Alice Cooper, Golf Monster by Alice Cooper

Author:Alice Cooper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307394255
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2007-05-01T00:00:00+00:00

Outside the Troubadour in Los Angeles in 1974.

Left to right: John Lennon, Anne Murray, Harry Nilsson, Alice Cooper, and Micky Dolenz—right around the “Lair of the Vampires” era.

Chapter 16

The Lair of the Vampires

I WAS LIVING IN A MANSION IN MALIBU in 1975. Beer and success went hand in hand, while whiskey waited in the wings. The phenomenal acceptance of Nightmare was coming at me fast, like a speeding meteorite. There were musicians and celebrities in our dressing room at the end of every show—John Lennon, David Cassidy, Lou Reed, Todd Rundgren, the Doors, Aerosmith, Andy Warhol. I was on constant tour. The original band was history. Now I was surrounded by topflight session musicians, an able road crew, a private jet, and Shep’s management organization that saw to our every need, 24/7.

As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, my first reflex was to reach over and grab a cold beer from a cooler stash I had an arm’s length from my bed. Then there was more beer on the jet. More and more beer all day. The world was at my feet. I wasn’t shooting heroin and I wasn’t snorting cocaine—none of that evil stuff. It was just beer. Except nobody noticed that I was drinking more than a couple six-packs a day.

Even when I was drinking at my heaviest, I was Mr. Nice Guy. I wasn’t an angry, difficult, mean, or fighting drunk. I was a nice guy drunk—a rich, successful, respectable drunk—and I subconsciously credited the alcohol for giving me the fame and gold records, and the drive and courage to succeed. But I was also a pitiful guy. I couldn’t say no to anybody about anything, because I hated conflict. I wish I could have said no to alcohol, but instead, I became the most functional alcoholic you could ever meet—a virtual touring and recording machine. Push me on stage or in a studio, and I’d never miss a word to a song. Put me in a movie and I never flubbed a line. I could do The Tonight Show (and I did twice) and be as lucid as any of Johnny’s sober guests. You’d never imagine I was a drunk. Those closest to me didn’t realize how much I was drinking.

Pretty soon I was drinking up to a case of beer a day.

It got to the point where I perfected (and rationalized) my alcoholism so well, I played by a set of ground rules. I’d get up in the morning and, after a cold brew, I’d promise myself, “Okay, I won’t drink hard liquor until after ten o’clock at night.” Then pretty soon the ground rules shifted. I wouldn’t start drinking whiskey until nine o’clock. Then eight o’clock. It went on like that. Soon I promised myself I would not drink the hard stuff until noon.

Eventually, though, the beer had no effect on me. In order to get high, I now needed to get up in the morning and have a few beers, then pour myself a glass of Coca-Cola and add in about three or four shots of Seagram’s VO.

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