Alice Cooper “Billion Dollar Babies”

I believe this is my original copy I got when it came out in 1973, and I can almost exactly remember my minor confusion at how the opening of the first song, “Hello Hooray,” sounds like the tape’s dragging—and then the song itself sounds lethargic, and are the lyrics ironic? It’s so wholesome and positive. I never knew until now that Judy Collins recorded it earlier. (It’s quite nice.) Obviously, Alice Cooper liked it—they released it as a single—it’s catchy. Now, it seems like a brilliant way to start a record that gets darker and more disturbing as it goes along—did they purposely design it as a “Descent Into Hell?” It works! The “disturbing” starts with the next song, lyrically, though the music is as catchy pop-rock as you can get. Same with the ironic triumphant strains of “Elected”—as if anyone could ever imagine a dark side of American politics! The title song, then, is classic Halloween gothic with guest singer, Donovan!—who is excellent—only, say, Christopher Lee could have topped that. But the Side I closer easily slips overboard—competing with “Savoy Truffle,” of course, for my favorite song about dentistry—“Unfinished Sweet” uses the James Bond theme to imply that the Alice Cooper Band could be counted on for a future 007 title song (which they ultimately got screwed out of, I think, or—I don’t know what the story was with “Golden Gun”). Anyway, this one is about how Halloween candy leads to fear and pain in the dentist chair—complete with an in-tune dentist drill. The way they conflate, with music and sound-effects, a tooth being pulled with an orgasm didn’t escape me when I was 13, and makes me more than a little queasy even now!

One of my favorite album covers, it’s a giant, green, snakeskin wallet, front and back, that opens. There’s a gold Alice Cooper coin, also front and back, ringed with diamonds. Some used copies probably are marred by the diamonds having been desperately cut out, in bad times. It’s opens up and inside a cardboard diamond-studded money clip holds a huge (22 inch x 11 inch!) ONE BILLION DOLLAR BILL—that’s close enough to a legitimate Federal Reserve Note to potentially be a problem—they even got the colors right. Save for, of course, its humungous size and that the Alice Cooper Band is where the President’s pic would be. And the public monument on the reverse size is a hideous military missile, being worshiped by rich, white people. I don’t know what kind of missile—whether it’s conventual, nuclear, doomsday, or fictional, but there are a few numbers inscribed on it—either for accuracy, or for conspiracy nuts to geek out on. Interesting details abound on this artwork, tiny figures leaping from windows, criminals, daggers, and nude women, complete with pubic hair! Somehow the insert with the band glamour shots and concert pics is missing (I mean, I have been lugging this around for 53 years), but my record sleeve is still intact (lyrics on one side) and that includes a full size, full color posed portrait of what may be the best band photo of all time. The five longhairs are wearing all white (with plenty of jewelry and makeup) and are sitting in what looks like the hidden room of the Hearst mansion (birdcage and brass bed in the background) among piles and stacks of actual money (everything from fives to Benjamins) and they’re also cradling fluffy white bunnies and a nearly (part of a torn 100 covers the crotch area) naked baby. I think these are live (though sedate) rabbits, and that baby looks awfully real, itself, with Alice Cooper eye-makeup, held gently by the man for the Olan Mills from Hell photographer. How did they get away with this in 1973, much less any year?

I have found myself listening to a lot less “rock” music, as time goes by, and when I do, enjoying it less. For whatever reason. So I thought of a test, while listening to this record—play it at a much lower volume than you’d usually maintain for a rock record, and see if it holds up, or crumbles pathetically. So… in the case of this one, it holds up—weirdly almost sounds better than at an appropriate volume. Then it occurs to me—it could be the “nostalgia factor” that’s elevating it. So far, I don’t have a test that might strip away the veneer of nostalgia the way reducing volume exposes the “power” of rock. But then, I don’t suspect and despise nostalgia the way some people do. I more or less put it in the same category as alcohol, youth, beauty, sex, opiates, etc.—things that I respect more than love, but don’t disregard. Anyway, if your AC/DC records sound lovely to you at a volume that’s less than ear-bleeding, good for you and them. I’m listening to this one, as an experiment, at a volume fit for trying to conceal it from your mom, in the next room… and it sounds great!

Yeah, we ripped off that guitar riff that starts Side II in our 1973-era garage band (I mean, no one would know, we didn’t exactly nail it). “No More Mr. Nice Guy”—another impossibly catchy one—and no one believes it—everyone knew, even back then, that it was all an act, and Vincent really was a nice guy. We ripped off, musically (let’s call it “influenced”) the next song, too, “Generation Landslide”—but couldn’t touch the lyrics, which are pretty excellent by all accounts. The dueling harmonicas are possibly the most disturbing thing up to this point. (What’s worse than harmonica? Two harmonicas.) “Sick Things” does sound like Regan MacNeil in the house! If anyone could cross cannibalism and Dr. Seuss, it’s Alice Cooper, and here it is! We kind of get a break, then, with “Mary Ann,” which would be a throwaway romantic show-tune interlude (not withstanding the line “I thought you were my man”), but in context (positioning on the album), it’s just as disturbing as anything. The dramatic, beautiful-in-its-own-way finale, “I Love the Dead,” is the ultimate necrophilia sing-a-long, complete with about 15 fake endings, more 007 winks, and even more fake (or, who knows!) orgasms. Gotta go, someone’s knocking on the door, wondering what’s going on in here.

10.9.26