Pick up a copy of the Alice Cooper Group’s 1974 Greatest Hits compilation and you’ll find just one song—the title track—from the 1972 album, School’s Out. But tucked away discreetly on Side Two of that garage pop masterpiece, in the form of “Public Animal #9,” lies an anthem that contains all the ingredients that made the Alice Cooper Group the most popular band in America during their glorious two-and-a-half year heyday.
Kicked off by a jazzy snare-beat from drummer Neal Smith and some bouncy cocktail piano runs from producer Bob Ezrin, “Public Animal #9” at first gives off a smoky jazz-rock vibe. Extending the intro further, guitarists Michael Bruce and Glen Buxton duke it out in a tangle of guitar lines evocative of an old-fashioned swing tune. But that innocuous beginning is all a dastardly set-up. Out of nowhere, nearly a half-minute into the song, comes an avalanche of thrilling riffage in the trash-rock tradition of previous Cooper classics like “Be My Lover” and “Long Way to Go.”
Me and G.B. we ain’t never gonna confess / We cheated at the math test / We carved some dirty words in our desk / Well now it’s time for recess
Granted, those aren’t exactly the kinds of lyrics that once prompted Bob Dylan to extol Cooper as an underrated songwriter, but they’re very much in the story-song tradition of Cooper’s favorite wordsmith, Chuck Berry. Moreover, “Public Animal #9”—and, in fact, the entire School’s Out album—played cartoon-like homage to Cooper’s love of James Cagney-era gangster films (and, of course, to West Side Story). Elevating the old ’50s theme of incorrigible-kids-on-a-rampage to epic proportions, Cooper tapped brilliantly into teen rebellion, albeit with tongue planted firmly in cheek.
License plates are runnin’ out of my ears / I’d give a month of cigarettes for just a couple of lousy beers
Through the years much has been made of the Alice Cooper Group’s synergy—an intangible chemistry that Cooper has never managed to capture in his solo work. And make no mistake: the band’s reputation as one of rock and roll’s most exciting ensembles is well-deserved. What’s not mentioned often enough, however, is that Cooper’s vocals are a key component of that magic.
By the time the band made the School’s Out album, their mascara-smeared frontman had sharpened his voice into a pitch-perfect serrated yowl. On “Public Animal #9,” during the fade-out, Cooper’s rasp gradually gives way to a comic-book sinister growl—the rock and roll equivalent of Lon Chaney Jr. morphing into the Wolf Man. Kurt Cobain, among others, would appropriate much of that approach years later, but that, as they say, is a whole ’nuther story.