July 7th marks National Rock ’n’ Roll Day, though for most people, rock and roll was never confined to a single day on the calendar. It became part of life itself.
It was blasting through car speakers after getting your license. Concert tickets stuffed into junk drawers. Songs attached to breakups, road trips, late nights, baseball games, and memories that somehow still feel tied to certain lyrics decades later.
And in Arizona, few names are woven into that soundtrack quite like Alice Cooper.
Over the years, Alice’s friendships with fellow musicians like Don Felder and Ed Roland have brought rock-and-roll culture directly into the fabric of the Valley through charity events, golf tournaments, performances, and philanthropy. While neither Don nor Ed live in Arizona full time, both frequently return because of the friendships, community, and connection surrounding Alice and his work with Alice Cooper's Solid Rock Teen Centers.
“The fact that they showed up in the first place was astounding,” Alice says. “There is a mutual admiration in artistry and you must remember that rock and roll is a tight family.”
That idea of family comes up often when talking with artists who have spent decades in the industry. What becomes interesting over time is not simply the music itself, but the perspective that follows years of fame, reinvention, survival, friendship, and learning what actually lasts.
“You have to learn to be flexible. I was in one of the biggest bands in history, and then one day, I wasn’t,” Don says. “I had to pick myself up and start again. But this time, I was rebuilding under my own name, guided by my own artistry.”
For Don, the songs remain the foundation of everything.
“It really comes down to the power of the songs,” he says. “The Eagles’ catalog holds so many hits and chart-topping records because of the strength and timelessness of the songs we were able to create together.”
And over time, those songs began taking on lives of their own.
Ed Roland saw that happen firsthand when “Heavy” became permanently tied to the Arizona Diamondbacks championship era. Suddenly, the song no longer belonged solely to Collective Soul. It became part of Arizona sports history and part of the emotional memory of an entire fanbase.
That’s the thing about music. It leaves the artist and becomes personal to everyone else.
“It wasn’t until much later that I truly understood it,” Don says. “Back in the ’70s, we were just living in the moment, writing and playing music together without really thinking about the legacy we were building.”
Now, he sees generations attached to those songs.
“I’ll look out into the audience and see three, sometimes four generations of families sitting together,” he says. “Parents, kids, even grandparents, all connected by the same songs.”
Then there’s Alice Cooper, who may have undergone one of the most fascinating evolutions in rock-and-roll history.
To many, he’ll always be the godfather of shock rock. Dark eyeliner. Snakes. Theatrical chaos. But today, he’s equally known in Arizona as a philanthropist, grandfather, husband of nearly 50+ years, and one of the Valley’s most recognizable community figures.
“When you land in Phoenix after you’ve been on tour, it’s like you’re on vacation,” Alice says. “I went to Cortez High, hung at Christown Mall, and grew up watching Wallace and Ladmo. Our kids went to Hopi Elementary School. The Valley is paradise... and home.”
His connection to music started long before the fame.
“When I was 15, The Beatles came out,” Alice says. “I knew I was artistic, and when I heard The Beatles, I knew I wanted to be a musician.”
Ironically, his band was never expected to succeed.
“We were a band that was never supposed to make it because we weren’t groovy, we weren’t hippies, and we scared people,” Alice says. “Our big break was thanks to Bob Ezrin. Bob heard us play, and everything unfolded from there. We had this dark, controversial image … but we hit records, so it worked!”
Over the decades, Alice’s story became far bigger than the stage persona itself.
“The plan that God had for my life included addiction and every kind of insanity that rock and roll could provide to use it to be able to talk to kids from first hand experience,” he says.
Today, he speaks openly about sobriety, family, and perspective in a way that feels surprisingly grounded for someone who built a career on shock value.
“I’ve been sober for more than 40 years, married to the most astounding woman, have three amazing children, and five incredible grandchildren,” Alice says. “I’m still touring over 200 cities per year, and the word ‘retirement’ is not in my vocabulary.”
When asked the secret to nearly five decades of marriage, his answer is remarkably simple.
“Sheryl and I have common values and never fight. If I could pick anybody to hang out with, it would be her. Sheryl is elegant, romantic, and ridiculously smart.”
That groundedness eventually evolved into Solid Rock Teen Centers, which Alice and wife Sheryl founded more than 30 years ago after recognizing the need for safe, creative spaces for teenagers.
“Every kid has a talent,” Alice says. “So we opened a place encouraging teens to find themselves.”
Today, the Valley-based centers offer free music lessons, recording studios, dance, photography, film equipment, live sound, art programs, and mentorship opportunities for teens ages 12 to 20. There are no fees, no barriers, and no restrictions based on background or zip code. The goal is simple: give young people a safe environment to create, connect, and discover purpose through the arts.
“I’ve spent 50 years building and cultivating that name and character,” Alice says. “If it can be used to promote charities, especially our own Solid Rock Teen Centers, well that’s a grand slam home run.”
And maybe that’s what National Rock ’n’ Roll Day really represents.
Not fame or records... But longevity, reinvention, friendship, and purpose. The realization that the music eventually becomes bigger than the people who created it.