Alice Cooper The Revenge Of The Alice Cooper Review
Alice Cooper
The Revenge Of Alice Cooper
ear Music
2025
Writing about Alice Cooper is like trying to bottle lightning from a haunted carnival, every time you think you’ve got it contained, it slips through your fingers, laughing. It’s not that he’s unloved, but Cooper’s story is a kaleidoscope of faces, fangs, and flashbulbs. Blink and you’ll miss an era. And then there’s the endless debate: the solo artist versus the original band. To me, they’re the same creature, stitched together in eyeliner and attitude. Others may split hairs; I don’t have the headspace for that.
Now, after half a century of silence, the original Alice Cooper band has clawed its way back from the dead, intact save for Glen Buxton, who left this world in ’97 but still haunts the record in spectral form. The album’s title, “The Revenge of Alice Cooper”, feels less like a marketing move and more like a prophecy fulfilled.
The shock is they haven’t aged a day musically. It’s as if the coffin lid was never closed. The riffs, the Horror, the sly grin, it’s all here, carrying the same dangerous weight as “Billion Dollar Babies” and “Killer”. Yes, the decades have changed our tools, our ears, our bones, but the pulse is the same. They still wrap Horror and glamour together like barbed wire around a champagne glass. And let’s not kid ourselves, early -’70s Cooper was Glam as hell. If you disagree, you’re rewriting history. Just ask the glittering icons of the ’80s who wore his influence like a badge.
There’s too much here to pick apart clinically, so I won’t. I’ll just tell you this, if “Dead Babies,” “Under My Wheels,” or “I’m Eighteen” ever made your pulse race, this belongs in your collection. Listening isn’t optional; it’s a Rock ’N’ Roll rite of passage.
Standouts, too many to count. “Black Mamba” slinks and strikes, “One Night Stand” swaggers in like rhinestones, “Kill the Flies” festers with glee, “What Happened to You” stings like nostalgia’s hangover, and “See You on the Other Side” closes the curtain with a wink from the grave. There isn’t a single dud here, not a one. Cooper’s voice is Razor-sharp. The band is as deadly as they were in their prime.
So don’t let this pass you by. Grab the vinyl, pour yourself a whiskey, drop the needle, and let the old magic, the kind that smells like stage fog, sweat, and eyeliner, seep back into your veins.