The Department of Youth

When, in the song 'Department of Youth', 61 year old Alice Cooper asked "Who has the power?" and 44 and 46 year old Tom and I pumped our fists and screamed, "WE DO!" the irony was probably not lost on anyone. Discussing it in the car on the way home, though, Tom and I agreed that if Alice still felt qualified to head up that particular department, we might indeed still have a little power after all.

It was the same sort of grin I get every time Roger Daltry sings "Hope I die before I get old." Glad he didn't. My g-g-g-g-generation indeed.

My generation was out in full force at the Alice concert Saturday night and so was yours. I feel confident typing that, because no matter what your generation is, it was represented. I had told you some months ago about going to the MSI concert with the girls and how our family held down both ends of the age spectrum. Not so at Alice. There were folks younger than our girls and folks older than us and everything in between. Grandparents were there with their grandchildren. The show my mother deemed far too inappropriate for me when I was fourteen has now been deemed, apparently, quite family friendly. There was a little girl right in front of me who appeared to be about seven or eight. At one point she got tired and curled up in her seat to rest. The proximity of the chairs led to her little head resting right on my knee. I don't think she was aware of that, but I sure was. And I thought it was very sweet.

Blue Oyster Cult was a fine choice for an opening act. Their band was tight. Their bass player was beyond tight. Who's playing bass for BOC these days, you ask? Well, only Rudy Sarzo, that's who. Rudy has played with Quiet Riot, Whitesnake and the venerable Ozzy Osbourne. He owns the stage like the rock star that he is. For those of you who enjoy swimming in the shallow end of the pool, he has the sort of wiry muscular build I usually (rightly or wrongly) associate with drummers. He's not what you might want to call a bad looking fellow... For those of you with more tender hearts, there was an ASL interpreter stationed off to the right side of the stage interpreting the concert. At one point Mr. Sarzo made his way over to that side of the stage and signed something directly to the folks with hearing impairments. I don't sign, so I don't know what he said, but I thought it was a sweet - um - gesture. For those of you who would rather judge a musician by his musicianship rather than his looks, sweetness, or stage presence - well, you would have been the least disappointed of all. He kicked. Ass. As the wife of a bass player and the mother of another, I tend to appreciate the bass solo more than some, but I think even those who use it as an excuse to head for the restroom would've enjoyed this. It was pretty amazing.

(a side note to the small handful of my college buddies who read this blog: When they played 'Godzilla', I tried very hard to keep my feet from touching the floor. I did. But the seats were small and my ass is large and it just didn't work out. But I did try. There was intent. And you were all remembered fondly. So that has to count for something. History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of men...)

Alice was everything I needed him to be, from his opening number ('School's Out') to his last encore (um, 'School's Out'. But with a costume change and different props - it really worked in a full circle sort of way). There was no between song banter, it was just song, song, song. When he needed to take a little break, the band played (they were pretty kickass in their own right! No divas in Alice's band, though - he OWNS that show!) All of the showmanship and theatrics were there. It was just the show I'd expected to see thirty-odd years ago. There were crazy costume changes and macabre props and almost non-stop camp.

This tour has been dubbed the 'Theater of Death' tour, with the subtitle "they keep killing him, but he keeps coming back". Alice himself was killed by guillotine, hangmans noose, poison hypodermic and iron maiden (excellent! execute him - bogus!). 'Cold Ethel' was thrown around the stage in a most cavalier fashion. 'Billion Dollar Babies' were presented and promptly beheaded (causing my children to giggle, "Memaw was right! He kills babies!"). And can I just say, that it is my sincere wish that if I ever need to be confined to a straight jacket, I would like for it to be purple and embellished and contain a hole so my hand can still hold the mike. Ya'll will see to that, right?

A personal highlight was singing 'No More Mr. Nice Guy' to Liv and having her sing it right back to me, despite the fact that she knew few if any of the actual words. It was a gist thing. It so totally rocked. My girls are total Alice fans. 'Welcome to My Nightmare'.

Tom and I agreed that we were left wanting for nothing. We had been totally entertained. If Mick still can't get no satisfaction, maybe he ought to check out an Alice show. Just sayin'.