Stephin Merritt
As part of the 25th Annual Chicago Humanities Festival, out musician Stephin Merritt of The Magnetic Fields made two rare appearances.
Here to promote his debut book of poetry, One Hundred and One Two Letter Words ( W.W. Norton Publishing ), Merritt participated in a reading and live onstage interview with WNPR's Peter Sagal at Francis W. Parker School Nov. 7.
On Nov. 8, Merritt performed a rare solo concert at The Old Town School of Folk Music which served as a showcase for his deprecating and dry wit. "I will be performing 26 songs in alphabetical order," he said at the start, and then kicked the show off with "Andrew In Drag." That he could not get through the song with a straight face was an indication of where the evening was headed. The show was packed with songs from every part of his career, and included "One Hundred Thousand Fireflies," "Zombie Boy," The Ugly Little Duck," "Love is like a Bottle of Gin" and "Reno Dakota." The sold-out house listened intently throughout the show ( Merritt accompanied himself only on ukulele ) and after each song exploded in rapturous applause.
After the performance, Merritt signed more copies of his book and chatted at length with his fans. One married couple, John and Buck, came in from Kansas City, Missouri, to catch the show. As longtime fans, the two became engaged publicly while attending a Magnetic Fields show two years ago.
The Chicago Humanities Festival is designed to draw international attention to the "riches of the world's culture and [its] contribution to the humanities." This year's event also included chef and restaurateur Marcus Samuelson, Oscar-winning actress Anjelica Huston, legendary scribe Anne Rice, high-wire artist Philippe Petit and best-selling, award-winning author and cultural icon Patti Smith.
Boneshaker; Alice Cooper
On Oct. 31, Redmoon Theater presented its annual All Hallows Eve celebration ( traditionally known as "Boneshaker" ) in its expansive Pilsen space at 2120 S. Jefferson Ave. This fifth edition of the fundraiser was again designed to usher in the winter months while setting the stage to close the year with a bang. In the cozy confines of the theater's huge space this "spectacle" had only a passing resemblance to the 2013 incarnation and was actually far more intimate and personal.
This time, there were a cartoon chamber, a "celestial swing," three DJs providing non-stop dance music, a "UFO carousel," fire-breathers, a "make your own movie" installation, winsome ghouls who served non-stop snacks and beer, a mescal tasting saloon, a "spooky spa" ( featuring massages, palm readings and airbrush tattoos ) and the "The Devil's Confessional." Wow Bao, Home Run Inn Pizza, Laguintas, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Skinny Pop and Eli's Cheesecake provided food and drinks.
Half the show was provided by the near-capacity crowd with an assortment of costumes that went from the witty ( Patrick Bateman from American Psycho and Peter Parker from Spider-Man ) to the disturbing ( Pinhead from Hellraiser ) to the saucy ( an Egyptian king and his queen dripping in gold paint ).
After a 45-ear career and 26 albums, the curious case of Alice Cooper as an entertainer is a lesson in the power of celebrity and irony. That Cooper ( a.k.a. Vincent Furnier ) and his high school crew ( Neil Smith, Dennis Dunaway, Glen Buxton and Michael Bruce ) broke out of Flint, Michigan, to storm radio and headlines as advocates of perversion, hooliganism and murder as "good clean fun," while challenging David Bowie and Elton John as glam-rock kings of the 1970s, would have been enough.
John still plays in packed stadiums and Bowie is ensconced in the MCA, while Cooper has not only endured but become the ultimate antihero. It's no wonder that rockers as diverse as Axl Rose, Marilyn Manson, Kid Rock, Chris Piss ( of queer rockers Three Dollar Bill ) or Michael Sunnycide of The Peekaboos cite him as an inspiration.
With all the guillotines, snakes, necrophilia and dismembered baby dolls, it's clear now that the original Cooper Group's pointed messages were intentionally obscured. That the controversial "Dead Babies" was really about child neglect, the album School's Out was a send-up of high school life, or that "Elected" was a searing comment on who voters put in office ( that number-one hit dropped at the dawn of Watergate ) strongly implied that these guys were taking satire and rock theater to new levels of absurdity. Those songs, among many, may have been jokes in 1973; howver, in 2014 they are downright disturbing. With recent headlines about infants who were either starved or smothered to death, or monthly reports of school shootings, "Dead Babies" and School's Out aren't all that funny. In the wake of two terms of George W. Bush and the likes of Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachman on the ballot, "Elected" now sounds like a warning.
Cooper never meant any of it to be taken seriously ( he changed his name legally in the mid-1970s ), and that is the second irony. To him, getting his head chopped off or clobbering a chorus line of dancing teeth with an oversized toothbrush was just entertainment. The conservative right didn't think so but Warner Brothers ( his label at the time ) and the record buying public disagreed.
Truth be told, the music has done more then stand the test of time: The four hit albums by the original band ( Love It to Death, Killer, School's Out, and Billion Dollar Babies, from 1970-1973, all on Warner Brothers ) remain as some of the finest hard rock on the planet. The breakout single, "I'm 18," remains as the only song that successfully verbalizes the teen angst/confusion embodied by James Dean ( emotional ) and Sal Mineo ( sexual ) in the iconic film Rebel Without A Cause ( 1955 ) and still resonates with twentysomethings to this day. "Under My Wheels" is likely the most electrifying record to come out of Detroit ( a town with punkers The MC5 and Iggy Pop as alumni ), while "School's Out," "Hello Hooray," "My Stars," "Billion Dollar Babies," and "Public Animal # 9" defined the era.
After the original group disbanded, Cooper re-emerged as a family-friendly solo artist with the rather safe Welcome to My Nightmare ( Atlantic Records, 1975 ) and its uncharacteristic ballad "Only Women Bleed." Both sold a ton, and made Cooper not only safe but adorable. The pop kept coming ( ballads like "I Never Cry" and "You and Me" were lodged at the top of the charts ) and the man who made a fortune hacking up baby dolls was now frolicking with The Muppets and playing golf with Bob Hope.
Then came the biggest irony in Alice Cooper's life and career: He found Jesus. After going into rehab, cleaning up and saving his marriage, he became a born-again Christianwhich ironically happened at the same time the original, scowling, murderous Alice Cooper re-emerged as an icon. The hit single "Poison" and his cameo in the final installment of The Nightmare on Elm Street series may have had something to do with it, but it did not really matter.
If Cooper's career is soaked in irony, his sold-out show at The Venue Nov. 2 was about none of that. The "Raise the Dead Tour" was about the classics, visual as well as musical, with Cooper presiding over it all like a demented Barnum Bailey. ( He even wore blood-splattered spats. ) With him displaying his ripened howl, which has clearly improved with age, this evening had no room for pop ballads or "family friendliness."
"Hello Hooray" kicked the show off with a rude bang and, in the first 15 minutes, Cooper tore through "Under My Wheels," "I'll Rip Your Face Off" and "No More Mr. Nice Guy" with fangs bared. The hits came mixed in with the classics: "Feed My Frankenstein," "Department of Youth," "Billion Dollar Babies," "Hey Stupid," "Dirty Diamonds" and "I'm 18" roared with a vengeance. A segment focused on Cooper's late drinking buddies felt surprisingly relevant coming out of his mouth ( John Lennon's "Revolution" by The Beatles and "My Generation" by The Who inspired by Keith Moon ). Even the expected finale of "School's Out" morphed into a rowdy ragtag version of Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall," and it all felt appropriate.
True to form, Cooper did manage to lose his head ( that guillotine again ) and welcome a cameo from one Jason Voorhees. For all of the murderous looks onstage and cartoonish violence, none of it could be mistaken as real. Clearly, Cooper still thinks his vocation is providing "good clean fun." However, the real irony is that his audience, who did not sit down after he walked on that stage, obviously agreed with him.