The story begins in the Hamilton, Ontario area in the late 1960s, when the group served as the backup band for Ronnie Hawkins, until he fired them, unwittingly giving them their name by telling a friend, "those boys could fuck up a crowbar in fifteen seconds." Their debut was recorded with another local legend, King Biscuit Boy (actual name: Richard Newell) in 1970, but soon afterwards both acts did not see eye-to-eye and went their separate ways, which leads us to Bad Manors. One thing both Crowbar and King Biscuit Boy had in common was a rowdy, communal, party-hardy take on blues-rock and roots-rock that was diametrically opposed to Hawkins' old mates The Band. There was nary a ballad to be found on Bad Manors, and in fact the record was named after the group's communal house on the outskirts of Hamilton. Crowbar concerts were wild affairs where the guitarist and bass player were draped on the giant, hulking body of 250-pound piano player and lead vocalist Blake "Kelly Jay" Fordham. The notable song here was "Oh, What A Feeling", a sweaty, catchy, Funkadelic-in-spirit groove which put to shame all of Rare Earth's catalog in one expertly-tuned four minute blast. Then again, that was just one of many well-played and executed grooves from this record. Sadly, about the only place people know Fordham from is a 2013 episode of Hoarding Buried Alive, and that he passed away in 2019. But make no mistake, his Crowbar was, once upon a time, a formidable presence on stage and on record, and deserve more recognition for it.

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.