Getting a phone call from Alice Cooper is an odd experience, even when you're expecting it. He called me last night, right on time, for our scheduled interview.
"Hi," Alice Cooper said. "How are you?"
"Fine," I said. "And you?
"Great thanks!" Alice Cooper said.
And on it went, cordial and chummy and breezy, which was a tad surreal, considering Alice Cooper is the reigning patriarch of shock-rock. It's not like I expected him to recite demonic incantations over the phone or anything. I've heard interviews with him before, and he has always come across as an intelligent chap with a good head on his shoulders (except after his onstage guillotine beheadings, of which he has endured thousands). I guess I just didn't expect him to be so gosh-darn nice. His grammar was impeccable, his diction was crisp and he seemed genuinely engaged in the conversation.
You would think that by now -- after 40 years in showbiz -- he'd get tired of doing media interviews, talking about his stage antics, his alter-ego, the infamous chicken incident, and so on. Nope! He just chatted away, soliloquizing on this and that for 20 minutes or so. For a guy who is cited as the primary influence on a generation of shock-rockers -- from Ozzy Osbourne to Marilyn Manson to Gwar -- he's almost absurdly un-shocking.
Of course, he'll turn on the shock, and the schtick, when he plays Centre in the Square on Oct. 14 (stay tuned to The Record for the full story). He insists his current show is the most theatrical one he's ever done, which is saying something. "It'll be lots of fun," he said in his gee-whiz tone.
Then his manager signalled for him to quit yakking on the phone, so Alice Cooper bade me farewell. "Thanks a lot," Alice Cooper said. "Take care!"
Weird.