I Love the Dead

Hey there Zoo Freaks, it's your far-out Zoo Crew tuning in from the misty edges of THE ZOO, where the air's thick with pumpkin spice and echoes of the great beyond. We're cranking up Alice Cooper's "I Love the Dead" from that diamond-plated gem Billion Dollar Babies, and oh man, does it stir the cauldron tonight. Picture this: back in '73, Alice drops this twisted waltz about a midnight rendezvous with the dearly departed, all bluing flesh and cadaver eyes staring blank—pure vaudeville villainy wrapped in a rock 'n' roll shroud. In chats with the band, drummer Neal Smith spills how producer Bob Ezrin, that sonic sorcerer behind Pink Floyd's walls and Kiss's destroyers, whipped it into shape, saying, "I can't underestimate the impact of what Bob did," turning taboo into top charts as the album hit number one on both sides of the pond. Alice himself, in a cheeky quote that's bounced around fan lore, croons the line like a bedtime story gone wrong: "While friends and lovers mourn your silly grave, I have other uses for you, darling." It's his third dip into necrophilia nods—after "Cold Ethyl" and a whisper in "Finks Minks"—but this one's the guillotine drop, closing shows with a faux beheading that left audiences gasping and critics squirming, one calling it "peak villainy" for committing to the creep without flinching. Over on X, folks are still cackling about it as the ultimate funeral faux pas, with one post quipping it's the darkest earworm you'd never play at a wake, and another pairing it with live clips from Paris '17 where the guillotine swings wild. Dark comedy at its decaying finest, Zoo Freaks—honey-dipped hemlock for the soul.

Now, let's rewind the reel to the preacher's kid who birthed this bedlam, 'cause Vincent Damon Furnier—born '48 in the Motor City grit of Detroit to a lay preacher dad—didn't just wake up in guyliner and ghouls; he brewed it slow like moonshine in the desert sun. Family hauls him to Phoenix young, where the tumbleweeds whisper secrets, and by high school's fever dream, he's roping track team pals into the Earwigs, a Beatles-parody posse for talent shows that morphs into the Spiders, spinning garage rock webs with covers that snag local crowds. "We were obnoxious, disgusting, real Eddie Haskells," he'd grin later, ditching college nods to chase the wild chord. Graduates '66, packs up for L.A. as Nazz—'til Todd Rundgren steals the tag—then, in a Ouija haze at a '68 party, "Alice Cooper" tumbles out, a prim name for their black-clad chaos, stark as a switchblade in Sunday school. Frank Zappa bites, inks 'em to Straight Records for three flops, but Detroit calls 'em home in '70, where the raw edge sharpens. Enter Ezrin on Love It to Death, hacking "I'm Eighteen" into a teen angst anthem that cracks the charts at 21, birthing shock rock's blueprint: feather pillow riots to electric chair finales, glam sequins slashing the gloom. By '71's Killer tour, it's mock guillotines and gothic grapples; '73's Billion Dollar Babies cashes the chaos into platinum pandemonium. Furnier claims the moniker legally in '74, solos into Welcome to My Nightmare's fever, battles bottle demons through the '70s haze, but rises reborn—Christian convert, radio host, golf evangelist—still swinging that axe at 77, proving the nightmare's got nine lives and a killer swing.

If the grave's calling your name, Zoo Freaks, shuffle over to the official Alice Cooper site for tour talismans, attic archives, and that fresh Revenge drop that'll rattle your bones. Hitch a ride on the Facebook page where 4 million fiends swap stage war stories and rare reel footage. Peek into the Instagram lair for guillotine glam shots and backstage black magic, or tweet your twisted tales to X—he's dishing deadpan drivel that'll hook you harder than a harpoon. For fellow ghouls, the Sick Things Fan Site on Facebook is a crypt of collector confessions and vinyl vampires, while REAL Alice Cooper Fans brew bootleg brews and ballot on best beheadings. Dip into the Alice Cooper Group 1964-74 for original lineup lore, or haunt WelcomeToMyNightmare.co.uk, a fan shrine stacked with cold coffin shorts and Dennis Dunaway delights. Light the black flame, crank the crypt, and let's dance with the departed till the dawn breaks, my wicked wanderers.