"Drinking With The Band"
(Modern Drunkard, 2006)

Esoteric writer, punk rock legend, and drunkard of extraordinary prowess, Satan’s drinking buddy Vadge Moore waxes intoxicated on the beauty of booze.

First taste from the well?

I must have been 3 years old. It’s one of my first memories, actually, which seems appropriate. An old friend of the family, Gene Prat, who was a high-roller political guy that later worked for Senator Hiakowa, had left a can of Coors on our big, leather Lazy-Boy. I remember seriously disliking the taste ‘cause, well, Coors sucks, of course. It wasn’t until I was 11 or 12 that I started really getting into it but that first memory really stands out. That and I had a terrible nightmare about Ronald McDonald that has severely damaged me. Hate clowns. Fucking hate ‘em.

Surely not Shakes?

Except Shakes the Clown. That’s a great movie.

Favorite cocktail?

Anything with alcohol in it. If I really have to choose, I love vodka martinis — neat with an olive. I hate these fucking twists. Pussy ass shit!

I presume you’ve gotten into some debauchery on the road.

Oh, man. So many memories. Or lack of memory, I should say. The Dwarves were playing in Miami and these kids had set up this show all on their own. We show up and immediately some juicy, chubby chick locks onto me. She has a bottle of vodka and the bar is feeding me Jager shots. I can remember He Who Cannot Be Named mentioning that maybe I should slow down because we still have a show to play. When He Who tells you to slow down you know you’re getting trashed. I kind of remember setting up my drums but my roadie had to do most of it. We were starting off with the song Underworld which has a guitar intro and then the drums kick it in. Well, when the drums kicked in I was so off beat, which I never am because I am a professional, that our guitar player Crash Landon grabbed my drum set and threw it at the audience. End of show. There was no way I could carry on. Only time this ever happened to me. Then I got in a fist fight with the promoter because he was complaining so much about how they had put up so much money to bring us there etc., but, come on! It’s the fucking Dwarves! What do you expect? The funniest thing was that the club was supposed to pay us a thousand dollars. Because of the fiasco they paid us five hundred. That’s like a hundred dollars per second. The Dwarves are the highest paid band in the world. Oh, and the fat girl did fuck me that night.

Since leaving The Dwarves you’ve been primarily a writer. Do you find alcohol to he an aid to cre

Alcohol is absolutely a help in so many ways. When writing a first draft for an article I usually get pretty crocked because so much stuff just pours out of nowhere. I write from my notes but when drinking and first drafting I start to improvise. The exception was an article I wrote called Monstrous Souls: The Magickal Art of Lautreamont and Rimbaud. That article (at www.rosenoire.org)  from first draft to last was written entirely under the influence of Absinthe. Alcohol, for me, seems to allow me to tap into my primordial unconscious or my Id, as Freud called it. Within that realm there is a tremendous amount of libidinal energy that can be harnessed for creative purposes.

Does that apply to writing songs as well?

All of the vocals I’ve recorded for my noise band Chthonic Force were done under the influence. Booze allows me to tap subtle aspects and nuances of my vocals as well as inspiring howling, lycanthropic tantrums. Drumming for the Dwarves; nary a sober moment. Whether I was spitting at the crowd, tossing a bottle or jumping into the crowd to retrieve a groupie or start a fight, I was always soused. It does a lot for the good ol’ Dutch Courage. Got out of a lot of sticky situations just because I had the stupid confidence that booze gives you. It’s the magic serum.
I’ve never seen you hungover. What’s your secret?

My advice to you young, aspiring Drunkards is exercise. I’m not kidding. Nothing cures a hangover like exercise. You might not feel like it and you might be pretty sure you’re gonna die, but it really works. After a heavy night of drinking just start off slow; go for a brisk walk, build up a sweat and, if you feel like it, take off on a light jog. You re-oxygenate your body and you sweat out the toxins. And, guess what? You can drink more then usual, longer than usual and you look great for the ladies. You know how eventually you reach that burn-out phase after a good, long bender? If you exercise that doesn’t happen. Your friends will think you’re fucking Superman. I learned this from reading about the late, great Hunter S. Thompson. This is precisely what he did and we all know about his legendary excesses.

You’ve got 20 bucks.

I would hop on down to my favorite bar, order a couple of martini’s then race to the corner store and purchase a half-gallon of cheap red wine. Nothing says drunk like mixing vodka and wine. Ernest and Julio Gallo is pretty damn cheap and they’ve got a pretty good Chianti.

If you could have a drink with anyone, who would you choose?

I couldn’t have just one shot with Beelzebub, I’d have to have a few drafts. I would choose a couple of pints of the drinks that Aleister Crowley invented. For the first the contents are: one measure each of cognac, Kirsch and absinthe with a good dose of Tabasco and ether, shaken with ice. Then there is the Khubla Khan #2 : this consists of gin, vermouth and this potion that Crowley poured from a bottle marked Poison but was really laudanum. That would provide me and the Dark Lord with plenty of mental lubricant to start planning world conquest. Or have we already?

—Interview by Lorin Partridge

© Vadge Moore / DISCRIMINATE MEDIA, 2007