heavier ground. Cooper discussed his faith and his battles with alcohol and cocaine, subjects that give the autobiography’s title considerably more weight than a handy bit of spooky branding and witty anecdotes. The character might have been built to survive almost anything thrown at him onstage; the person playing him had rather more at stake.
Those passages matter because a career like this can easily disappear beneath its own mythology. The outrageous photographs and legendary exploits are entertaining, but addiction isn’t made less destructive by having a platinum record hanging on the wall.
Naturally, even a book reading allowed room for a little Cooper theatre. At the lectern, Alice summoned “Dorchester”, with a hunchbacked assistant appearing to turn the pages. Most authors manage with a bookmark. Alice apparently requires staff from a particularly disreputable castle.
Sheryl Cooper’s appearance brought another personal dimension to proceedings. After so much discussion of the public figure, seeing his wife join him offered a reminder of the enduring relationship running through that extraordinary life. It also supplied the evening with something rock mythology tends to overlook: affection, companionship and the business of keeping a marriage together.
A spoken-word evening asks something different of both performer and audience. There’s no enormous chorus to rescue a wandering moment, and no guitar solo while the frontman catches his breath. Everything rests on the conversation. For Cooper, whose work has always involved character, humour and storytelling, that’s fertile territory.
The great pleasure of Devil on My Shoulder is the opportunity to consider the person responsible for all that glorious nonsense. Behind the sinister reputation sits a performer with an instinct for entertainment that extends well beyond the songs.
School may have been out for decades, but Alice still had Glasgow’s attention.
And for once, he could finish a shift with his head attached!
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