“Beer, the cause of and solution to all life’s problems.”
That quote is from one of the world’s most famous philosophers, Homer Simpson. And who better to take advice from? If I would’ve known this as a teenager, life would have been so much easier!
My relationship with booze is an odd one. In the throes of my youth, booze was what my mom drank before she would turn into the Wolfman and break my G.I. Joe stuff and howl at the world. She’s since worked all of that out and we get along fine. Love you mom!
As a post-Bar Mitzvah man without a clue (with that never-been-shaved dirty upper lip) at 14 in New York City in the '70s, my first forays into drinking were clumsy and strange. My friends and I would forage through our parent’s liquor/drug supplies and imbibe on the city bus at eight in the morning on the way to school. There would be crappy weed (although at the time, what did we know?) and some idiot would always bring cough medicine with codeine or a random pill. I stayed away from that stuff. I later found out that the pills were Quaaludes. The real Rorer 714 Ludes of legend. I never tried one because the guys that were taking pills were already known as the “burnouts.” 14-15 year-olds sleepwalking through junior high, listening to the Dead was way to mellow for me, man.
The booze usually showed up in a Tupperware container. I would steal my moms Chivas Regal and pour it into a plastic salad bowl and put it in my backpack. Drinking straight Scotch from vinegar-scented Tupperware at eight in the morning on a bumpy city bus packed with kids was the perfect way to teach me not to drink. The few times I tried beer -- good ’ol brands like Rheingold and Schlitz -- it reminded me of the dank smell of the old-man bars in my neighborhood where my friend's fathers would drink from their failure mugs until it was time to go home and be dad. And by "be dad" I mean pass out on the couch in a dirty wife-beater (literally) and don’t make any fucking noise or you’ll catch a serious beating!!! Yay, beer! I tasted all that from just a few sips. My palate was very advanced even at such a young age.
On my eighteenth (that was the legal age then) birthday, I drank so many Screwdrivers (Popov Vodka and Tropicana) I puked on the girl I was making out with, puked all over my friend Richie’s bathroom and ended up with alcohol poisoning.
“An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.” --
Ernest Hemingway
I spent the rest of the 1980s sober. So, when I say my relationship with booze is an odd one, it’s because when Danny Lilker and I started Anthrax in 1981, through all those formative and then insane years, I wasn’t drinking. People think I must have been out of my mind back then when it was the absolute opposite. I wasn’t straight-edge by any means, I just didn’t like booze. All of my friends in other bands were maniacal drinkers and once in a while I would have a few drinks -- mainly the far superior beers when we were on tour in Europe -- but it would always end up with me feeling like ass. I didn’t see the upside.
In the early '90s I drank socially, weak tasteless Vodka drinks that did nothing more than give me a headache and acid reflux. I tried the Martini thing. That ended badly and Gin holds a grudge. Hanging out in NYC clubs that were then the Tao’s, Pure, and Bungalow 8’s of today, it was a time filled with superficial experiences of the highest order and I never made any connection to going out and drinking and actually having fun. I just didn’t get booze.
And then came the epiphany…
“There can’t be good living where there is not good drinking.” -- Ben Franklin
In 1993 we had a tour manager named Michael “Curly” Jobson who was a wine aficionado. He introduced me to the first alcoholic beverage that tasted like I always imagined it should taste -- White Burgundy. Pouilly Fuisse, to be exact. It tasted exciting, arousing, fresh, timeless, and most importantly, it tasted good. Wine to me was Manischevitz, Heavy Malaga. Wine was something to be tolerated at Passover to keep my grandfather happy. Not any more. Curly opened the door for me into a new world and I never looked back.
I dove into wine headfirst. I learned by drinking. Burgundy, Bordeaux, Riesling. Expanding my palate, I crossed the sea to California and drank my way through Napa and Sonoma, finding a particular affection for Pinot Noir (makes sense considering it was Burgundy that started it). I crossed the ocean again and started an affair with Italian reds that still burns red-hot today. Would it be too much to name my first-born Gaja? I lost my soul to a bottle of 1989 Chateau d ‘Yquem. Sauternes were truly baby angel’s tears gathered by wizards. There’s no other explanation.
From wine I moved into beer, discovering the glory of Guinness which, when properly poured, is all that is right in the world in a glass. My next epiphany came in 1997 when Anthrax and Pantera toured together. Pantera were the opposite of what Anthrax was, drinking-wise. These guys were notorious drinkers on a level frequented by few and survived by fewer. Their drummer, Vinnie Paul, had (and still has) a swimming pool in the shape of a Crown Royal bottle. The hot tub is the top and the bottom of the pool is painted exactly like a Crown Royal label, except it says, “The official drink of Vinnie Paul.” That's commitment. Crown was the drink of choice and they created a shot called the Black Tooth Grin, which contained a shot of Crown, splash of Coke. When you were with Pantera, you drank, and you drank Black Tooths. Their guitar player, Dimebag Darrell, bless his amazing soul, would pour them ten at a time and had a litany of rules that went along with drinking them, the most important being “drink it or wear it.”
I was not a whisky drinker, nor was I a whisky wearer, so it was a bit of a conundrum for me. Spirits were not my thing. I considered myself a wine snob and above the rabble of cheap booze. Not for long. The first Black Tooth went down so easy and the next 7,000 or so on that tour, even easier. I came home after two months of Bukowskian excess (without the whores and ponies), dried out for a week and started my courtship with whisky. Crown Royal quickly gave way to the best small-batch Bourbons and single-malt Scotch’s although I still get my pull on a Black Tooth frequently.
“I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.” -- Frank Sinatra
As I sit here typing, I’m sipping a Ron Zacapa 23 year-old Rum from Guatemala. It goes down like melted butter with honey and it will f--k you up.
“They talk of my drinking but never my thirst.” -- Scottish Proverb
Over the last 11 years, my palate has made friends with all booze (except Gin, oh why do you mock me so, Gin??) and I’m always on the hunt for something new. I’ve been on a crazy Amaro kick of late. It’s like Jager and Absinthe, but it tastes nicer and the blackouts add so much excitement!!
Don’t drink and drive, my friends. Cheers.
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