Alice Cooper and Judas Priest Ignite Pine Knob with Nightmares and Metal Power
Clarkston, Michigan (October 3,2025)-The Detroit area has seen Alice Cooper’s nightmares unfold for decades, but his this time the return to Pine Knob Amphitheatre on September 2 carried a different feel. This wasn’t just another show on the run; it was a homecoming wrapped inside the chaos of his “Alice’s Attic” tour, a production built on both spectacle and deep-cuts rarely performed. At 77, Vincent Damon Furnier—who long ago legally surrendered his birth name to become Alice Cooper outright—has nothing left to prove, yet he continues to design shows that make the familiar feel fresh and the obscure come alive.
When the lights went black at 9:40 p.m., a narrated prelude invited the 10,000-plus in attendance to step inside Alice’s attic, a not-so-subtle promise that whatever they found in there might follow them home. The curtain dropped, revealing a towering stage set built around the image of a massive book. Stagehands pulled the cover open as purple smoke poured upward, and there he was—top hat, crimson coat tails, skull belt buckle, and those black-rimmed eyes that have haunted audiences for more than five decades. “I’m Alice,” he sneered, “welcome to the show.”
The opening one-two punch was a jolt to longtime followers: “Who Do You Think We Are” hadn’t surfaced on stage since 1981, and “Spark in the Dark” had been shelved for thirty-five years. This wasn’t nostalgia coasting on greatest hits—it was a statement that Cooper is still willing to reanimate his own history. The payoff came fast. “No More Mr. Nice Guy” and “I’m Eighteen” drew roars from the faithful, Alice brandishing a walking stick with manic flourish before casting it into the crowd like a dare.
But as striking as Alice remains, his band has become its own lethal force. Ryan Roxie, Tommy Henriksen, and the unflappable Nita Strauss turned guitar duels into an art form, slashing through “House of Fire” and “Muscle of Love” with the power and swagger that Cooper himself demands. Strauss, especially, has become the lynchpin of Cooper’s latter-day sound, her solo cutting through the Pine Knob night with all the bite of vintage shred and none of the excess.
Theatrics arrived in waves. During “Feed My Frankenstein,” a hulking monster puppet stalked the stage. In “Ballad of Dwight Fry,” Alice writhed in a straitjacket, his madness magnified on the high-definition video wall, every manic eye twitch thrown back at the crowd in grotesque detail. A lifeless doll named Ethyl was manhandled through “Cold Ethyl,” only for Sheryl Cooper herself—his wife and co-conspirator—to later embody the doomed character. The guillotine appeared, as it must, with Alice losing his head to “Going Home,” a resurrection that gave way to “School’s Out.” That final anthem, stitched with Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall,” turned Pine Knob into a riot of confetti and bouncing balloons, all of which Alice stabbed with his saber until the air exploded in color.
And yet, it wasn’t just about the circus. The real surprises here were in the songbook. “Dirty Diamonds” and “Caught in a Dream” resurfaced after years of silence. “Dangerous Tonight” made its first live appearance ever. “Second Coming” was resurrected for the first time since 1971. Even the introduction—spliced with a tease of “Hello Hooray”—set the direction for an evening built on reverence for Cooper’s deep catalog.
Alice kept his chatter minimal, but when he did pause, he used the moment like a ringmaster unveiling his troupe. Each player got a moniker: “The Spirit of ’77” (Roxie), “Mister Beasto Blanco” (Garric), “Her Majesty, Hurricane Nita Strauss.” He ended it with a grin: “And playing the part of Alice Cooper tonight… ME!” The crowd roared, because they knew no one else could.
There was a particular sting to the homecoming. He reminded everyone he was from Detroit—“the rock ’n’ roll capital of the world”—and closed with the kind of sly benediction only he could deliver: “May all your lovely dreams… become nightmares. Good night. Go Lions!” In that moment, he was both villain and hometown hero, and no one seemed to mind the contradiction.
If Alice’s attic was a cabinet of horrors sprung to life, Judas Priest’s arrival felt like a war machine grinding into gear. The Birmingham legends—touring with Cooper for the first time since 1991—took the stage earlier in the night, and though their setup was sparse compared to Cooper’s book-bound theatrics, the impact was no less devastating.
The house lights dropped to the strains of Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs,” a communal howl that felt less like filler and more like ritual. By the time the lights flashed on Rob Halford, standing stone-still at the back of the stage in full leather and chains, the anticipation had boiled over. Then came the assault: “All Guns Blazing” and “Hell Patrol,” both pulled from 1990’s Painkiller. It was a signal of intent—Priest weren’t leaning on nostalgia, they were leaning into power.
For 75 minutes and 14 songs, the band delivered a dose of heavy metal’s permanence. “You’ve Got Another Thing Comin’” rang out as an arena-sized chant. “Breaking the Law” reminded everyone why British Steel remains the genre’s cornerstone. “Freewheel Burning” and “A Touch of Evil” proved that their catalog can balance speed and menace equally. When the LED wall split open to reveal the glowing Priest trident, “Solar Angels” emerged from a 40-year exile, a gift to diehards who never thought they’d hear it live again.
Halford, at 74, remains an iron-lunged phenomenon. He stalked the stage with abandon, while unleashing screams that could still strip paint from steel. Between songs, his words carried both meaning and warmth. Before “Giants in the Sky,” he spoke about music as survival, a power that outlasts loss. On screen, the faces of the fallen appeared—Dio, Lemmy, Eddie Van Halen, Taylor Hawkins, and in a poignant Detroit-area touch, Ozzy Osbourne, who passed earlier this year. The crowd erupted, not in mourning, but in celebration.
Richie Faulkner’s guitar acrobatics paired seamlessly with Andy Sneap’s steady hand, while Ian Hill, still the quiet anchor since 1970, held down the bass. Scott Travis hammered his massive kit with mechanical precision, his bass drums bearing the imagery of Priest’s past and present. The set leaned heavily on Painkiller (five songs in total) but wove in newer fire from Invincible Shield, with “Gates of Hell” and “Giants in the Sky” proving that Priest’s recent work stands tall alongside their classics.
And then came the encore. The revving of a Harley Davidson engine filled the amphitheater, smoke swirling as Halford rode on stage, grinning beneath mirrored shades. “Hell Bent for Leather” crashed in, as inevitable as it was welcome. “Living After Midnight” closed the night in full singalong mode, the LED wall flashing “LIVIN’, ROCKIN’, LOVIN’” in time with the chorus. The words “THE PRIEST WILL BE BACK” glowed as the band took its final bow.
Taken together, the night was less a co-headline and more a study in contrasts that somehow complement each other. Cooper thrives on narrative, props, and the macabre theatre of death and rebirth. Priest strip things to steel and firepower, a relentless assertion that heavy metal remains immortal. Both are icons, both defy age, and both delivered shows that left no room for compromise.
It felt fitting that Pine Knob—one of rock’s hallowed grounds—was the site where nightmares and metal glory collided. For Alice Cooper, it was a triumphant homecoming. For Judas Priest, it was another night proving that the Metal Gods still reign. For the audience, it was a once-in-a-lifetime double bill, the kind that reminds you why rock and metal aren’t just genres, but living, breathing myths still writing themselves under the stage lights
