Alice Cooper
– School’s Out
Alice Cooper’s School’s Out kicks down the doors of polite society and then sneers at the wreckage, lights a cigarette off the flames, and invites you in for the party. This isn’t a record about growing up. It’s about smashing the whole idea to pieces, preferably with a bloodied, leather-gloved fist. Cooper and his band ride that thin line between chaos and craft, throwing together Broadway kitsch, garage rock grime, and teenage desperation with the glee of kids setting off fireworks in the principal’s office.
Best of…
The brilliance here isn’t about precision — it’s about instinct. Every song feels like it could fall apart at any second, and that’s what keeps it breathing. Bob Ezrin’s production helps make the mess sound huge without polishing away the band’s sneer. Alice himself, half carnival barker, half suburban delinquent, leans into every track like he’s daring you to stop listening. There’s humor in the horror, boredom in the rage, and just enough broken dreams to make you realize the glittering nightmare is real.
It’s easy to think of School’s Out as a one-trick album because the title track became such a monster. But dig deeper and you’ll find a record that’s weirder, smarter, and more ambitious than it first lets on. There’s theater here, but it’s the grimy kind where the curtains are falling down and the actors are drunk. And somehow, that feels more honest than anything else rock had to offer at the time.
Choice Tracks
School’s Out
The anthem that refused to grow old. Riff-driven, gleefully anarchic, and somehow still feeling dangerous fifty years later, it’s not just a song — it’s a rite of passage, a howl of rebellion that’s impossible to resist.
Gutter Cat vs. The Jets
Only Cooper could mash West Side Story and street punk into a lurching, sneering Frankenstein’s monster and make it swing. Weird, brash, and oddly theatrical without losing an ounce of its sneer.
Public Animal #9
Built around a greasy, lurching groove, this track feels like it crawled out of detention with a cigarette tucked behind its ear. Cooper’s vocal sneer and the snarling guitars turn it into a love letter to all the kids who knew they weren’t fitting in.
Alma Mater
A drunken slow dance at the end of the end-of-year bash, full of regrets, missed chances, and hungover nostalgia. It’s a rare moment of reflection, and it hits harder precisely because the rest of the album refuses to look back.