Alice Cooper/Motörhead/Joan Jett & The Blackhearts - MEN Arena - 18/11/07 by James Ellaby

A line-up of Alice Cooper, Motörhead and Joan Jett & The Blackhearts might sound like it would be a bit of a nostalgia-fest, and to an extent it is, but all three acts are still very much viable recording artists in their own rights, all showcasing acclaimed new or recent material in their sets without any dip in quality or audience appreciation. Joan Jett in particular was a revelation to a lot of the crowd, who were probably expecting to only pay attention for I Love Rock 'n' Roll, which certainly acted as a decent enough theme to the night on its own.

The first surprise about the spunky New Yorker is that she looks about half of her 47 years, certainly not standing out from her much younger Blackhearts backing band, and she puts in a very energetic and enjoyable performance to a venue that is noticeably more crowded than you'd normally expect during an opening support set at 7pm. Those who turned up early were certainly rewarded, as she was great, running through a series of early hits like Bad Reputation and Cherry Bomb before switching to a run of tracks from last year's excellent Sinner album.

A.C.D.C., Naked and Fetish are all highlights of the night, proving that while critical and public attention may have shifted from Jett a couple of decades ago, she's still the best female rocker out there, putting the likes of Courtney Love to shame. The latter track segues into I Love Rock 'n' Roll, which goes down predictably well and gets a good response from the crowd, as does closing hit I Hate Myself For Loving You, and Jett goes off having hopefully convinced a few more people to go back and check out her albums, with are all pretty darned good.

A lot of the crowd were clearly at the Arena to see Motörhead, judging by the t-shirts on display, but your reviewer was a little apprehensive, having never really managed to get into anything beyond Ace Of Spades from their repertoire, mainly because Lemmy's 'nails rattling round a rusty bucket' vocals put me off. When he comes on stage and croaks something unintelligible into the microphone, my fears were not allayed, but all it clicked into place when they started playing, very very loudly. His vocals were still painfully raspy-sounding, but they work, and he gets great backing from Phil Campbell and Mikkey Dee.

While Lemmy stays pretty much glued to his microphone stand, Campbell prowls the stage throughout, interacting with the audience, while Dee's drumming was intense throughout and his drum solo was almost supernatural in its speed and power. New and old tracks like Over The Top, Going To Brazil, Just 'cos You Got The Power and Metropolis fly past in a whirlwind of flailing limbs and pumping fists in the pit (with the Arena now 'full' - albeit with the top section and rear seats closed off) before their 'unplugged' track Whorehouse Blues. Motörhead unplugged might sound very wrong indeed, but it actually worked really well and Lemmy's performance hinted at a decent career in blues if he ever grows weary of this rock 'n' roll thing.

There wasn't much sign of that with the blazing finale of Ace Of Spades and Overkill though, and it felt like the end of the evening when they went off, not least with collective ringing in the ears they left behind. But if Jett had won a few converts with her storming set, Lemmy & Co had certainly convinced me to give them another go as they were awesome. All that was left was Alice Cooper, starting at the unusually late hour of 9.40pm, and he certainly made sure that he wasn't outmuscled sonically by his 'support acts', with the sound even more punishing than it had been for Motörhead.

Unfortunately, this wasn't always a good thing. While all-out rockers like Feed My Frankenstein and Dirty Diamonds benefit from his young and energetic backing band's noisy and vibrant performances, older tracks like No More Mr Nice Guy, Muscle Of Love, Is It My Body, I'm Eighteen and Under My Wheels have all of their subtleties bludgeoned to death by the relentless noise. Alice's vocals also suffer slightly from having to bellow them to be heard, so at times it is almost hard to tell what is being played, which is a real shame with genuinely great rock songs like those.

Another disappointment is that the stage-show is still very much in evidence, despite the abbreviated running time, and this means the middle section of the set is dominated by the shock tactics of beating women up, having sex with their corpses and then murdering babies takes precedence over the songs that are being played, with classics like The Ballad Of Dwight Fry only appearing briefly to fit the 'plot'. It ends with him being hung, and last time he was here he was beheaded, so at least he's keeping it fresh, while the gallows make it a bit easier to see him 'die', but it was a relief when he and band got back to the songs again.

School's Out was predictably raucous and wonderful, with the big balloons chucked out into the crowd for Alice to burst with his sword, while the encore of Billion Dollar Babies, Poison and Elected were all fantastic, making you wish that a bit more of the set had sounded as good. Hopefully, next time he returns to Manchester, his band will be closer to the one he used at the Apollo ten years ago, with the guitars turned down just a little bit so that the songs get the treatment they deserve. It was still a good show though and a fine finale to a great evening of classic rock 'n' roll from three of the best out there.