The last album of Alice Cooper as a band has fallen far back into the cutout bin of lost pop music history. Actually, there seems to be a lot of periods like this for Alice - both band-era and solo - and in this case as with others, it's worth revisiting. Just from the title alone this had the ability to be another glossy, slam-bang production in the best Billion Dollar Baby tradition, except this time the target was sex. It doesn't quite reach the heights of Love It To Death or the previous record, but there are moments that match up. "Man With the Golden Gun" fits perfectly into James Bond's world without compromising any of Alice's ideals, while "Hard Hearted Alice" is a tantalizing glimpse into some of the mainstream ballad material that solo Alice would delve into. But the band can't keep up the intensity like they used to, and more importantly, there does seem to be a conflict between their theatrical ambitions, and a general "back to basics" thread that runs through the album.

I'm always torn when comparing Killer to the previous album because there's nothing here which hasn't been said or played to great effect already, but...it's undeniable, after hearing the grotesque "Dead Babies/Killer" double ending, that the group had raised the shock & awe stakes a few levels. It is still a bit disturbing to realize that an album made 50-plus years ago essentially ends with a death row execution.

Alice Cooper did everything a band wouldn't do to make it big in the late 1960's - for starters, they woke Frank Zappa at 7 in the morning for an audition because he told them to show up at "7 o'clock" - in return, Zappa signed them to his record label and produced their debut record. Well, sort of. The story goes, Frank left his brother to mind the store, and when he returned later that day, the band told him they had finished the album. Frank's brother simply recorded them rehearsing. Captain Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica is nowadays often held up as the gold standard of improvisational rock music, but in reality, Alice Cooper beat him to the punch, by creating one of the most crude, ugly, and jarringly un-psychedelic psychedelic records ever made. That is not to say it's a must-hear - certainly, the band would far eclipse this flawed-diamond document - but all of the base ideas which eventually gave rise to the ultimate Alice Cooper legend are here, in spades.

In between Rich Man and this studio album was considered CBB’s initial U.S. breakthrough – FM Live, a live record recorded in New York City, meant as a loggerhead to slowly establish the band Stateside. It would seem British bands – more often than not – were interested in going the Humble Pie route to gain fame. Sense of Direction was the studio follow-up – in comparison to Rich Man, a much more adventurous collection for sure – but put next to the albums in the 1969-71 stretch and it is hard not to notice the slick and polished sheen of the material. The garish, Hollywood-derived cover has to mentioned as well. We still have one foot ever so gingerly in blues territory, but those days are quickly coming to an end. Still, the album is pretty interesting from start to finish, mainly because the group is confidentially shifting around through a few different moods and genres like seasoned experts. The “Amerita/Sense of Direction” deal which opens the album sets the tone in more ways than one. “Amerita” weaves Cooper’s sax and Haycock’s guitar together in a blinding tapestry of progressive-ism and fast rhythm, but that quickly gives way to the laid back but wise “Sense of Direction”. The really fast, boogie rave-up “Nogales” – which brings in Latin elements – along with “Right Now”, are probably the closest links to the band’s backstreet blues past, but that is a bit like saying a football team which used to run a smash mouth offense is now running the option. Speaking of “Right Now”, Cooper’s clarinet parts feature heavily here and in the ending “Milwaukee Truck Blues”. Kind of an odd instrument to integrate into a rock band, but CBB does it cleanly and competently. Not much else to go over here, other than we are right in the thick of the next phase of CBB’s career arc – blues rock-pop, and all that is missing is the big hit single, which was soon to come. For now, it’s competence on top of professionalism.

A Lot of Bottle embodies all of the characteristics of great blues-rock records: sadness, anger, alienation, sarcasm, humor, and a certain unapproachability which was even felt through the most accessible material. Track lists differ depending on what version you have but there are some stone-cold biggies that have made it across the various versions over the years. "Reap What I've Sowed" is driven by yet another massive Haycock slide guitar riff while Derek Holt's vocal dedicated to money hungry hangers-on feels like it comes from the bottom of some faraway well, giving the track a very disjointed effect. But the real payoff is the solo section where everyone puts the hammer down like a ton of bricks and then some. This is blues-rock gone proto-punk. "Seventh Son" is the next tour de force, where Cooper's robotically cold vocal treatment has you convinced he could be at least a good candidate for the role, right? The second half features a long, progressive-ish coda that veers into King Crimson territory at times, even. The final epic is a cover of Muddy Waters' "Louisiana Blues", where they expertly draw out the mood of the original. In between there are shorter tracks which essentially are offshoots of these three main epics, and are all worth listening to at least once...but it does bring me to my one small beef with this album. It feels like there is a slight bit too much filler, and in reality, the record keys on the axis of these three mammoth tracks.