What’s It Like to Jam with Alice Cooper?

Photos by Nick Giumenti

The great European mountaineer Reinhold Messner once told me, “Fear is coming and coming when you’re waiting and waiting and going and going when you’re doing and doing.”

Messner’s observation is correct. As an adventure writer with Forbes, I’m pretty much afraid just before I do something extreme, but during the experience itself not so much so, whether it’s flying supersonic in an F-16 or to the edge of space in a U-2, or driving 253 mph in a Bugatti.

Now, granted, those are physical fears. What I did with Alice Cooper at the Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy Camp last fall in Scottsdale, Arizona, was entirely different, but fear-inducing nonetheless.

As a youngster in my hometown rock band, Tram, I had played Alice’s hit, “I’m 18,” countless times. I was only 17 at the time. Bobby Jeschelnik, lead guitarist in that band, remembers it that way, too. “While singing ‘I’m 18’ at St. Mary’s Hall, where we practiced and played at teen club dances, I wondered what 18 would actually be like. [laughs] I remember Mike Oakes even driving us to one of those early gigs in a baby-blue Lincoln!”

But at the fantasy camp, there would be no Bobby or Mike with me. I was to play the tune live with the real Alice. Talk about fear. It wasn’t physical this time, but mental. If I screwed up—and I very well could as I hadn’t been behind a drum kit in decades—I would only be embarrassed, not killed or maimed. Still, the fear of that is damn palpable.

Rock fantasy camp is the brainchild of David Fishof, a former music industry executive and tour manager of The Monkees who has steadily built the concept into an institution over the last three decades. The idea is simple: Let amateur musicians jam with bonafide rock stars. “This place is all about living dreams,” says Fishof, “about the smiles on our campers’ faces when they return home.”

Every camp features different celebrities. In addition to Alice, Rob Halford of Judas Priest headlined at ours. In January, at the big 30th anniversary camp in Miami, it was The Who’s Roger Daltrey.

Here’s how it works. First, you’re placed into a band according to your ability and song interests, then, for the next few days, immersed into a practice studio to choose and learn songs. Each band—our camp had 14—has a counselor, a professional musician, who guides the groups. Our coach was guitarist Ron “Bumblefoot” Thal, 56, who has participated in a dozen previous camps. He has also toured the world many times over with groups including Guns N’ Roses and Asia.

Members of our band, called “Go Ask Alice” (I got to name it), included vocalist Jay Nailor, the three guitarists Ken Palamar, Ken Gillett, and Michael Gutierrez, bassist Jen Van Orman, and myself on drums. Some were veterans of previous camps, and others were newbies like me.

Early rehearsals went surprisingly well, considering that none of us knew each other beforehand and that our musical interests varied somewhat. For example, some group members wanted to cover Judas Priest’s “You’ve Got Another Thing Coming,” a song I had never heard, and “Slither,” by Velvet Revolver. That second one not only had I not heard, but I had never heard of the band, either.

The night before our big Alice show, I found it difficult to sleep. I kept worrying that I would let the other band members down by performing poorly. Then there was Alice Cooper himself, and what he might think.

Suddenly, we were at the venue. After watching a dozen other bands perform, we were called up. Like real rock stars, we approached the stage to the audience’s whoops and claps. Was this really happening?

Equipment was adjusted, Bumblefoot counted us down, and then we were off. I tried to keep a steady beat, not throwing in any fancy fills that might screw up my timing. The key to “I’m 18” is to hold the band’s tempo back as the song builds; i.e., to not speed up. And do you know what? We did it. And we were pretty darn good.

Afterward, I nervously approached Alice and asked how we did, told him we chose “I’m 18” because it’s fairly straightforward. “You did great,” the shock rocker said, smiling. “You know, the simplest songs are always the biggest. We wrote ‘School’s Out’ in like 15 minutes, ‘18’ in maybe 10 minutes. All hits. That’s usually how it goes.”

I then asked him, given all of his fame, why he participates in these camps. He doesn’t need the money and he’s a busy guy.

“You know, it’s the only time I get to meet fans,” he said. “I’ll be honest with you. We do a show and then we get on a bus and go. I don’t even have time to say hi to anybody. I do meet people, but never at a thing like this. Besides, I like hearing the bands do my songs.”

Finally, I asked him after the fact what advice he would have given to calm us down before the show. “You know the song. Just play it. Honestly, we actually make it harder than it is. If you just get up there and feel it, that’s it. You’re a drummer. It’s all feel. You’re the guy driving.”

Our band members were pumped coming off the stage. I personally felt a sense of relief. But that was all short-lived. We headed right back to the studio to rehearse for the Rob Halford performance the next day, and a gig later that night at Phoenix’s Wasted Grain club. The show must go on. But, unlike with Alice, the nervousness had faded, just as climber Messner had predicted. Now it was, “We’ve got this.”

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Jim Clash immerses himself in extreme adventures for Forbes magazine. He graduated from Laurel High School in 1973. His latest book is Amplified: Interviews With Icons of Rock ‘n’ Roll.