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Hi, you're in the Archives, August 2005 - Part 2 |
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CONCERT
REVIEW - THE HAMSTERS
Half Moon, Putney, London,
27th August 2005 by
Nick Morgan |
 |
We
decided to give the
Hamsters another try.
You may remember they are “The
Uk’s best rock and Blues band
(probably)” but failed to impress
greatly in the rain at Cropredy. They
also claim to have been “Voted
the UK's best blues-rock band, and
the leading interpreters of the music
of Jimi Hendrix and ZZ Top!”.
Well tonight they are in ZZ Top and
Hendrix mode at the delightful Half
Moon in Putney. |
| It’s
a friendly, crowded, sweaty, small
room at the back of a traditional
pub that serves traditional warm beer
– if you’re ever in London
I seriously recommend a visit. My
son’s in town, and as he’s
recently gone through a charming and
very pleasing transition from something
called ‘Nu Metal’ (yes
– no Rammstein in the car on
the way to our B&B hell in Wales
later today) to a diverse range of
the new (the Magic Numbers seem to
be a current favourite) and the old
(“Hey dad, did you ever hear
of a band called Deep Purple?”).
So in the spirit of furthering his
education we’re here for the
Hamsters part two. |
| Perhaps
not surprisingly what didn’t
work in a huge field goes down much
better in a confined space. And I
learn that the Hamsters take their
role as ‘interpreters’
quite seriously – so this isn’t
a tribute band pastiche or parody,
it’s respectful, soulful and
from the heart. And I’m reminded
of the phrase that went something
like ‘those who can do, those
who can’t, teach’ –
because the Hamster’s own material
really is pretty weak – and
as far as I can tell we’re spared
most of it tonight. But maybe it’s
a good thing that someone’s
around to occasionally remind us what
this great stuff ‘might have’
(that lazy historian’s stand-by
when facts are short) sounded like
in the flesh. |
 |
|
We get loads of ZZ Top – a band
about whom I know almost nothing,
apart from the beards and the girl
in the impossibly tight hotpants.
But some of their tunes seem decent
enough, and I learn that they wrote
‘TV dinners’, performed
nicely by the late Robert Palmer on
his last very good album Drive. |
 |
I’m
in much safer territory on Hendrix,
‘Fire’, ‘Hey Joe’,
‘Purple haze’, ‘Isabella’,
‘The wind cries for Mary’,
‘Foxy lady’, ‘Voodoo
child’ (or is it ‘chile’?)
et. al. My son is transfixed, and
I’m slightly worried that he’s
trying to do that Northern European
‘remembering the riffs’
thing – but then he’s
not the only bloke in the audience
with that look on his face. The Hamsters
give it all they’ve got, and
bewilderingly all leave the stage
during the last (ZZ Top) number and
return from the audience playing each
other’s instruments. Apparently
this is called ‘Entertainment’
– the audience love it. |
| So
everyone leaves feeling pretty good
about themselves, and in a week when
there’s been a typical amount
of nonsense talked in the Press about
the state of education in the country
today etc. (well, it’s August
and there isn’t much else going
on, apart from the cricket that is)
I’m left pondering a crucial
gap in today’s curriculum. Shouldn’t
there be a compulsory course in pub-back-room
rhythm and blues? |
 |
|
A note on photography:
The Photographer had to pull out of
the gig at the last minute, ‘though
enjoyed the Hendrix highlights via
the Nokia. So I was left with the
camera, standing behind a German photographer
(apparently the Hamsters are big in
Germany) who I was trying to copy.
That’s my excuse, and I’m
sticking to it. - Nick Morgan
(photos by Nick) |
| Thanks
so much, Nick. Whether willingly or
not, it seems that you're adding some
new pages to The History of Modern
Photography, and after your 'blue
period' (Nick Cave), I must say that
your red one is very promising as
well. And we love that (probably deaf)
hamster on the amplifier on your first
picture! ZZ Top? Maybe it's music
for Joe Six-Pack but I remember when
'Tres Hombres' and 'Rio Grande Mud'
came out in France, we quite liked
these records (I seem to recall it
was labeled as 'hard boogie'). As
for these good Hamsters, yes, I have
to go and listen to them with Arthur
one day (as you know, it's not Rammstein
but Coldplay - even worse?) but good
news, he's already a Jimi Hendrix
convert. Speaking of whom, here's
The Hamsters doing All
along the watchtower.mp3 (live).
Btw, loved also the Hamsters' albums:
'Pet Sound', 'Route 666', 'Electric
Hamsterland'... Lol! |
| TASTING
- TWO MISSION CLYNELISHES
Clynelish
30 yo 1972/2002 (46%, Murray McDavid
Mission I) 
Similar to most 1972 Clynelishes,
which means extremely good. The
nose is very waxy, with bunches
of tropical fruits and also fresh
‘Northern’ white fruits.
Very clean. Mouth: the attack is
a bit tannic but not too much, with
lots of icing sugar, fructose, and
then, again, lots of various fruits
(mango, guava, melon, pineapple,
quince jelly etc.). An excellent
one indeed, that offers much pleasure.
90 points. |
 |
| Clynelish
28 yo 1976/2004 (46%, Murray McDavid
Mission IV)
Nose: some nice sherry notes right
at the start, that do not mask Clynelish’s
character, though: wax, tropical fruits
again, oranges… It's just slightly
sulphury but nothing excessive. Mouth:
again, bunches of tropical fruits
mixed with a nice sherry. Notes of
Xmas cake, raisins… A very nice
balance and quite some oomph in this
one. A very nice one again, getting
perhaps just a tad too dry, but the
usual cleanliness, fruitiness and
waxiness are well here. Much quaffable.
89 points. |
CONCERT
REVIEW - JOSEPHINE FOSTER/ESPERS/DEVENDRA
BANHART
Concorde 2, Brighton UK, 9th
August 2005 by
Dave Broom |
 |
Where’s
that sound coming from? That high
keening sound? The one that’s
making me shiver. Her? Are her lips
moving? God it’s hot. Not perhaps
the best night to be at a sold-out
gig inside a club whose idea of air
conditioning is to open a side door
to let more humid air in. But hey,
it’s folk music, right? This’ll
be back to the days of the floor-sitting,
head-nodding, funny cigarette smoking
days of the 70s. Not like we’ll
be dancing! As I said this
is folk. I’ve even
grown my beard a little longer to
generate extra stroking potential
... and I’ve got sandals on.
The Hawaiian shirt is, in retrospect
a sartorial error. |
The
top billing is Devendra Banhart, the
new leader of this loosely- affiliated
movement that’s seen folk raising
its profile -- as it does every few
years. The music is lo-fi, quiet,
floorboard-creakingly intimate. He’s
brought along two support acts and
that’s the sound is coming from
the first of them, Josephine
Foster.
It’s a wail, a melancholy cry
.. and then the words come, in an
mannered accent which seems like ancient
English. You know these songs but
have never heard them before. It is
music so ancient that it seems part
of you. If she was alive living in
the 17th century she’d have
been tied to a stake the moment she
started to sing.
The guitar playing is rudimentary.
She plays as if she’s just learned
the first chords. Her strange narratives
float and settle over the crowd. Conversation
stops. This is folk, but not folk.
This is new folk, underground folk,
acid folk, call it what you want.
It’s the sound of bands recording
in the woods, tapping into the old
stories because they’ve realised
that they are the bloodiest, strangest
songs of all.
She sings so quietly yet has silenced
this boisterous, hot, crowd. No-one
is sitting down. Instead at the end
of every song people look at one another
and shudder as if they’re coming
out of a dream. It’s opium folk. |
| She
slips off. We refresh the inner being
with beer. The stage crowds up with
guitars, keyboards, a drum kit and
.. a cello? Now there’s an instrument
you don’t often see wielded
in anger these days. Right enough,
Joanna
Newsom plays the harp and she’s
even odder than Josephine Foster,
singing in some demented child’s
voice. But she's not playing, this
is Espers.
I’ve heard them before. Their
music is .. you guessed .. quiet.
It’s layered and textured, tight
harmonies. Someone says Pentangle,
someone else offers Jefferson Airplane.
Neither are a good frame of reference
for me. They start. The talking continues.
The number ends. A smatter of applause.
They start another song. It’s
even quieter. The talking gets louder.
The spell has gone. |
 |
| Joanna
Newsom |
What
I can hear is every bit as good as
the records (which are nothing like
Pentangle or the bloody Airplane)
but they’ve lost the crowd.
The cello is good the loudest thing
on stage. They leave. I suspect they’ve
cut it short. We have more beer.
By now I’m fearing for Devendra.
I mean, his albums consist of him
and a guitar with occasional, minimal
backing. You can hear the dust in
the room settling. His odd, funny,
sad, surreal songs seem to appear
out of thin air, improvised on the
spot. On his last tour he sat cross
legged on a platform on the stage.
I look around. No-one is sitting down,
beards have remained unstroked, there
are precious few sandals. Only the
perfume of exotic cigarettes gives
some hint of this being the type of
gig I’m expecting, but to be
honest you get that smell at every
gig in Brighton, even string quartets
in the pavilion. He’ll be murdered
by this lot.
The stage fills again. There’s
a man wearing towels on his head.
"I’m a gnome!” he
shouts. A boiled gnome. Another (bearded)
wearing a kaftan. Another (bearded)
stage right and a tall skinny (also
bearded) one in the middle. There’s
lot of beards. Right enough, he’s
got a song about a beard. There’s
also lot of hair. There also appears
to be blusher and mascara. There are
also, if my sweat-filled eyes do not
deceive me, electric guitars. |
 |
“These
are the Hairy Fairies,” says
the one with the biggest blackest
beard and makeup. That makes him Devendra.
They kick off by sitting on stools
and singing in Spanish and then plug
in. His shirt comes off. It’s
rock n roll! The whole gig teeters
on the edge of disaster as he gets
an audience member to come up and
sing a song, then follows it with
a cod reggae one. Never a good idea
the cod reggae. Then just as the vaudeville
threatens to kill everything he rescues
it: by the musicianship, good humour,
talent ... and the songs. |
|
Ah yes, the songs: he mashes together
a number by Lauren Hill with one
penned by Charles Manson, there’s
songs about bestiality (a pig, if
you’re interested), a psychedelic
squid (that goes down very well
here) there’s hermaphrodites
and bald men wanting their children
to be hairy so they can be warm
in winter. This is folk? It might
be, but it’s also glam rock
cut with disco. He’s always
had the voice of Bolan but now it’s
plugged-in Bolan. Then it hits me..
the Hairy fairies are the new Spirit,
he’s Randy California, the
kid who could do anything. He can
switch from disco to glam to acoustic,
English to Spanish, subject to subject
because ... hell.. because he can.
At this moment in his life, songs
are flowing from him as naturally
as speaking. The audience is pogoing,
shouting. I wonder who will be the
first to cry “Judas!”
but we’re all grown up now.
The lights come on, the band play
on. Witches, beards and hairy fairies.
Welcome to the new weird. - Dave
Broom (Devendra Banhart photo Steve
Gullick, others X) |
| Thank
you very much Dave, and welcome to
Captain Nick's Mighty Squad of Reviewers.
Let me just remind you that we have
no budget left for beers (since Cropredy,
it appears to me that a gig with no
beer isn't a gig in the UK) but maybe
Nick can lend the Whiskyfun jet to
you from time to time (last time I
checked, there was some Brora left
in the bar - if you can't find it
just ask Natacha, the hostess). As
for these artists, I knew Banahrt
and I like his music (I did post something
in September
2004, the mp3s are still working
it appears) but the others were unknown
to me. It's true that these weird
new voices are something, well, weird
(CocoRosie and the likes). Anyway,
here are a few tracks I could find:
Leader
Soldier.mp3 (Josephine Foster
w/ David Pajo on drums, demo track)
- Sadie.mp3
(Joanna Newsom) - This
beard is for Sibohan.mp3 (Devendra
Banhart - beards indeed). Next review:
The Hamsters by Nick (right tomorrow). |
| TASTING
– TWO INDIE BLADNOCHS
Bladnoch 14 yo 1990/2004 (51.7%,
Signatory Straight from the Cask,
cask #962, 248 bottles)
Colour: white wine. Nose: very yeasty
at first nosing. Something of baby
vomit – a nice baby, that
is. Mashed potatoes, hot milk, ‘natural’
yoghurt, porridge… It then
gets rather citrusy, with some notes
of lemon skin and also a little
pineapple juice. But the yeasty
notes rule. Mouth: this is better.
Nice attack, on liquorice and herbs,
with something winey (but it’s
a bourbon cask). A little sugary,
with some orange liqueur, lemon
pie. Very compact and ‘coherent’
but rather simple. Some bold notes
of grapefruit at the finish. In
short, no serious flaws but nothing
too special either. 80 points
for its ‘compactness’.
|
 |
| Bladnoch
1987/2000 (59.3%, Scott’s Selection)
Colour: white wine. Nose: I liked
the SFTC’s better, I must say.
The Scott’s has lots of ginger
ale, vodka, lemon juice. Almost pungent
but not really violent. A little simple,
developing a bit on mash, beer, and
some very heavy grainy notes. Not
too bad but lacking depth. Mono-dimensional.
Mouth: sweet and almost Sugarish,
getting quite nicely bitter, on lemon
seeds and grapefruit. Now it’s
nicer! Gets more and more citrusy.
Sugared lemon juice, grapefruit…
Again it’s mono-dimensional
but quite enjoyable. This one would
stand a few ice cubes (come, come...
;-). The finish is long and, again,
very lemony, with quite some tea during
the retro-olfaction (tea with lemon
of course). Simple but flawless. 81
points. |
CONCERT
REVIEW - NICK CAVE AND THE BAD SEEDS
Alexandra Palace, London,
25th August 2005 by
Nick Morgan |
| Having
only recently bought myself a television
I’ve been surprised that I’ve
been watching it quite a lot over
the past few weeks as we’re
all gripped in the excitement of the
Ashes Test Match Series (it’s
cricket Serge, when England and Australia
pit their greatest athletes against
each other for the prize of, errr…
a pile of ashes). I mention that for
two reasons. |
 |
| Firstly,
as Raymond Chandler demonstrated,
a great sporting event can provide
both a backdrop for both narrative
development and act as a metaphor
for the spirit of the age. Secondly,
and more to the point, it’s
because tonight we’re at Alexandra
Palace, the birthplace of television
broadcasting in Britain. Built in
1873 ‘Ally Pally’ has
gone through numerous fires and financial
difficulties, but it now trying to
reposition itself as a premier rock
venue – with a capacity of 8,000
in it’s Victorian Great Hall
a bridge between venues such as Brixton
Academy (c. 5000 and fantastic, but
also big enough in my view) and Wembley
Arena (c. huge and soulless). Well
my advice is think again. It’s
difficult to get to unless you drive
(expect to wait nearly an hour to
get out of the car park after the
gig). The ‘facilities’
are woefully inadequate. The sound
is indifferent. And the Great Hall
may have some particular ambience
as a result of its restored high-Victorian
decoration, but it’s really
just a barn, and with no apparent
banking on the floor (as you would
get at old theatre or cinema venues
such as Brixton, Shepherd’s
Bush etc.) sight-lines are appalling
for almost anyone except those wedged
in front of the stage – and
even then I suspect you get a crick
in your neck as you strain to look
up over the on-stage monitors. As
you may have guessed I don’t
think I’ll be going again. |
 |
And
then there’s the audience. Well,
as we’re here to see Nick
Cave and the Bad Seeds
it’s as eclectic a bunch as
you might expect. Goths of all ages,
sinewy and sinister black shirted
hipsters (that’s me), black
spectacled and shoulder-bagged Agency
and creative types, a smattering of
the chattering classes from Hampstead
and Camden, and – thanks partly
to the location of the venue (and
the probability that this is Cave’s
only UK gig this year) a huge number
of ‘out-of-towners’, who
to be frank just don’t seem
to know how to behave at gigs. |
| I
guess they’re all used to sitting
down at some dreadful place like the
Milton Keynes Bowl. Or maybe someone
had chalked ‘Push past me again
you ignorant prat’ on the back
of my designer shirt. Or maybe it
was just everyone’s frustration
at not being able to see. Or maybe
too much beer and too many North London
‘geezers’ who thought
they were being ‘a larrf’
– like the two who seemed to
spend the whole evening pushing through
the crowd carrying the same six plastic
glasses of obnoxious fizzy beer. Or
maybe I was cross because (apparently)
it was me who’d forgotten the
camera (oops!). Or maybe it was because
just as everyone at last seemed to
have got settled into their sardine
like position the provincial ones
started to leave to catch their trains
and buses home. Whatever. It wasn’t
good. |
| And
the band? Well, as regular Whiskyfun
rocksters may recall, last year these
bad-mouthed boys from the colonies
got my coveted ‘Gig of the Year’
award for their show at Brixton which
was simply sensational. Luckily I
hadn’t expected a repeat of
that – because we didn’t
get it. Despite blasting into ‘Get
ready for love’ it took them
a good few songs before they really
got up to full speed (tired perhaps
after a long year on the road around
the world), and before the sound-desk
got the mix tolerably right. |
 |
| Not
to say that Mr Cave wasn’t giving
one hundred per cent from the start.
He shouted and spat his lyrics, Kung-fu
kicked in Elvis style, cajoled both
his band and the audience, gyrated
like a dervish, danced like a Spanish
waiter (I know – I used that
one before, but it’s good) and
thanks to the excellent lighting cast
a manic shadow on the side walls (lucky
for those then who didn’t catch
a glimpse of him on stage all night)
like Julian Bleach’s spine-chilling
narrator in Shockheaded Peter. |
 |
And
once the band hit full speed they
were as impressive as before. By the
third song – the awesome ‘Hiding
all away’ from Abattoir Blues
they had signalled their intentions,
and from what followed ‘Supernaturally’,
‘The weeping song’, ‘The
mercy seat’, ‘There she
goes’ , ‘Lyre of Orpheus’
and ‘Abattoir blues’ all
demonstrated their uncanny talent
to mix the delicate and sensitive
with power and aggression bar none.
|
But the set was shorter than Brixton,
where they cracked through almost
all of Abattoir Blues/The lyre of
Orpheus before returning for an extensive
encore from Cave’s back catalogue.
Here there were fewer songs, greater
gaps between them (partly as feedback
problems were being addressed) and
a shorter encore.
But for all of this by the time they
finished with ‘Stagger Lee’
these mean motherfuckers from the
Antipodes had again shown that, like
Cave’s much vaunted lyrics,
they can straddle the profound to
the profane with the ease of giants.
And for all my carping about the venue
and the crowd we’d had a good
time, and I shouldn’t forget
that the tickets were a birthday present.
Thanks Amy! However I was left wondering,
particularly after I listened again
to last year’s simply brilliant
Cave and the Bad Seeds album, “what
next?” It’s hard to see
where they can go without simply recycling
the same musical ideas. But then maybe
that’s for them to surprise
us all in the future. In the meantime
here’s an idea that would grasp
the imagination of gigsters across
the world. An on-stage smoke-out between
Cave and the Bad Seeds, and the Alabama
3. Who would win this nicotine drenched
duel? Who is brave enough to take
up the challenge? Another major sporting
event that could act as a metaphor
for an almost lost world … -
Nick Morgan (concert photos by
Nick's Nokia) |
|
Thank
you Nick, loved your new TV set! Just
back from Provence - where we could
hear other kinds of crickets, see
this funny one seen yesterday morning
next to our room. Okay, here's a nice
tune by Nick Cave: The
Ship Song.mp3 (live). |
| TASTING
– TWO OLD SPRINGBANKS BY THE
WHISKY FAIR |
Mouth:
rather delicate right from the start,
on rose jelly, Turkish delight and
all sorts of fresh fruits (apples,
pears, watermelon). Add to that a
dash of white pepper. It then gets
slightly herbal, with some notes of
fresh parsley. The finish is, again,
quite delicate and a little buttery,
with some fructose, icing sugar. In
short, this one is quite special,
for it tastes so young. A perfect
malt to play a good trick during a
‘blind’ session? Anyway,
it’s really enjoyable and a
nice curiosity. 87 points.
Springbank
37 yo 1968/2005 (47.5%, The Whiskyfair,
216 bottles)
Colour: white wine/light straw. Nose:
more delicate and subtle, and certainly
less ‘roughly fruity’
and more maritime. Sea air. Develops
on boiling milk, milk chocolate and
coconut milk (here you go). Funny
hints of dill, wild carrot. Some vanilla
crème and light fudge…
A very nice nose, subtle and very
harmonious. Mouth: very, very nice
again, with a great mix of fresh apple
juice, fudge, lemon pie and white
pepper. Most perfectly balanced! Lots
of ripe bananas too, pineapple flambéed,
milk chocolate. Nice vivacity at that.
The finish is medium long, on fruits
topped with caramel sauce. Very enjoyable:
90 points. |
 |
TASTING
- Coleburn 30 yo 1970/2000 (57%, Signatory,
cask #100, 300 bottles)
From the ‘Rare Reserve’
series. Colour: light straw. Nose:
nicely fresh attack, quite clean yet
rather yeasty. Fruity and flowery
at the same time, with also some very
nice grassy notes. Lots of cider apples.
Gets quite smoky after a moment (garden
bonfire). It’s quite youthful
at 30 years old, I like it very much!
Mouth: extremely sweet start, with
quite some white pepper, apple skin
and apple pie. Really enjoyable, some
old, pure malt from an almost inactive
cask, it appears. Certainly a very
slow ageing. It gets just a bit bitter
after a while, but in a whole, that’s
a kind of profile I like. 87
points. |
| MUSIC
– Strongly recommended
listening: famous South African pianist
and composer Abdullah
Ibrahim aka Dollar Brand
plays and sings a delicate and intimate
ode to his city, Cape
Town.mp3 (from 'Kysna blue').
Sure he hasn't got the Voice of the
Century, but it's full of soul. Please
buy Abdullah Ibrahim's music. |
 |
CONCERT
REVIEW - RICHARD THOMPSON 'SOLO'
Lyric
Hammersmith, London, Tuesday 23nd
August 2005
by
Nick Morgan |
| I’ve
got a nice book on my desk –
it’s a sort of ‘Richard
Thompson meets Bert Weedon’s
Play in a Day’. I bought it
a few years ago, and excitedly sat
down, guitar in hand, to try and work
my way through the first tune, ‘Banish
misfortune’ a traditional Irish
double jig (technical eh?). I reckoned
after an hour or more that I’d
made a pretty decent fist of it, not
least as the neighbours hadn’t
started banging on the wall. It was
at that point that a CD fell from
the book’s rear cover. |
 |
| As
I played it the blinkers of self
deception fell from my eyes (and
ears), for there was Richard Thompson
himself, bashing out a version of
the tune that sounded nothing like
the unfortunate mess I’d just
made of it. But that’s what
happens when a mere mortal pits
himself against a genius. And whilst
I know Serge gets uncomfortable
with this reverential stuff (“no
Nick, my Whiskyfun readers aren’t
interested in the music, they just
like the jokes”) I put it
on record now that Mr Thompson,
in terms of both his writing and
guitar playing is close to being
Genius Number One. And he scores
satisfyingly high on the Eccentric
to Bonkers scale too.
That’s
why we’re sitting in the delightfully
restored late nineteenth century
Lyric Theatre in Hammersmith (cf.
‘Frank Matcham's, famous ornate
fin-de-siecle gilt and velvet auditorium’),
- a suitable venue for one who clearly
has a deep affinity with the British
music-hall tradition, even if the
theatre is artfully camouflaged
by a hideous and soulless concrete
shopping centre. |
 |
It’s
quite a blokish audience, many of
them with the trademark West London
linen jacket, jeans and open necked
casual shirt look, that yells ‘Chelsea
and Fulham 4X4 Brigade’. But
I can put up with them for one night,
especially when it’s Richard
Thompson promoting his new album Front
Parlour Ballads with a solo concert.
Well that’s what it said on
the ticket. But it turns out (to our
delight) that ‘solo’ includes
the very singular Danny Thompson,
best known I suppose for his time
with Pentangle, John Martyn, and more
recently playing bass on the Blind
Boys of Alabama’s outstanding
Spirit of the Century album. |
| Thompson
and Thompson have been touring and
recording together for over ten years
– on stage they nag and argue
like an old married couple, but as
far as the music is concerned they
have a deep and silent understanding
– each knows what the other
will play and when – they are,
to be frank, more like Siamese twins,
joined at the hip, than Mr and Mrs. |
|
Did I mention that they are both converts
to Islam? Oh yes, and as for that
new album stuff, well it does get
an apologetic mention once or twice
(“You’re wasting your
time Richard”, yells one wag
in the stalls, “we’ve
all already bought it”) but
we actually only get a handful of
songs from it, ‘For whose sake’,
‘Let it blow’, ‘Old
Thames side’ (which I think
must have been written in the hope
that Dick Gaughan would cover it)
, and the deeply sinister ‘When
we were boys at school’. |
 |
Which
takes me onto another subject. Thompson
(Richard) seems like a really nice
bloke – he gives us an improvised
weather report when asked by an obvious
Cropredy veteran “will it rain
Richard?”, beginning “well
not in here”; tells a few football
jokes, larks around with his missus
Danny, and totally plays the fool
singing ‘Hots for the smarts’
(“Here’s one for all you
clever girls out there – you
know who you are”) – but
the bleak and stark bitterness that
informs so many of his narrative songs
suggests he might have the sort of
dark side that most of us would do
well to avoid, better off taking a
vicarious tour through the songs instead.
But then I thought, maybe he just
sees the dark side in all of us, as
he knowingly explores the sordid dreams
(‘I feel so good’) and
secrets (Johnny’s far away’)
of suburbia’s bedroom drawers.
Because if you don’t know by
now, Thompson writes and sings obsessively
about the English suburban landscape
in which he was brought up, and from
which he obviously never quite escaped,
despite the fact that he lives in
California (where it never rains).
Think front parlours and mock Tudor
architecture. “I just want to
be middle class …I just want
to be free’ proclaims the aspiring
social climber of ‘Crawl back’.
Hang on – enough of the purple
prose. It’s a fantastic night.
He plays an amplified acoustic in
a bewildering array of tunings, and
goes easy on the pedals. And I’m
reminded that he’s not afraid
to hit the occasional bum note when
he improvises around his often discordant
melodies (on that bloody tuition CD
– which is now an ashtray by
the way – I seem to remember
that he says about half way through,
“well, at this point you just
make it up really” – helpful
or what?). And that of course is one
of the ideas behind Front Parlour
Ballads, recorded in his garage, warts
and all. He only forgets the words
to a couple of songs, and of course
performs That motorbike song solo,
and this time gets it right. |
 |
In
addition to the new songs we go back
to his collaboration with ex wife
Linda for songs such as ‘Hokey
Pokey’ and ‘A heart needs
a home’, for which he is joined
on vocals by (a somewhat nervous)
daughter Kamila, who also sings on
‘Persuasion’ and ‘Keep
your distance’. |
From his more recent work ‘King
of Bohemia’, a very forceful
‘Outside of the inside’
(“this is a fundamentalist’s
theme song which I wrote after 9/11.
I don’t like fundamentalists”),
‘Mingus eyes’ ‘Al
Bowley’ (no Jon, not a music
hall bish-bash, but a fierce anti-war
song) and then finally ‘Wall
of death’, a great finish, and
it seemed to me at the time, a wonderful
epitaph for us all – “Let
me ride on the wall of death one more
time …this is the nearest thing
to being alive”.
Complaints? Well it would have been
nice to hear Thompson work his way
through the new album as we missed
out a lot of great material. But apart
from that it’s hard to fault.
Danny Thompson’s bass playing
was quite exquisite, and Thompson
delivered top bananas on both guitar
and vocals. Sorry Serge, this one
was a 97 point five star hit. - Nick
Morgan (concert photos by Kate) |
|
Thank you Nick, many readers are interested
in Music indeed - and do like some
(good) suburbian English jokes as
well. Okay, I have to be quick (we're
in Provence just now), so here's what
we have: I
feel so good.mp3. Plenty of nice
tracks here
as well, and there's also that npr
link. Sorry I do not have it here
but will add it on Monday. |
| TASTING
- Glengoyne 8 yo (43%, OB, black label,
bottled 1973)
Nose: ah, this is interesting, as
there’s quite some herbal liquors
such as Chartreuse and genepy. Gets
then quite grainy, with also some
light honey and caramel. Simple but
enjoyable. Mouth: extremely herbal,
with again some Chartreuse, Bénédictine,
Izzara… Interesting indeed,
if not totally thrilling. Long and
bold finish, mostly on… herbs,
you guessed it. 84 points
(but Olivier rated it much higher:
89) |
|
 |
| CRAZY
SUMMER ADS - PART IX (and last) |
 |
Left
- Ancre Pils 1950's:
an old Alsatian brand (thanks, J.).
Right - Cutty Sark
2001.
Lazy admen! |
| |
| TASTING
– TWO EXCELLENT GLENFIDDICHS
FROM CADENHEAD’S |
 |
Glenfiddich 31 yo 1973/2004 (48.9%,
Cadenhead, 186 bottles)
Colour: dark straw. Nose: wow, extremely
fruity and flowery at the same time!
Lots of ripe apple and kiwi juice.
Also some dill and fresh parsley.
Really lively. Develops on nectar,
flowers from the fields… Fresh
pineapple juice. What a superb freshness!
Hints of peat, garden bonfire. Also
some sandalwood. Really complex and
most enjoyable. |
Mouth:
very sweet and nervous at the same
time, on all sorts of fruits and white
pepper. Notes of old wood like in
many old Glenfiddichs. Quite some
apricot juice and hints of burnt tea,
toasted bread. A long, powerful and
fresh finish, getting just a little
bitter. In short, not much complexity
in this one but lots of pleasure.
88 points.
Glenfiddich-Glenlivet
30 yo 1963/1993 (51.7%, Cadenhead,
bottled October)
Colour: gold. Nose: still very punchy
after all these years! Bold notes
of nectar, dandelion, buttercup, developing
on a beautiful caramel, fudge and
honey. Some nice hints of peat. Very
close to the more recent version but
more complex. Lots of milk chocolate,
caramel candies (Werther’s)
and cooked apples. Goes on on some
notes of wine cellar, fresh mushrooms,
wet moss, forest after the rain…
Really magnificent. Mouth: plain incredible:
it’s almost a peaty as, say
Talisker. Superb! Some great notes
of herbal tea (all sorts), Lapsang
Souchong, green apples. Gets also
quite waxy, with some paraffin, burnt
bread and always these strong peaty
notes and a very nice bitterness/woodiness.
Also some traces of olive oil (which
I love), infused tealeaves…
And a very long finish at that. Wow!
92 points. |
| MUSIC
– Jazz - Recommended
listening: the Julien
Lourau Groove Gang plays
Erotic.mp3.
Go see them on stage, they're much
groooovier than Austin Powers. Oh,
and please buy their music! |
 |
| TASTING
– THREE CAOL ILAS |
 |
Caol
Ila 18 yo (57%, G&M for Sestante,
Italy, sherry wood, 70’s)
This one is from the old Caol Ila
distillery. Colour: dark gold. Nose:
what a superb attack, very medicinal,
on bandages, embrocations, camphor…
A very delicate, yet very bold peat,
mixed with quite some cocoa and
oak. The sherry is very discreet
but it’s well there. Also
quite some grain, mash, porridge…
cider apples… Very pure! And
what a great balance in this oldie!
Mouth: a perfect mouth feel, bold
and punchy at that. A beautiful
sweetness, with ‘of course’
lots of peat, which make the malt
perfectly ‘compact’
(and not narrow at all). Develops
on liquorice, roots, pepper, apple
pie… And always this superb
peatiness. I love how it stays very
clean and, again, so compact. Extremely
satisfying… Ah, and now there’s
some fresh oysters… The finish
is very long, on ‘oyster juice’
and apple juice. Okay, maybe it’s
just a tad ‘simple’,
otherwise it would have deserved
even more than 92 points. |
| Caol
Ila 11 yo 1993/2005 (58.3%, Scotch
Malt Whisky Society 53.90)
Colour: straw. Nose: strong and powerful
but not pungent. Lots of simple, straightforward
peat plus litres of apple juice. Some
white wood smoke, sea water, grain,
mashed potatoes… Typical flawless
Caol Ila but lacking a little complexity
– although there are some hints
of clove coming through. Mouth; very
powerful, almost burning. Lots of
earthy notes, roots, liquorice sticks.
Very sweet, partly from the strong
alcohol, and again, lacking a little
extra-complexity. I feel this would
have been a top-grade constituent
for an high-end blend. With a few
drops of water, it becomes a tad more
medicinal, but also a little Sugarish.
Anyway, an uncomplicated, flawless
Caol Ila with little cask influence.
Enjoyable. 83 points. |
 |
 |
Caol
Ila 10 yo 1994/2004 (61.3%, Signatory
Straight from the Cask, cask #04/488,
402 bottles)
Colour: white wine. Nose: extremely
powerful, almost like a new make.
Lots of body and much less peat than
expected, but maybe the heavy alcohol
sort of masks it. Yet, it’s
rather clean and fresh, with hints
of burnt rubber and a bit of smoke.
Also some freshly cut apple, but water
is needed here! Alas, a few drops
of water make it very cardboardy,
even after a few minutes (no more
saponification). Notes of wet stone
and rubber. |
| Mouth:
again, it’s close to a new make,
very hot and, curiously, very salty.
Quite some pear eau de vie, and some
smoke but there could (should?) be
more of it. Water makes it very sweetish
and, frankly, a little dull. The finish
is rather long but spirity and sweetish
again. I guess a few more years in
wood would have made it more enjoyable.
Ha, youth! 76 points. |
 |
TASTING
- FOUR GLEN MHORS by G&M
Glen
Mhor 8 yo (70 proof, G&M licensed
bottling, 70’s)
Colour: light amber. Nose: very
nice attack on mocha, bitter chocolate
and burnt cake, with quite some
peat smoke coming through. Dark
toffee, cappuccino, oriental pastry
(orange water). Hints of perfume,
musk, candy sugar… A great
one, with lots of punch. Mouth:
creamy attack, on Grand-Marnier,
caramel sauce, Mandarine Imperiale,
cappuccino… An excellent surprise.
So satisfying! Not overly complex
but highly enjoyable! 87
points. |
Glen
Mhor 8 yo (100 proof, G&M licensed
bottling, 70’s)
Colour: light amber. Nose: very similar
to the 70 proof, just more powerful,
and with the coffeeish notes being
bolder, probably due to the highest
level of alcohol. Lots of bitter chocolate
too. Mouth: very powerful and rather
spirity. Notes of distillation, ‘silver
fork,’ and again lots of bitter
chocolate. I think the 70 proof version
was subtler, this time. Lower levels
aren’t always pure nonsense!
86 points.
Glen
Mhor 8 yo (40%, G&M licensed bottling,
90’s) Nose:
grainy and dusty, sour, cardboardy.
‘Fish at the end of the day
at the market’. Sulphury…
What happened? Mouth: plain weird,
sugary and soapy. Very difficult to
enjoy this one, with its notes of
dead crab ;-). An accident? 45
points
Glen
Mhor 15 yo (40%, G&M licensed
bottling, 90’s)
Nose: awful, I’m afraid. Lots
of chemicals… Mouth: very soapy
and dusty. Plain undrinkable. An accident
again, most probably... 25
points. |
 |
 |
MUSIC
– Heavily recommended
listening: Rachael
Yamagata sings one of
her most beautiful songs, called Be
be my love.mp3 (be patient, server
a bit slow but it's worth it). Her
new 'CD' has been recorded live at
KCRW's 'Morning Becomes Eclectic'
(the greatest radio show ever in my
opinion) and it's fantastic. You can
get it exclusively at iTunes - don't
miss it. |
| TASTING
- TWO VERY YOUNG INDIE ARDBEGS and
a new, experimental way of
scoring - suggested by whisky
friend Soup - that should please both
the supporters of 'numerical scorings'
and the ones who prefer simple stars
(thanks, Soup!) |
 |
Ardbeg
10 yo 1994/2004 (59.1%, Scotch Malt
Whisky Society, 33.54)
Colour: white wine. Nose: powerful,
on full apple juice and white pepper
mode. Very smoky and somewhat briny.
Lots of grapefruit too. Quite simple
in fact, but rather enjoyable. Mouth:
full bodied but extremely sweet and
spirity, with some apple juice and
some smoke but not much else. Again,
a simple one, quite good but I'm sorry,
it's too sweetish for my tastes. |
| Ardbeg
1996/2004 (51.7%, Spirit of Scotland,
cask #898)
Nose: very young of course but smoother
than the Very Young OB. Lots of apple
juice, smoke, peat… But again,
not much else. Yet, it's clean and
rather fresh, which make it quite
enjoybale you aren't seeking complexity.
Mouth: very sweet again but nicely
balanced this time. Quite some liquorice
and lots of peat… Gets a bit
sour and quite peppery after a moment
- but it's a nice sourness. Rather
maritime this one (seaweed), with
also some paraffin notes. In short,
a nice youngster that aged quite quickly.
It's more mature than the SMWS. |
| Good.
Look, Soup, I'm sorry but I'm not
sure it's been an improvement ;-).
Okay, that was
and 78 points for
the SMWS, and
and
85 points for the
Spirit of Scotland. |
| MUSIC
– Jazz - Recommended
listening: adventurous French sax
and clarinet player Michel
Portal does Histoires
de vent.mp3 ('Wind stories') from
'Musiques de CinemaS'. Wow, what a
sound! Please buy Michel Portal's
music! (photo Cees van de Ven) |
 |
| |
| NEWS
- We just got this press release.
It's no crazy rumour and no hoax,
honest! (only picture by ourselves) |
 |
"For
Immediate Release
Islamic Whisky
Islam's greatest legacy, in addition
to The Koran and the Arabic language,
is the unholy art of distilling
alcohol as implied directly by “Trestarig”
- a long forgotten Hebridean whisky
- re-created by a small, independent
whisky distiller.
Trestarig, pronounced “trace-arak”,
according to a 300 year old manuscript
refers to a triple distilled spirit
that may have it’s origins
in ‘Arak’, the original
Middle Eastern spirit distilled
from wine.
Distilling was discovered in 9th
Century Syria for making ladies’
eye shadow called ‘al-kohl’.
|
The art of making “burnt wine”
and it’s aniseed-flavoured descendants
(Raki, Pastis etc.) spread with Islam
around the Mediterranean. Christianity
took it on to Ireland and the pagan
Gaels of the Scottish Hebrides where
barely replaced the vine.
In 1703 ‘A Description of the
Western Islands of Scotland’
by Martin Martin observes: “the
air is temperately cold and moist,
and for the corrective, the natives
use a dose of Trestarig”
described as “aquavitae
three times distilled”
- not the usual two.
Bruichladdich distillery, on the Hebridean
isle of Islay, has distilled Trestarig
once again. The first triple-distilled
spirit in the Western Isles for many
centuries was created by Master Distiller
Jim McEwan:
“This is without doubt the very
best new spirit I have ever tasted,
coming into spirit at 88% alcohol
after a 7 hour spirit run - the longest
I have ever witnessed. The elusive
‘middle cut’ was made
between 86% to 81.5%. This is a rock
show of a malt.”
CEO Mark Reynier: “We like to
do things differently at Bruichladdich
- and if it means going back in time
for inspiration – so be it.
“The word “Trestarig”
may be Gaelic or Viking in origin.
Unusually, both share the Arabic word
“Arak” inferring “distilled
spirit”. ‘Treas’
is the Gaelic for ‘triple’,
while the Norse ‘trost’,
meaning ‘protection’.
To the pagan Viking invaders "protection
spirit" may have been needed
against the cold, illness, pain, or
just missionaries.”
“The Eastern Vikings are known
to have voyaged to Turkey and the
Black Sea via the large rivers of
central Europe. Intriguingly, they
could have brought the knowledge of
triple- distilled Arak to the Hebrides
before the Christians.”
“12,000 litres of Bruichladdich
Trestarig, the world’s
first triple-distilled Islay single
malt- were laid down at 84.5 %. alcohol..
At this strength it will protect you
from anything.”
Notes to Editors:
Alcohol may have been discovered earlier
than the 9th century, but unable to
separate poisonous methanol from drinkable
ethanol (the elusive ‘middle
cut’) the secret died with the
tasters." |
| MUSIC
– Heavily recommended
listening: yeah, I know, she probably
doesn't need any 'wider recognition'
but as it's one of my favourite songs
from the recent years, why not have
another listen to Michelle
Shocked doing her interstellar
hit Anchorage.mp3?
Please buy Michelle Shocked's excellent
music. |
 |
| CRAZY
SUMMER ADS - PART VIII |
 |
|
 |
| Walker's
DeLuxe 1962: 'It's great
to take chances but not on your bourbon.'
I'm sure his wife won't agree... a
matter of a tenth of second. Better
try other bourbons. |
|
Paul
Jones 1970: 'Don't go
near the water without P.J. (...)
P.J. is Paul Jones. And smooth.'
Nothing too funny here but I love
the artwork, so typically late 60's
- early 70's. |
| |
|
|
| Benriach
NAS 'Heart of Speyside’ (43%,
OB, 2004)
Quite similar, perhaps even more ‘farmy’
and with a little more oomph despite
– or thanks to – its younger
age. Some notes of cow stable and
quite some spices. Nice hints of bitter
oranges. Did they add a few casks
of their peated batches to the vatting?
Anyway, I'd say it’s a rather
good one: 79 points. |
 |
CONCERT
REVIEW - SCOTTY MOORE
Jazz Café,
London, 15th August, 2005
by Nick Morgan
If
you’d have asked me about
Scotty
Moore two or three
years ago then I would probably
have told you that he was dead,
and as you can read in a painful
amount of detail on his website,
I wouldn’t have been too far
from the truth. Then a chum handed
me a CD with the instruction, “listen
to it, tell me who it is …”.
About a week later, having thoroughly
enjoyed the music but floundered
in my guesswork, I was told it was
All the King’s Men, a 1997
tribute album to Scotty Moore and
his sidekick D J Fontana, featuring
notables such as Keith Richards,
Levon Helm, Garth Hudson, Jeff Beck
and Ronnie Wood. |
| And
shortly after that I became aware
of a frenzy of Scotty activity –
a concert in London last year that
we missed, and four albums on which
he plays: Scotty Moore and Friends,
Alvin Lee’s In Tennessee (recorded
when Scotty was unwell and only able
to appear on a couple of tracks),
Liam Grundy and Pete Pritchard’s
Western Union and Paul Ansell’s
No9 Live at Sun. So much for being
dead. But when the chance came to
see him this year we leapt at it…just
in case. |
| Now
for those of you who don’t remember
Winfield Scott Moore was the hillbilly
guitarist brought in (with bass player
Bill Black) by Sam Philips on the
fateful day in 1954 to back a young
singer, Elvis
Aaron Presley –
who Philips believed might be able
to realise his dream of a crossover
artiste – a white boy who sounded
black. The session went badly until
the threesome started ‘fooling
around’ with an Arthur ‘Big
Boy’ Crudup song – ‘That’s
all right’. The rest, as they
say, is history. Well almost. Joined
by D J Fontana on drums, Scotty played
with Elvis through the early Sun days
(when he briefly became his manager),
the RCA years and the lost times in
Hollywood. In 1968 he was there playing
the old tunes live with Elvis for
the famous TV Special (get the DVD
if you don’t have it) and was
then, at least as it seems to me,
unceremoniously dumped – without,
it should be noted, a word of complaint
– as Elvis moved to the bigger
and undoubtedly more sophisticated
setup of the American Sound Studios
in Memphis. |
Scotty Moore autobiography,
1997 |
Not
to say that Scotty didn’t continue
working – as you can read elsewhere.
But in that little crudely soundproofed
room on a street corner in Memphis
Scotty created a sound that would
last forever, and in the course inspired
generations of musicians. “Everyone
else wanted to be Elvis” said
Keith Richards, “I wanted to
be Scotty”.
And if you get the chance you should
go to the reconstructed and now working
again Sun
Studios (after it first closed
down it was used as a garage store
and a barber’s shop) and do
the tour. It’s one of those
“and this is probably where…”,
“I like to believe that what
happened next was ..”, “and
I’m sure if he was here today
he’d say that…”
experiences, but nothing can take
away from the atmosphere in the studio
itself – and if you’re
a ‘being there’ sort of
person, then this is one you should
tick off the list – a bit like
going to see Scotty if you get the
chance.
So we’re sitting upstairs at
the Jazz
Café, sharing a table with
a couple of Elvis nuts (average age
32) who are on the Atkins diet (no
burger jokes please). Around the balcony
is a United Nations of young and old,
downstairs is heaving and similarly
mixed (including the German guy who
stand transfixed in front of the stage
taking notes of every Scotty lick),
and somewhere there’s the drunk
woman from Colchester (intelligence
gained at the start of the evening
by the Photographer in the cloakroom)
who staggers alarmingly onto the stage
half way through the set with a rucksack
on her back. Phew! But our shared
apprehension is not about her, it’s
whether Scotty can hack it. We shouldn’t
have worried. |
 |
And
then there’s the quite excellent
band. Pianist, composer, vocalist,
session man Liam
Grundy; bass player to the stars
(including the Photographer’s
favourite, Alvin Lee) Pete
Pritchard; drummer Jimmy
Russell (ex Curved Air, Elmer
Gantry etc. etc. etc.); ‘guitar
legend’ Dave Briggs (ex pioneer
R&B band from the 70’s Red
Beans ‘n Rice) who among other
things teams up with Barcodes Glenn
and Coccia in the Incredible Blues
Puppies; guest guitarist and former
Roy Orbison sidekick Bucky
Barrett; and on vocals and guitar
Paul
Ansell, with a superb rockabilly
voice (and I should stress not an
Elvis impersonator) and a great way
of dealing with drunken ladies with
rucksacks. From what I gather these
good old boys are at the forefront
of what is called a ‘roots music’
revival – in fact my in-the-know
daughter tells me that roots rockabilly
is going to be the next big thing,
but bad news chaps, you’ll only
get a big signing if you’re
“young and beautiful”. |
| Scotty
stands to the left, at the back of
a crowded stage. He grins, chats a
little with the band, but says not
a word to us all night – his
speaking is done by his “very
good friend and companion” the
gracious and delightful Gail from
Nashville, who tells us all how pleased
Scotty is to be here. And he looks
happy enough. And after a shaky start
he really warms up, picking (with
a big thumb pick) at his gorgeous
personalised Gibson (and it’s
not often I say that) ES-295, as the
band move through (among others) ‘Mystery
train’, ‘That’s
alright’, ‘Blue moon’,
‘Heartbreak hotel’, ‘Milk
cow’, ‘My baby left me’
(my notes say a particularly impressive
Scotty solo here) ‘Kid Creole’,
‘Blue suede shoes’ and
finally ‘Mystery train’
again. Now I should say that Scotty
never was the best guitarist in the
world – that’s rarely
the point – and technically
he would be blown away by today’s
School of Rock hot shot Stratocaster
merchants. But it’s that picking
sliding riff style (think ‘Heartbreak
hotel’) and the sound he achieves
from guitar and amplifier (I’m
told he still uses his original Ray
Butt’s amp that dates back to
1955, ‘though I can’t
swear he had it with him on Monday)
that is just electric. |
 |
The hand that touched Scotty
Moore |
And
you could see everyone slowly lighting
up with smiles as Scotty got into
his stride and hit those notes. Quite
how a quiet, unassuming, and rather
frail old man in his mid-seventies
managed it I don’t know, but
even the 14 year old boy at the next
table put down his Gameboy and started
to watch (much to the delight of Mum
and Dad, and everyone else in the
place). Oh yes – and as he had
to walk along the balcony to get back
to his dressing room at the end of
the gig, I did that thing, gently
held his arm and said “Thank
you Scotty”, on behalf of Serge,
Mike, and all you Whiskyfun rock and
rollers out there. - Nick Morgan
(photos by Kate and Nick except Gibson
Scotty Moore signature ES 295).
|
Thanks
a bunch, Nick - I'm glad I already
touched the hand that touched Scotty
Moore. I guess you haven't washed
it yet, but maybe some colleagues
(and Photographer) of yours will insist
you do it one day... Too bad. Anyway,
guess what we have now... Yes, Elvis
Presley (and Scotty Moore) doing That's
alright.mp3 in 1954 (I believe
it's the original recording but I'm
not sure).
PS - to our distinguished readers:
we're glad to announce that Nick,
Whiskyfun's most revered Head of the
Concert Reviews Department, has now
a new 'secret' assistant. Well, not
secret for long, as we should be able
to publish his first review shortly.
Stay tuned! |
| |
TASTING
- Glencraig 1968 (40%, Gordon &
MacPhail Connoisseur’s Choice,
Old map label)
Nose: rather fresh attack, fruity
and floral (the lomond stills?) Develops
mainly on orange juice, marmalade…
Not complex at all but rather enjoyable.
Mouth: the attack is rather sugarish,
on caramel and fruit jellies. Lots
of bubblegum, there’s kind of
an ‘Irishness’ in there.
Too bad it gets then a bit too woody
and slightly bitter (woody bitterness),
with a rather drying finish. 76
points. |
 |
 |
MUSIC
– Heavily recommended
listening: a punchier and funkier
than usual Keb'
Mo' does Stand
up (and be strong).mp3. Hard not
to tap your feet, you'll see. Please
buy the great Keb' Mo's music if you
like it! |
| TASTING
- Dallas Dhu 1969 (40%, G&M CC
Old Brown Label, 80’s)
Colour: gold. Nose: interestingly
quite smoky and toasted, with some
notes of burnt bread and Provence
herbs. Develops on strong tea, and
cocoa powder, and also some mocha.
Interesting! Mouth: starts more classically,
on orange marmalade and chocolate.
Develops on cake, getting rather spicy
(cinnamon), strong coffee… The
finish is a little bitter but in a
nice way. A very good Dallas Dhu indeed,
really in the 'best style of the Gordon
& MaacPhail house' and not tired
in any way. 86 points
(well earned!). |
 |
| CRAZY
RUMOUR: A NEW FINISHING SOON ON THE
MARKET? |
 |
To
be honest, we have no clues as for
what it's going to be, but our secret
photographer just emailed this picture
from the courtyard of a famous Highlands
distillery. What's sure is that we
can see that the casks are 'prepared'
with much care, and that they're made
out of new, shiny oak, as it appears..
Ah, we can't wait, can we? |
| TASTING
- THREE OLD HIGHLAND PARKS |
 |
Highland
Park 12 yo (40%, OB, silk label, normal
H, late 70’s)
Colour: light amber. Nose: greta start,
very flowery and very waxy. Lots of
notes of paraffin and the usual heavy
heathery notes that made Highland
Park's legend. Perhaps not as complex
as expected, though. Mouth: a very
spicy attack, with also lots of caramel,
fudge, burnt cake and strong honey
(chestnut). It then gets slightly
dusty and even cardboardy, which could
the effect of bottle ageing. A very
interesting old Highland Park but
the finish is a little too dry.
86 points.
Highland
Park 12 yo (70 proof, OB, silk label,
ornamental H, mid-70’s)
This one is an earlier version, according
to Mr Highland Park (I mean, Olivier).
Colour: light amber. Nose: again,
lots of caramel, fudge, cake, heather
and honey. Very compact and a little
less waxy than its older brother.
Mouth: wow, it starts with a bold
attack, on some superb notes of fruit
jam. Develops on light honey and goes
on with lots of dried fruits such
as figs and bananas. This one is really
bold and powerful, I like it a little
better than the other one. 87
points. |
| Highland
Park NAS (70 proof, G&M licensed
bottling, Saint-Patrick label, 50’s
or 60’s)
Golden amber. Nose: very, very heathery
- here we are - with lots of light
honey, whiffs of eucalyptus and camphor,
and also some great notes of tropical
fruits. Lots of biscuit too, cake,
crystallised oranges, a bit of rubber,
peat… Really splendid. Mouth:
rather bold (astonoshing), on camomile,
burnt sugar, dark chocolate and lots
of cinnamon. Develops on balsam, mastic
candies, argan oil. The finish is
a little dry again but the whole is
highly enjoyable… A very good
old HP. 90 points.
(thanks, Olivier) |
 |
 |
MUSIC
– Nick just
drew my attention to a rather funny
radio show on BBC
Radio 4 (click on 'Listen to Wednesday'
in the beige column on the left).
It's about a very recent new biography
of Jimi Hendrix (Room
full of mirrors, by Charles R. Cross)
and I must say I learnt lots of amazing
facts, like that the French newspapers
said Hendrix's first show in Paris
was "A bad mixture of James Brown
and Chuck Berry" (buggers). Or
that "Anyone who'd look like
Bob Dylan was okay with Jimi.",
or that Clapton's first comments after
having heard Jimi were "My god,
it's like Buddy Guy on acid!",
or that 'The
wind cries Mary.mp3' was,
again, a story about English food!
In short, please listen to the radio
show if it's still on-line (15min),
please buy the book, and please buy
Jimi's music. |
CONCERT
REVIEW - Festival Special: FAIRPORT'S
CROPREDY CONVENTION
Cropredy, Oxfordshire,
11th-13th August, 2005 by Nick
Morgan
PART
TWO - THE MIDDLE BIT, AND THE END |
 |
Now
there are probably two things that
I haven’t made quite clear about
this Cropredy
thing. The first is that it is, possibly
due to the average age of the average
Festival goer (average=old), a bring
your own chair event – now far
more so than it was when I last visited.
|
| So
after a hearty yeoman’s breakfast
at the Whiskyfun tent we made our
way into that once pretty market town
of Banbury, now a desultory and rather
depressing testament to the paucity
of town planning expertise in the
UK, to buy our chairs. Luckily as
canny local shopkeepers were well
clued up to the event, we were still
able to find a final few in stock
– fishing chairs, I should add,
handily equipped with a tankard/glass/can
rest on the right hand arm. The second
thing is rain – Richard Thompson
or no, the rain does inevitably fall,
and with the BBC’s forecast
firmly imprinted in our minds we also
picked up a few handy bits of downpour
survival kit. |
|
Thirdly (where was I?) there are the
people, to a man, woman, child, baby
and dog, universally and delightfully
bonkers, a tribute to the thickly
spread layer of eccentricity that
remains, like Marmite on a piece of
toast, undiminished by either the
long arm of political correctness
or the creeping trend towards a complacent
and cramping conformity that seems
to surround us more and more each
day. |
 |
 |
| Take
the crew who surrounded us on Saturday
in our very well chosen spot in line
with the sound tent. To our left was
Tankard Man and his family (14 year
old son’s been coming since
he was a baby). The dog. In front
of us at least three generations of
a Drinking Academy, and by them the
Pork Pie Club, been every year since
1983, and so named because …well,
they like pork pies. To our right
the man who for reasons of anonymity
shall simply be called Demented Dave,
artfully recording the whole event
onto an i-Pod through a very sophisticated
microphone, proudly flying his national
flag, still wearing wristbands from
the past thirteen Festivals, and feasting
on a complex cocktail of beers that
included Marstons, Tetley’s,
Spitfire and Theakston’s Old
Trouser Press. |
 |
Behind
us there was the man in the plastic
bag (we all checked his pulse every
thirty minutes to make sure he was
still alive), and the mutton chopped
Bearded Ladies from Bolton. I should
add that – if you haven’t
noticed, that it was raining cats
and dogs by the time we arrived. In
fact to be honest we’d spent
an hour or more snoozing in the Whiskyfun
van outside the Festival site listening
to the football before we dared step
out into the deluge. As a result we
missed, but did catch occasional echoes
of, the reggae funk folk artistes
T
& Latouche, and Uiscedwr,
a world folk fusion outfit who sounded
like fun. |
|
And we were still eating a rather
nice lunch when Richard
Digance performed – apparently
voted one of the Magnificent Seven
of British Entertainment by some panel
or other, but to be frank a decent
and witty folk singer ruined by the
demands (and I guess the regular pay
checks) of what can at best be called
British light entertainment programmes.
|
| |
| So
by the time we were seated it was
the
Hamsters, not the sort
I’d be trying to photograph
in the pet shop in Banbury (good joke
I thought, but did you know Serge,
that the little buggers seem to spend
all their time asleep, wrapped up
in cotton wool?), but the ones who
are described as, or who describe
themselves as, ‘the UK’s
best blues rock band’. Actually,
to do them justice they do add a witty
‘probably’ on their website,
which is maybe just as well. I’d
heard so much about these boys –
well, they’re really very grumpy
old rock and rollers – but was
frankly very disappointed. They made
a lot of noise for a three piece band,
and were very tight (as befits a band
that tours endlessly, and has done
for 18 years or so) but beyond the
Jimi Hendrix tribute stuff (and I
should add that guitarist Slim plays
a mean Jimi riff or two) didn’t
seem to have a lot going for them.
Maybe it was the wrong place, maybe
it was the rain. |
| Anyway
the rain stopped (more or less) for
next up Beth
Nielsen Chapman, playing
the last of a short series of gigs
in the UK. And I wrote in my notebook
– “her unassuming presence
grasped the attention of a very damp
audience as the storm clouds passed
and the evening sun struggled to break
through”. Maybe it should have
stopped there. The set was, to sum
up, something of a curate’s
egg, ranging from some really original
pieces (the intensely personal ‘Sand
and water’ is a real cracker,
and her Latin hymn arrangements extremely
unusual) but in between there was
a bit too much MOR stuff for my liking.
So in short I suppose some of the
material lacked depth. |
 |
|
I loved her voice when she let it
rip, but not when she giggled (I think
that was when she was confessing what
was a visible liking for ‘Ozzies’).
She sang a nice song with Simon Nichol,
‘Dancer to the drum’,
with a great line which fixed in my
head ‘fast asleep in the dawn
of ages’; and another ‘Will
and Liz’ which reminded me in
both sound and subject of Aimee Mann.
And despite their occasionally uncertain
harmonies she was brilliantly supported
by multi-instrumentalist and ex Fairport
Convention and Jethro Tull member
Martin Allcock, and multi-instrumentalist
Pete Zorn. And it only rained when
she mentioned the sunshine. |
 |
So
finally there was only one thing left.
Well, actually two. First our dinner,
another celebration of the best that
the cuisine of the West Midlands can
offer, a delicately flavoured chicken
chilli masala, and the very same,
or so I’m told by a knowledgable
local sage, that a young Will Shakespeare
gulped down before typing the script
for Coriolanus. And then, and what
better dessert can there be, three
and a half hours of Fairport
Convention. |
| |
I’ll
start by saying this. It was great
fun, particularly when a very rocking
Richard
Thompson joined them
half way through. And I was reminded
what a powerhouse rhythm section Gerry
Conway on drums and Dave
Pegg on bass could be. And that
ex Soft machinist Ric
Sanders’ remarkable fiddle
playing has kept the band moving (well,
maybe slowly nudging) forward when
they could have remained stagnant.
And what a good singer Simon Nichol
can be. And they were also assisted
at various points by the admirable
Tiny Tin Ladies (try and find out
more about these husky voiced girls
Serge, you’ll love them), Jacqui
McShee, guitarist Vo
Fletcher, some youthful but dire
‘Highland’ style dancers,
Maartin
Allcock, P
J Wright, a young cornet player
who’s name I missed, Ashley
Hutchings, Beth N C, Uncle Tom
Cobbly and all. And we’re going
to see them play an acoustic gig in
November so they’ll get a more
considered review then. And mandolin
and fiddle player Chris
Leslie is a friend of The Photographer
– so I need to be careful what
I say. But – even with that
degree of variety three hours or more
is maybe just a tad too much –
and even with such an array of material
the paucity of some of it (particularly
some from the new album Over the Next
Hill) does become evident over such
a lengthy set. Oh yes – and
why do they have to play so many songs
by fucking Ralph
McTell?
Sorry Ralph – no offence meant,
but while I like the (albeit grotesquely
sentimental) ‘Hiring fair’
–a good Fairport standard, the
other two songs they played, though
performed well, were dire in content.
‘Red and gold’ is an ill-judged
and poorly researched slushy dirge
about the Battle of Cropredy Bridge
in June 1644 during the English Revolution
(yes Serge, we had one too …and
a lot sooner than yours). Less of
a battle than an indecisive skirmish
and stand-off, McTell even has the
cheek to represent the whole conflict
as being over religion, rather than
class and capital. For what it’s
worth Fairport recorded an album of
the same title. And then a dreadful
heap of tosh, ‘Wat Tyler’
(co-written by McTell and Nichol),
about the Peasants Revolt, with lots
of ‘Ye good Kinge Richarde he
did say, I’ll come downe to
speake with ye goode men of Kenyt
toadye’. Primary school history
nonsense. And while we’re at
it Ralph, let’s put in on record
now that I’ve simply never forgiven
you for ‘Streets of London’.
Ok ? |
| |
On
the upside – from the new album
Chris Leslie sang his own tune ‘I’m
already there’, old tunes like
‘Sir Patrick Spens’, Dave
Swarbrick’s ‘Rosie’,
and ‘Walk awhile’, the
sharply ironic ‘We are a proud
land’, ‘Let it blow; from
Thompson’s new album, and his
‘Tearstained letter’,
rocking Richard singing the Beatle’s
‘I’m down’, Ashley
and Jacqui joining in for ‘Rolling
Minstrels’ and of course, to
end the main set the song that has
become Fairport’s anthem, ‘Matty
Groves’. And in all honesty,
what better way to end the whole thing
off than with everyone on stage, and
the whole audience singing ‘Meet
on the ledge’ – remarkably
written by a teenage Thompson in 1969.
It’s a great and timeless song
that should touch everyone, because
we know we’ll all meet there
some day.
Nice one boys! - Nick Morgan (all
photos by Kate and Nick) |
| Thank
you, Nick, but may I just make two
remarks? First, thanks for having
made me google Uncle Tom Cobley/Cobbly
for hours (okay, minutes) to find
a website for this unknown musician.
British English is a strange language
indeed... Second, may I draw your
attention to the fact that your much
envied status as Whiskyfun's Head
of the Reviews Department does not
mean you're obliged to go anywhere,
anytime - especially not in England's
midlands when it's raining cats and
dogs in August. Not that I'm suggesting
that's unusual, but there are also
some nice festivals and concerts in
Italy, Spain, Morocco, Portugal, France,
Greece, Turkey, Southern California
(where it never rains), Mexico, Taiwan...
And even, maybe, on Jersey. And they
also have nice food (I didn't put
your breakfast picture, that's way
too violent for our distinguished
readers). But then again, after the
jet and the new Leica, the 2005 budget
is exhausted, sorry. But good news,
we have a recording of Fairport Convention
'Meeting on the Ledge' here.
I don't know which year, sorry - and
sorry about the slow server. |
| |
 |
TASTING
- TWO SPRINGBANKS
Springbank
25 yo 1975 ‘Frank McHardy’
(46%, OB, cask #1377, 157 bottles)
Colour: amber. Nose: quite fragrant,
on crystallized oranges, dried fruits,
old papers. Rather maritime. Some
interesting notes of high-end tea
and smoked ham. Mouth: beautiful
mixture of liquorice and oak. Lots
of bitter orange and dried coconut.
Some salted liquorice. The finish
is long and very, very salty, getting
very dry, tannic and woody but still
enjoyable. Wow, lots of punch! With
water, it gets even woodier with
quite some cinnamon. I love it but
I should mention that some other
maniacs quite disliked it. 91
points. |
Springbank
35 yo 1969/2004 (58.5%, Adelphi, cask
#149)
Colour: bronze amber. Nose: lots of
dried fruits (pear, apricot, pineapple).
It then gets curiously meaty like
a Mortlach or a Glenlossie. Some heather,
tea, leather, tobacco… Rather
complex! A great old one that doesn’t
smell old at all. Mouth: punchy attack,
on dried cake and candy sugar. Develops
on some peaty and farmy notes, crystallised
oranges, hot chocolate… Some
notes of coconut. Very long finish,
perhaps a bit drying and getting austere
but very good. 89 points. |
 |
And
also: Springbank
12 yo (46%, OB, tall bottle, black
label, very light vatting, 70's)
Different from the some slightly darker
'light vattings' we had before. Good
but a bit burning and austere. 81
points.
Springbank
15 yo (46%, OB, 2004 bottling)
Lots of caramel, fudge and vanilla
crème but not much else, I’m
afraid. Slightly perfumy. 82
points. |
CONCERT
REVIEW - Festival Special: FAIRPORT'S
CROPREDY CONVENTION
Cropredy, Oxfordshire,
11th-13th August, 2005 by Nick
Morgan
PART
ONE - THE BEGINNING … |
| For
those of you who don’t know,
the ‘first’ Cropredy
Festival was held in
1979, marking the farewell gig of
pioneer British folk-rock band Fairport
Convention, who had for
some years made this little bit of
North Oxfordshire (and its many pubs)
their operating base. Twenty-six years
later and the Festival, despite some
recent ups and downs (largely the
work of Fairport bassist Dave Pegg)
seems to be still going strong. As
are the Fairporters. In that time
the Festival has taken on a unique
character all of its own. |
 |
 |
Loved
by generations of fans, many of whom
have attended for decades, it’s
a sort of sacred safe haven for unreconstructed
grumpy old folk rock fans and their
children (and I suspect in some cases,
their children’s children too).
It’s a place where 55 year old
men can wear their psychedelic spandex
trousers without fear of rebuke, and
where all Englishmen born and true
(and their ladies fair) can spend
three days quaffing the best of handmade
warm beer (Wadsworth’s XXXXXX
– the event’s main sponsor)
from their cherished tankards ‘till
they reach the edge of oblivion (or
in some cases beyond).
The Festival has also become a sort
of perverse celebration of the Midlands,
England’s forgotten heart of
oak – overshadowed now in terms
of economic importance, politics,
music, football – in fact the
whole bloody lot - by the Metropolis
on one hand, and the great conurbations
of Scotland and the North of England
on the other. |
| But
no-one here will forget that this
is the region that brought the world
the Moody Blues, the Move, Roy Wood’s
Wizard, ELO, Noddy Holder and Slade,
Jasper Carrot’s ‘Funky
Moped’ … err, well, maybe
some decline and falls are easily
explained after all. |
| But
no matter – here local music,
drink and food are commemorated –
nowhere more so than in the ‘Ozzie’,
a sophisticated indigenous dish (chausson
fourré de viande et pommes
de terre) of some renown, allegedly
much favoured by the region’s
most famous rock and roller, that
combines elements of all three in
an alluring combination that would
even make Serge’s mouth water. |
 |
 |
Enough
of degustation. We were here to savour
the music. But a day and a half late
(that reminds me Serge, never charter
the Whiskyfun gig-jet from British
Airways again) we had already missed
Thursday’s line up – including
Jah Wobble and the English Roots Band
and the Country Joe Band (in effect
Country Joe and the Fish minus one
cold-blooded aquatic vertebrate) –
and Friday afternoon’s, including
North-east folk scene veteran Bob
Fox and the Muffin Men with ex Mothers
of Invention singer Jimmy
Carl Black (your elder brothers
perhaps Serge?), doing their Zappa
and Beefheart stuff. |
| |
| But
we did manage to arrive in time for
the somber-faced and evening-suited
Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain,
often described to those unfamiliar
with their oeuvre as The
Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain.
Ok – they’re a one-joke
band, but with wit and imagination
you can make one joke and seven ukuleles
last a long time (as I should know).
En route for the Edinburgh Festival
these boys and girls have been playing
for over twenty years, but have been
a middle-aged equivalent of a ‘buzz-band’
for the past 18 months or so. They
managed to squeeze into their set
unlikely ukulele renditions of Morricone’s
‘The good the bad and the ugly’,
Prince’s ‘Kiss’,
Neil Diamond’s ‘Sweet
Caroline’, Chic’s ‘Le
Freak’, Kiss’s ‘God
gave rock and roll to you’,
and Talking Head’s ‘Psycho
killer’. Oh yes – and
a Stockhausen meets Johnny Cash tune
too. Get the joke? But the tour de
force was their ‘Yorkshire folk
song’, a blistering version
of Kate Bush’s ‘Wuthering
Heights’ – the sort of
preposterous arrangement that Ms Bush’s
preposterous songs deserve. Indeed
so impressed was I by the UOGB’s
playing that I began to ponder –
could Ukulele be an anagram for Coldplay? |
 |
For
Cropredy regulars Richard
Thompson is famous for
two things. Firstly, of course, his
place as a Fairport founder, and as
the guitarist who gave them the edge
that set them apart from all the other
folk-rockers of the time. Secondly,
his outrageous talents and gifts as
both songwriter, but also guitar player
(“How does he do that?”
Beth Neilson Chapman commented on
Saturday, “I spent all of Richard’s
set backstage looking for the other
three guitarists who I knew had to
be hidden away playing somewhere”).
And thirdly - where was I - as the
rain-bringer. When I last saw him
here a few years ago I got as wet
as a pickled egg (as they like to
say in these parts), so everyone turned
their head to the skies as he came
on stage with long time collaborator,
bass player extraordinaire Danny Thompson
(no relation). |
| Richard
Thompson |
| |
| A
Vincent Black Lightning. Aaaaaaaaah!.... |
As
it happened the night stayed dry,
and we were treated to almost two
hour of Richard Thompson heaven, with
songs from his new album Front Parlour
Ballads carefully mixed with a journey
through his extensive back catalogue.
High spots had to be a solo version
of ‘1952 Vincent Black Lightning’
that greatest of all motorbike songs
(though surprisingly Thompson still
can’t remember the words), and
with Christine Collister supporting
on vocals ‘A heart needs a home’
and ‘Wall of death’. And
also the vigorous debate that broke
out around Thompson’s debt to
the music hall tradition – seen
in songs such as ‘Al Bowley’,
‘Don’t sit on my Jimmy
Shands’ and ‘Hokey pokey’.
Fired by an excess of Ozzies and red
wine one of our party shouted ‘We
don’t want this shite, we want
pain, we want alienation’, much
to the consternation of some. Appropriately
enough we got it all in the final
song ‘Razor Dance’. Anyway
– Thompson’s in London
next week and we’ll be there
too, so more later.
Finally the evening dwindled away
with a set from the Dylan
Project, a combination
of Fairporters Pegg, Nichol and Conway,
pedal steel guitarist P J Wright,
and front man, alleged Birmingham
rock god Steve
Gibbons (a man for whom
the word ‘legendary’ is
used with mystifying liberality).
|
| I
saw Gibbons years ago at The Rainbow
supporting a faux Who put together
by Pete Townsend for a charity gig
and was less than impressed –
all I can remember is some ‘Not
fade away’ style dirge about
spitting on buses. Birmingham rock
indeed. Ah yes – and he also
had an album called Rollin’
On where he looked alarmingly like
a Bee Gee on the cover. Unforgivable.
Anyway Mr Gibbons lacks nothing in
the self-belief department, or in
the dissolute rock and roll appearance
department, or the ability to work
very hard department. But with the
Dylan Project – in reality no
more than a Dylan tribute band (and
do I need this when I’m off
to see the Bobster himself in November?)
it adds up to nothing. |
 |
So
to be frank the lure of our Whiskyfun
tent got the better of us (did I say
tent? Sorry I meant our feather eiderdowns
at the ‘unspoilt’ and
excellent Bell
in Shenington) and along with
most of the audience we wandered away
after about thirty minutes to gird
our loins with a dram or two before
our Saturday adventures.
More to come … - Nick Morgan
(all photos by Kate and Nick except
motorcycle) |
| Thank
you very, very much, Nick. After the
Stooges and Marilyn Manson, I'm more
than happy to swim in less troubled
waters again. And thanks for having
subliminally suggested I should add
a picture of the fantastic Vincent
Black Lightning - one of my secret
dreams! And Fairport Convention, another
excellent, genuinely English 'product'!
We probably all miss Sandy Denny very
much - peace to her beautiful soul
- so let's listen to Northstar
Grassman.mp3 now (recorded around
1971 - from her rare BBC sessions).
Ah, yes, Richard Thompson... Here's
what we have: a pretty excellent live
cover of Joni Mitchell's Black
Crow.mp3. Triple wow indeed! |
| |
| TASTING
- TWO RARE OLD GLENFARCLAS |
| Glenfarclas
1971/1999 ‘Vintage Cask Strength’
(57.70, OB, cask #3515, 253 bottles)
Colour: mahogany/greenish. Nose:
powerful but not pungent and very,
very sherried, but still rather
balanced. Extremely classical, with
lots of sultanas, Smyrna raisins,
pecan pie, roasted peanuts and chocolate.
Highly enjoyable, even for non sherry
heads. Develops on cooked strawberries,
getting then very minty and nicely
herbal (spearmint, lemongrass).
Some very nice notes of dried tropical
fruits (pineapple, guava). Notes
of old rum. Much more complex that
many heavily sherried malts. Even
some whiffs of mushrooms, forest,
moss… And then it gets quite
smoky, and even sort of tary. Wine
sauce. Wow, what a development!
Mouth: very rich, very creamy attack.
Something lightly bitter and sour,
like in an overcooked wine sauce
but nothing too offending at the
start. Develops on roasted raisins,
burnt cake, orange marmalade. Then
it gets a bit too drying and bitter
for my tastes, to be honest. Something
very rubbery, quite disturbing.
Bitter chocolate (with 90% cocoa).
Some icing sugar, very old fortified
wine (too old, I’d say). |
|
| The
finish is very long but again, a little
too bitter. That’s really too
bad because the nose was stunning,
while the palate is simply too marked
by the sherry for my tastes. The nose
was worth a good 93 points for me,
but the ‘excessive’ palate
brings it down to 87 points.
|
 |
Glenfarclas
50 yo 1955/2005 (OB, cask #1612, to
be released this year)
Colour: amber with reddish hues. Nose:
much ‘calmer’ than the
1971 at first nosing, although this
one is very sherried as well. But
the cavalry arrives after two or three
minutes: a great mix of pine resin
and toffee – as expected –
but also lots of spearmint and camphor.
Develops on beeswax and furniture
polish, Grand-Marnier, tiger balm…
Not extremely bold, rather delicate
but still highly satisfying on the
nose. Lots of dried fruits –
pineapple and guava again. Hints of
seawater, caramel crème, fudge.
A massive complexity indeed. Some
notes of orange flowers, whiffs of
natural rubber. |
| Absolutely
beautiful, even a bit nervous. No
sign of tiredness at all. Stunning!
Ah and there’s also quite some
apricot jam. Keeps developing after
fifteen minutes, getting more and
more like a very old sweet wine –
but a great one (Yquem or some Gewurztraminer
Rangen VT from Olivier’s). I
can’t remember having had a
malt that was that close to a (great)
wine on the nose. Mouth: ah! I must
admit I was a bit scared, after the
little oops we just had with the 1971,
but this is beautiful. Again a little
‘simpler’ than on the
nose, but still very, very enjoyable.
Pine syrup, caramel crème,
chocolate sauce, old Port, but also
lots of dried fruits (sultanas, guavas).
Salted butter caramel. Now, it’s
true that the tannins do arrive after
a moment, and bold ones at that. It
gets oakier and oakier in fact, and
quite drying but it’s easily
bearable. Nothing excessive in a 50
yo malt, that’s for sure. The
finish is rather long, somewhat drying
and a little bitter again but this
one has good excuses, doesn’t
it? And we all know that very old
malts are rarely really excellent,
don't we? Anyway, a totally stunning
nose and a very, very good palate
make a high rating: 93 points,
this time! (thanks, Luc) |
| CONCERT
REVIEWS -
HEAD TO HEAD:
IGGY POP AND THE STOOGES
Colmar, France,
13 August 2005
MARILYN MANSON Colmar,
France, 14 August 2005
by
Serge (for once) |
 |
Breaking
news: the great American counter culture
has just sent us two of its most cherished
sons. One is said to have godfathered
punk rock, garage rock and heavy metal
(ah? I had thought it was the MC5)
and to have been David Bowie / Mick
Jagger / Lou Reed / Brian Eno / Mott
The Hoople / the Osmonds’ lover
(your call), whereas some say the
other one has copied Alice Cooper
and Ozzy Osbourne, usually throws
a couple puppies / golden retrievers
/ kittens / ducks / geese / Broras
(your call again) into the crowd and
tells the audience he won’t
play until they are dead (I hope it
will be the Broras tonight). It’s
also rumoured that last time, he threw
a puppy into the crowd and that several
people were injured fighting to get
body parts as souvenirs. What’s
sure, is that both have used more
or less the same USP’s quite
successfully: getting half-naked on
stage (okay, naked), androgyny, provocation,
exhibitionism, skulls and bones, playing
loud and rough and all that jazz.
Enough reasons for me not to even
think of attending the shows, even
if they were to take place at the
Wine Fair of Colmar. Yet, I bought
some tickets.
Well, I should rather say “my
children made me buy some tickets”,
as I didn’t want to let them
go there alone in the first place.
Now, I already saw Iggy
on stage in the seventies, and I must
say the fact that he’s said
not to have changed one iota is a
balm to a middle aged man like me.
As for Manson,
well, I was really curious about him
and just between us, the fact that
most of my friends and relatives couldn’t
believe I’d go there just made
me decide to go there. Yes, I’m
the antichrist of the district ;-).
Good, but I still had a problem: how
to dress. Nick, who’s very experienced,
told me I should wear a hood, at least
for Manson. Yep, good for anonymity!
I have also considered a maltmaniacs.com
T-shirt, the ‘maniacs’
part being quite rock and roll, I
think. And I also had my old, dusty
Mexican boots and perfecto jacket
in my basement, waiting for a new
life … But my daughter said
I’d be the laughing stock of
the place and she was probably right.
So, all things considered, I decided
to adopt an 'oops-I-had-though-it-was-a-jazz-concert'
outfit that, I had hoped, would have
also made most people think I was
a journalist or a sociologist...
It didn’t work too well, I’m
afraid. Some ‘foreigners’
were looking at me like if I was the
mayor of Colmar and that didn’t
please me too much, as the actual
mayor is a total jerk. Anyway, time
to tell you what happened during these
two nights now. |
| |
| -
The protagonists - |
 |
|
 |
| Mr
Pop, aka James
Osterberg. Born 1947 in Muskegon,
Michigan, USA. One of David Bowie’s
friends. |
|
Mr
Manson, aka Brian
Warner. Born 1969 in Canton, Ohio,
USA. One of David Bowie’s
friends. |
| |
| Okay,
I know what you think: Bowie's dentist
is good. But that's not the point
tonight, let's rather focus on the
shows, minute by minute. And first,
the audiences (just like Nick, my
Master-in-Reviewing does): |
| |
| Mr
Pop’s audience: ranges
from 15 to 60 years old guys and girls.
No fanatics, although I spot a few
‘The Stooges’ T-shirts.
A few Lacoste polo shirts and ponytails.
Could be the audience of a jazz concert
(good for me). The guy in front of
me is Frank Zappa’s double.
|
|
Mr
Manson’s audience:
mostly teenagers. Very young girls
made up like stolen cars (probably
future hairdressers or cashiers at
the supermarket). Bunches of ‘gothics’.
The guy in front of me wears an ‘everything
louder than everything else’
T-shirt. |
| |
| -
The shows - |
| |
|
|
| Ron
Asheton
Guitars |
|
Tim
Skold,
bass
Guess who plays harder? |
Time
- Mr Pop arrives on stage at 21:30
sharp, exactly as planned, gesticulating,
and intones ‘Loose’.
The 8,000 people in the hall stand
up immediately. Mr Pop is wearing
just a blue jean. His voice (probably
his main asset) is in perfect
shape. Ron
Asheton, from the original Stooges,
is on Guitar. Born 1948, joined
the Stooges in 1967. Looks like
any grandpa you could meet at
the garden center on a Saturday
morning. Wears kind of a fishing
jacket. Brother Scott ‘Rockation’
Asheton is on drums. Wears a baseball
cap and Ray-Bans. Mike Watt, born
1957, is on bass. Was too young
to be a member of the original
Stooges, obviously. Wears a ‘mind
the gap’ T-shirt, which
might prove he transited through
Heathrow before landing at Colmar
Airport (which the dumb mayor
of Colmar wants to close down,
officially because of terrorist
threats, unofficially because
he wants to convert the place
into a commercial zone). The sound
is very bold, very rough, very
loud. After just two minutes,
Mr Pop jumps into the crowd for
the first time. His security crew
will need a good two minutes to
get him back on stage.
Time
+ 5 min – They
play ‘1969’. Mr Pop
climbs up the huge Marshall amplifiers
and simulates sex (or was it front
crawl?) The crowd cheers. Mr Pop
shouts: “I want you,
Colmar!” Does he want
to become the new mayor? Come,
come, Iggy!
Time
+ 9 min – It’s
‘I wanna be your dog’.
Blasted, I’d have preferred
‘I wanna be your mayor”.
Anyway, the sound is huge. Mr
Pop jumps into the crowd again.
You can guess what the security
thinks: “Tsss-tsss”.
He’s back on the stage after
a good two minutes again, and
starts to simulate sex again,
right on the floor. Old techniques
but probably quite efficient.
Time
+ 13 min – The
band plays ‘TV eye’
with its famous guitar riff. Mr
Pop sings “She got a
TV eye on me, she got a TV eye,
she got a TV eye on me, oh see
that cat down on her back, see
that cat down on her back, she
got a TV eye on me, she got a
TV eye, she got a TV eye on me,
oh see that cat, yeah I love her
so, see that cat yeah I love her
so, she got a TV eye on me, she
got a TV eye, she got a TV eye
on me, oh right on, right on,
right on, see that cat, yeah I
love her, so see that cat, yeah
I love her, so she got a TV eye
on me, she got a TV eye, she got
a TV eye on me…”
He’s kneeling on the floor.
Time
+ 16 min – Mr Pop
wants the light on, because he
wants to see everybody. Yeah,
I’m sure he can see me now,
even if I’m far from the
stage. Hello, Iggy, I’m
here! And to prove he saw me,
he starts to do my favourite Stooges
song, ‘Dirt’ and then
falls on the floor. Very Morrisonian
but ouch! Is he injured? Ah, no,
he’s okay. What a relief!
Mr Pop says “I love
you!” I love you too,
Iggy!
Time
+ 25 min – Mr Pop
sings ‘Not right’
and says he wants some people
on stage. So two or three dozens
people climb on stage and start
to dance / gesticulate / wave
at their friends. The security
goes crazy. A girl gives Iggy
a French kiss, whilst her boyfriend
watches the scene. He doesn’t
look very happy and shouts something
to her. She kisses Iggy again.
Some other people start to cuddle
him. He asks for more people on
stage, so more people go up there.
Time
+ 31 min – Mr Pop
does ‘No fun’ and
gives the mike to anybody who
wants to shout a few words. He
makes short duets with some guys.
The crowd cheers more and more.
All people on stage start to kiss
and paw the iguana. The latter
asks for more people. There are
now 50 people, more or less and
it’s like in ‘Hair’
(remember?) Mr Pop seems to think
it’s fun! He shouts “We
love you, motherfucking Colmar!”
Time
+ 37 min – They
do ‘1970’. “Feed
my love all night till I blow
away, all night till I blow away,
I feel alright, I feel alright
baby oh baby, burn my heart, baby
oh baby, burn my heart, fall apart
baby, fall apart baby oh baby,
burn my heart all night till I
blow away, all night till I blow
away, I feel alright, I feel alright.”
It’s only now that Steve
McKay comes on the stage. He plays
the tenor sax. Was already with
the Stooges on their second alum,
‘Funhouse’ (1970).
He starts to blow his sax like
a madman, and the band now sounds
like the Sun Ra Arkestra: it’s
a sonic maelstrom, a jubilatory
chaos. Free rock and roll, anybody?
Mr Pop goes up and down the octaves,
sounding almost like a girl from
time to time. And then he eructs;
he belches, he moans, he roars…
It’s not a concert anymore;
it’s kind of a giant happening.
Time
+ 42 min – They
do a song I never heard before.
It’s funkier than all the
old Stooges songs – well,
less funky that James Brown, that
is. Mr Pop dances in his typical
anti-rhythmic way. The crowd screams.
He shouts “Fucking thank
ya! And now we’re gonna
die!”
Time
+ 47 min – They
start a new song again. Mr Pop
tells us it’s in “the
dead rat style”. It’s
a nice song, Iggy vocalizes the
melody – his voice is intact.
He says “I’m coming
up”, jumps into the
crowd again and starts walking
toward the end of the hall. It’s
Ali in Kinshasa. It seems that
the security crew is fed up!
Time
+ 53 min – Mr Pop
is back on stage again and they
do ‘Funhouse’. His
fly is now open but he isn’t
showing his medals. Some girls
seem to be disappointed, but they
can still see that Mr Pop doesn’t
wear any underpants (never mess
with a legend!)
Time
+ 58 min – They
do ‘Little doll’.
“Little doll I can't
forget, smoking on a cigarette.
In my life a real queen, prettiest
thing I ever seen. Uh-huh.”
Mr Pop is a bloody good showman
but he won’t get the Nobel
Prize for literature, that’s
for sure. The show is now a global
delirium.
Time
+ 63 min – They
do ‘I wanna be your dog’
again, but a shorter version.
Probably the last song. The crowd
is hysterical but the lights are
switched off. Yes it’s over.
The crowd asks for an encore.
Time
+ 71 min – The
spotlights are on again, they
are back and they do a short song
I don’t know (something
about f*cking, apparently). The
music stops, it’s the end.
The band leaves the stage but
Mr Pop’s still there, waving
at the audience. And then he jumps
for the last time into the crowd.
He’s back after one minute
or two, makes a few clownish moves,
puts on airs and leaves the stage.
Time
+ 76 min - The audience
is stunned and extatic and we
all need a good five minutes to
recover before we leave the hall.
|
|
Time
- 21:30 - The lights are switched
off. The band is a bit late (they
should have started at 21:00). The
crowd - 10,000 people - shouts ‘Manson!
Manson! Manson! Manson!’
Many do a special hand sign, raising
the first finger and the pinkie.
Yawn; is ‘somebody’
a cuckold? There’s a huge
black curtain masking the stage
and a strange music with violins
and cellos starts to pulsate. Quite
nice, I must say. The music gets
then discordant, almost Kurtweill-esque.
The curtain goes up, there’s
a lot of smoke (yep, almost like
in a kiln) and here he is. Mr Manson
is coming to the front of the stage,
carrying a lantern. He screams something
I didn’t get – something
about ghosts (I’ve been told
the song is ‘Family trip’).
His voice is very Bowie-esque, and
seems to be in very good shape.
He’s wearing a black redingote,
translucent black tulle pants and
black jack-boots: he’s looking
like Gary Oldman in The Fifth Element.
The bassist and the guitarist look
like crossbreeds of Duran Duran
and the Winters (Johnny and Edgar).
The drummer hides behind his cymbals,
while the organ player (he plays
kind of a $19.99 Bontempi, hanged
on a gibbet – the organ, not
the guy) looks like Sting in ‘Dune’.
Time
+ 7 min – They do
another song: ‘The love song’,
according to my neighbour. Lots
of ‘F*ck you’
in there. Well…
Time
+ 11 min – Mr Manson
shows his legs, like a B-movie actress.
He starts to sing the Beatles’
‘Revolution’ a capella.
Nice voice, I must say. Very Bowie-esque
again. Then he says he wants to
f*ck us again and does ‘Irresponsible
hate anthem’ (I’ve been
told): “I am so all-American,
I'll sell you suicide. I am totalitarian,
I've got abortions in my eyes. I
hate the hater, I'd rape the raper.
I am the animal who will not be
himself, fuck it…”
Ah, litterature!
Time
+ 15 min – They do
‘Disposable teens’ (I’ve
been told).
Time + 18 min –
Mr Manson now wears a SS officer
cap and tells us we’re “god
dam motherfucking motherfuckers”.
Ah… They do ‘mOBSCENE’
(I got it because it was written
in giant letters on a screen). I
must say this one isn’t too
bad, it’s kind of a classic
rock anthem. The crowd starts to
feel there’s not much passion
on stage, though… (and no
animals whatsoever!) Mr Manson takes
his redingote off, and he’s
now wearing just a black leather
undervest. No, no, not a corset.
Time
+ 21 min – Mr Manson
is now on stilts, with long crutches
in his hands. He looks like a four-legged
spider and does ‘Tourniquet’
(I’ve been told). Again, he
sounds quite Bowie-esque but all that
lacks quite some oomph ;-). The guitarist
and bassist behave like if they were
the Spinal Tap. They are quite ridiculous,
I’m afraid, and frankly, they
don’t play too good. They really
lack power and the audience seems
to feel it… Time
+ 25 min – They do
'Personal Jesus'. Better than Depeche
Mode but much, much worse than Johnny
Cash. Mr Manson tries to move like
Rita Hayworth in Gilda and I start
to feel sorry for him. There are
some hisses at the end of the song.
Time
+ 28 min – Mr Manson
sends some kisses to the crowd and
starts to sing an awful song, which
sounds like some two-cents downtempoed
punk rock. I didn’t bother
to try to get the name of the song,
sorry. More hisses from the audience.
Time
+ 32 min – Another
boring song. Mr Manson wears a new
fluttering black jacket but he’s
soon to take it off. Mix of polite
applause and hisses. No animals on
stage. Time
+ 35 min – They do
a lifeless ‘Tainted love’
(Soft Cells’ hit). Hisses.
Time
+ 38 min – ‘The
fight song’. Crappy drumming,
flabby guitars.
Time
+ 42 min – Mr Manson
wears kind of a cocked hat, he looks
like a Spanish policeman or like
Napoleon. They do a song. The crowd
seems to like this one better, good
for the band (but do they really
care?)
Time
+ 45 min – Another
song (‘The dope show’).
Mr Manson wears a new striped jacket
but takes it off after 30 seconds.
Time
+ 48 min – Ah, this
is better (honest). Something of
Jean Genie. It’s called ‘The
golden age of grotesque’.
“We sing la la, la la,
la la lah. We sing la la, la la,
lah. La la, la la, la la, lah. We
sing la la, la la, la la lah”.
Don’t get me wrong, Marilyn
Manson’s lyrics are smarter
than Iggy Pop’s. I mean, sort
of ‘deeper’, whatever
that means.
Time
+ 52 min – The bass
player now uses a white double bass.
Mr Manson wears an Al Capone hat.
(after Rita Hayworth, now it’s
Marlene Dietrich) and is carrying
a soprano sax. Hey-hey, that’s
interesting! But he doesn’t
blow it until the end of the new
song: two meagre notes (he sounds
like a seagull). Polite applause,
a few hisses.
Time
+ 56 min - It’s ‘Sweet
Dreams’ time. The crowd warms
up a bit again, and sings with Mr
Manson. “Sweet dreams
are made of this. Who am I to disagree?
Travel the world and the seven seas.
Everybody's looking for something…”
He asks us to clap our hands, just
like any average rock and roll singer.
Some accede to his request and it’s
really getting a little warmer,
but still no chicken / rat / cow
/ chick / Brora on stage. Bah…
Time
+ 60 min – It’s
the last song – I guess it’s
called ‘Beautiful people’.
On the giant screen, portraits of
a few world leaders follow one another
(I could spot Ghandi, Nixon, Stalin,
the Che, Hitler, Mao, GW Bush and
maybe Charles Manson – not
that the latter was a world leader,
thank god). Mr Manson wears his
SS cap again but he’s soon
to throw it away. It’s a short
song (all songs were short, that
is) and as soon as it’s over,
the band leaves the stage. It seams
that the gig has come to and end.
Some people ask for an encore –
politely, I’d say.
Time
+ 72 min - They come back
for the encore. Just one song, sung
from kind of a dais with a strange
sign on it (half swastika, half
road sign). Mr Manson eructs, gesticulates
like a disarticulated jumping jack,
sends some kisses to the audience…
The spotlights are switched off.
It’s over for good.
Time
+ 75 min - Quick, quick,
let's get out of here and avoid
the gothics! |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
 |
Incredible
picture of Iggy Pop and Marilyn
Manson meeting after a show - not
the Colmar ones. Doesn't it say
it all? (found on I-94
bar)
|
| |
| -
In short... - |
| Although
both shows featured two superstars
and some heavy rock and roll, they
just couldn't have been more different.
Iggy and his band played almost only
old Stooges songs from the 1969-1973
era, while Marilyn Manson did sort
of a best-of (I've been told). Iggy
didn't do any of his more recent hits
(The passenger, Lust for Life, Bored,
Nightclubbing, Louie Louie, China
Girl and tutti quanti). Both shows
were certainly highly prepared and
carefully apportioned but the Stooges
managed to communicate with their
audience (to say the least) while
Manson was just doing his show: not
a single word, not even a 'thank you
(for your business)'. Iggy flabbergasted
even the youngsters who had never
heard about the Stooges before, while
Manson sounded tired and bored, imitating
himself. Granted, nobody really wanted
him to sacrifice any dog / goldfish
/ elephant / mouse / Brora (except
for the latter) and I've been there
just out of curiosity anyway. But
still!... |
 |
And
sure I had even no expectations whatsoever
but I still managed to get sort of
disappointed - which beats all! (and
yes, I know I'm boldly 'out of the
target', and I don't like this kind
of music at all.) Yet, I found Brian
Warner sort of moving. I'm not far
from thinking he doesn't like what
he's doing anymore, and I'd bet he'll
do something else in the coming years.
Another kind of music - again, he's
got a great voice and he's not bad
at writing lyrics, and probably not
only outrageous ones - or any other
kind of art, like for instance painting
(see the picture, titled 'When I get
old' - he's good, isn't he?). As for
Iggy Pop, he rules and he's in top
shape. I can't see why or when he'd
stop doing what he does: just some
good, generous and soulful (and loud)
rock and roll. Iggy, anytime again! |
Only
for a short time: Dirt.mp3 (The Stooges,
1970) and mOBSCENE.mp3 (Marilyn Manson,
2003)
PS:
a message from my daughter Diane:
"Dad talks about politics
too much. Besides, when Marilyn Manson
mimicked a jumping jack at the end,
it was on purpose. And daddy didn't
tell you about the nice cotillions
and paper streamers, nor about the
great light show. Tainted Love wasn't
bad, and the crowd hasn't been that
indifferent to the show."
Good, now you have two POV's. |
| TASTING
- Benrinnes
14 yo 1968 (40%, G&M Connoisseur’s
Choice old brown label)
Colour: straw. Nose: quite perfumy
at first nosing, and even a bit soapy.
Shampoo notes, dried orange. Some
sherry after a moment, with some notes
of old books, ham, quite some mustiness.
Parma violets. Really interesting,
despite the rather heavy soapy notes.
Mouth: rather spicy and peppery attack.
A bit dusty but quite bold, almost
powerful. Some notes of lavender cream,
dried herbs, earl grey tea. Quite
complex again and interesting. Medium
long finish, on white pepper and with
some nice smoky notes. A good one,
no doubt, that stresses Benrinnes’
rather particular style. 85
points. |
 |
 |
MUSIC
– Jazz - Recommended
listening: wow, this is powerful!
Star drummer Victor
Lewis does Eeeyyess!.mp3
with the help of the great Alex Acuna
on percussions and a stunning Terell
Stafford on trumpet (he was so good
last time I saw him in concert!) Look,
it's simple: if you don't like modern
jazz, have a try at Eeeyyes!, plays
it loud, and I'm sure you'll change
your mind. And of course, please buy
Victor Lewis' music! |
| TASTING
- FOUR 1975 ARDBEGS |
| Ardbeg
24 yo 1975/2000 (46.7%, OB, Manager’s
Choice for Japan, cask 4700, 248 bottles)
Colour: amber. Nose: wow, magnificent
and delicate at the same time. Starts
unusually, on praline, light toffee
and, of course, smoke. Whiffs of old
turpentine and game, ashes and old
books. Really subtle and complex.
Beautiful indeed, even if it lacks
a little oomph. There is some sherry
but a delicate one. Mouth: oh, what
a beautiful one! Starts on tea, getting
a bit tannic immediately. Gets oakier
and oakier, very dry and smoky at
the same time. Develops on dark chocolate,
espresso coffee, very old rum…
Perhaps a bit austere (strong tea)
but really excellent for its ‘Jansenist’
profile. 91 points. |
 |
 |
Ardbeg
19 yo 1975/1994 (58.1%, Cadenhead’s
Authentic Collection, Sherrywood)
Colour: pure gold. Nose: much yeastier,
on beer and cider. Quite smoky. Apple
skin, toasted bread, burnt cake…
Less immediately ‘sexy’
than the other one and a little more
spirity but still quite enjoyable,
even if rather simple. Mouth: pungent,
spirity, burning… Ugh, what
a beast! Peat, rubber, tar, burnt
vegetables… Gets really acrid
and bitter. Difficult to enjoy on
the palate, this one. 80 points
will do. |
| Ardbeg
21 yo 1975/1996 (47%, Cadenhead
Authentic Collection)
Colour: light gold. Nose: completely
different, on barn and cow stable,
quickly transforming into gentian
spirit, then freshly malted barley,
and finally light caramel (Werther’s
Originals). A multi-faceted Ardbeg…
Now we’re on pear spirit,
celery… And then fresh oysters
and fresh hazelnuts… Wow,
all hat for the same price! ;-)
Mouth: oh, too bad, the palate is
much simpler. Some pear spirit,
tea, caramel and not much else.
How come can the nose be so magnificent
and the mouth so… ‘simple’?
Strange… 85 points.
Ardbeg
21 yo 1975/1996 (48.9%, Cadenhead
Authentic Collection, Sherrywood)
Colour:
light amber. Nose: a beautiful mixture
of sea air, light caramel and fresh
vanilla. Hazelnuts, oysters, cider
apples… A bonfire on the beach
(now I’m talking like the
Scotch Malt Whisky Society!) Very
subtle, very delicate… Subtler
than the usual Ardbegs. A thrill!
Again some notes of Werther’s
Originals. |
 |
| Mouth:
rather nervous, on pine syrup, tar
liquor, burnt herbs… Some rubbery
notes. Grilled Provence herbs, strong
liquorice candies… Again it’s
not overly complex on the palate,
but very compact and satisfying (but
not for newcomers, even if that sounds
a bit selfish). 92 points. |
Check
the index of all entries:
Whisky
Music
Nick's Concert
Reviews |
|
|
|
|
| |
Best
malts I had these weeks - 90+
points only - alphabetical:
Ardbeg
21 yo 1975/1996 (48.9%,
Cadenhead Authentic Collection, Sherrywood)
Ardbeg
24 yo 1975/2000 (46.7%, OB, Manager’s
Choice for Japan, cask 4700, 248 bottles)
Caol
Ila 18 yo (57%,
G&M for Sestante, Italy, sherry wood, 70’s)
Glenfarclas
50 yo 1955/2005 (OB, cask #1612)
Glenfiddich-Glenlivet
30 yo 1963/1993 (51.7%,
Cadenhead, bottled October)
Highland
Park NAS (70
proof, G&M licensed bottling, Saint-Patrick
label, 50’s or 60’s)
Springbank
25 yo 1975 ‘Frank McHardy’ (46%,
OB, cask #1377, 157 bottles)
Springbank
37 yo 1968/2005 (47.5%, The Whiskyfair,
216 bottles)
|
| |
|
|
