NOT Single Malt Report: Four Roses Single Barrel OBSO barrel 4-1D

For my last week of Mathilda Rose-specific whiskies, I'll be reviewing three Four Roses single barrels.  Three 4R of three different recipes.  Three because she brings the fourth rose.  Also, that's all the Four Roses samples I have at the moment.

She's been extremely active since she arrived and her parents have been extremely inactive as a result.  For instance, I was going to do this tasting at 9pm last night, but then she became "fussy" (a polite euphemism).  The solution?  Dancing.  My whisky music became our groove tracks for the next hour or two.  Our favorite tune of the night was Groovy Gravy by Q and the Cos.



As a result, I didn't complete this tasting until after midnight.  From what I gather, this situation may occur on regular basis.  That's not a complaint.  Any night I can dance with my daughter and drink barrel strength bourbon is a night I want to repeat.

---

My experience with Four Roses is sadly limited and I know I'm coming to it a couple years too late.  But now it's time to find out if the "better late than never" cliché holds up in this case.

From all reports (and not just those from retailers), Master Distiller Jim Rutledge is a nice personable dude.  Also, he and Four Roses are very open about their mashbills and yeast strain usage, as they note these factors on their single barrel bottlings.  For instance, today's bourbon was from the OBSO recipe -- a high rye (35%) mashbill with a fruity type of yeast.  It's this recipe, along with three others, that are blended together to make the Four Roses Small Batch bourbons.

Today's sample of the OBSO is brought to us by my friend JLR.  Last year, he and his wife travelled the bourbon trail and he picked up his bottle from the Four Roses gift shop.  Thanks JLR!

Distillery: Four Roses
Ownership: Kirin
Type: Kentucky Straight Bourbon (Single Barrel)
Region: Lawrenceberg, Kentucky

Age: 10 years, 8 months
Recipe: OBSO (high rye, fruity yeast)

Maturation: charred white oak barrels
Warehouse: BN
Barrel #: 4-1D

Alcohol by Volume: 54.1%

The color is dark copper.  The nose is very woodsy, or rather lumberyard-ish.  It has a sharp medicinal streak along with some band-aids, characteristics reminiscent of some favored peated single malts.  There are also big notes of hazelnuts, halva, and corn syrup, with vanilla extract steadily rolling in the background.  After a lot of air, the bourbon releases something like butterscotch with mint leaves and a side of maple syrup.  The palate is also medicinal.  Cough syrup, cherry Sudafed, Halls menthol.  Then there are pinches of milk chocolate and caramel.  Sweetness meets lots of black peppercorn spice.  It gets woodier with air.  That medicinal thing continues into the finish, along with sea salt and Angostura bitters.  There's a dry rye spice-meets-menthol note that carries on for a long time.  Wood pulp, bitter greens, and pepper develop after a while as well.

Keeping in mind that the sample came from the bottle third of the bottle, and that the pour sat in my glass for well over an hour, this bourbon's unfading power was very impressive.  There's an steady consistency in characteristics across the nose and palate.  While I enjoyed the nose the most, the palate was quite good.  The finish was both raw and woody, sharp and not for delicate palates.

I don't know if this particular barrel is still available in the gift shop -- and I'd bet it probably isn't due to Four Roses's popularity -- but if it is, it isn't a bad choice for those of stronger sensory constitutions.  I'm looking forward to the next two recipes...

Availability - Four Roses visitor center / gift shop

Pricing - around $65

Rating - 86

Birthday Recap!

A tangentially-related prelude:

This morning, our paraplegic military veteran neighbor, who is perpetually mad at his neighbors and probably the rest of the world, was sitting inside his car within our closed garage, playing the hell out of a harmonica.  The man has The Blues.

---

THURSDAY EVENING

I sampled a number of new whiskies at an OC Scotch Club event in Fullerton.  I hope to report on some of these in the near future, especially since I'm probably going to do a 180-degree reversal on a previously reviewed single malt.  Which one could it be????

More importantly than all the booze stuff, it was great to spend some time with good people on a lovely evening.

I'll be talking this club up from time to time, if you're in the OC and like the amber spirits, you should stop by an event.  It's very laid back and President Bob is a very swell dude.

---

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

I went to see Cosmopolis at its opening 2:30pm showing at a theatre one mile from my front door.  I smuggled in a couple ounces of Powers Gold Label, because.

I'd just read DeLillo's novel a few months ago, so the whole thing was still fresh in my mind.  Surprisingly, Cosmopolis fits easily into Cronenberg's oeuvre -- detached characters struggling within an alternate reality, compressed space, and portals portals portals everywhere.  I'm not saying that the film was great (it was all telling, no showing; and DeLillo's dense dialogue can be burdensome to a film's actors and audience) but the subject matter is timely and I'm game for any Cronenberg flick.  Plus the final scene actually achieved some level of emotion amongst the verbal histrionics.

FRIDAY EVENING

Back home, at 5pm, I brought out the birthday whisky.  A bottle of a 1978.  As well as a 34-year-old dram.  It was a grand two-hour slow whisky experience.

After the year I'd had, there was nothing quite like pouring myself a second helping of 30+ year old whisky straight from the bottle.  I will be reporting on the whiskys this week (Weds and Thurs, I think).

Kristen roasted a big chicken and baked a flourless chocolate cake.  Yes.  My wife.

I received many great gifts from my families.  And, yes, there was a whiskey gift that damn near blew my mind.  I didn't officially open it on Friday night because had I started it, I wouldn't remember a bloody thing the following day.  It will be opened soon, though...

I put on a DVD of Orson's F for Fake.  Kristen fell asleep.

---

SATURDAY EVENING

To Hollywood!

We met my buddy Geoff near our old drinking grounds.  We went to Stout, where I had a good burger with an Old Rasputin from the tap.  Then we went to The Blue Boar Pub where I had glass of Highland Park 12, which keeps getting better every time I try it.

The main event was at Piano Bar.  I've thrice previously mentioned Piano Bar on this blog.  I'll say it again.  IT'S AWESOME.  Go there on Saturday or Sunday night to experience Brother Sal & The Devil May Care.  I often make the fifty-minute drive to do it and I feel the loss during the months when I don't.

So we went, meeting up with my buddy Sean.

Sean and I are twins

And Brother Sal seriously hooked us up.  He is a saint.

I had some great reliable glasses of whiskey (Blanton's, Redbreast 12, and Buffalo Trace), but it's the blues-rock-honky-tonk-saloon-soul dynamite issuing forth from the stage that always alters the air and space around me.

Aww yeah.

We left when the music stopped, around last call.  I can't remember the last time I stayed out until last call.

We're still catching up on sleep and I'll be drying out for a couple of days, but it was grand.  I have many great people, great experiences, and great things in my life.  And I am thankful for all of them.

A Monday of Mad Men + Revolver

MAD MEN

(SPOILERS, PER USUAL)

"Tomorrow Never Knows".  They got the rights to use "Tomorrow Never Knows."  NO ONE GETS THE RIGHTS TO USE BEATLES MUSIC.  EVER.  And that's not hyperbole.  Saint Paul must have been smiling down upon the show.

"Tomorrow Never Knows" closed out last night's episode and it was tremendously utilized.  I'm typing this post 45 minutes after the episode finished.  I've been listening to the whole of "Revolver" since.  Every single track would work for this season of Madness.  Most folks would have gone with "Eleanor Rigby" but that would be too much on the nose (knows?).  "Tomorrow Never Knows" works best as the sauce on a well prepared entree.

Actually tonight's episode could have been set entirely to Revolver.  "Got to Get You Into My Life" for Pete's new situation.  "For No One" for any Pete scene that follows his tryst.  "I Want to Tell You" during Megan's secret call sequence.  "I'm Only Sleeping" for Megan's admission to Don.  "Good Day Sunshine" and "She Said She Said" to the scenes that immediately follow.  Maybe "Yellow Submarine" in the opening credits.  Okay, that's sort of a stretch.

What a great album.  Going for a second pass right now.

(Source)

I shouted at the TV when the credits came up.  "What!  It's over?!  Why?"  I guess the episode itself wasn't too bad either.  Five brief thoughts:

1.)  Rory Gilmore!
2.)  Pete Campbell is terrible at everything.
3.)  As Kristen noted, we've seen the last of Happy Don Draper at the office.
4.)  Moar Joan Plz!
5.)  The elevator sequence was so awesome, I laughed out loud.  I wanted to rewind and watch it again.  Something really grim is going to happen before this season is through.

---

There was a whole bunch of pseudo-intellectual-brilliance about baseball and whiskey that took over an hour to write...but then Blogger decided to delete it all.

I'll recap the important part.

A year ago, Kristen and I went to Ireland for our buddy Melissa's beautiful wedding.  In honor of the anniversary of that Ireland trip, I'll be mixing some Irish Blended reports in with the Scotch Blended reports......starting tomorrow.

Friday Mumblings

With Mariano Rivera gone for the season (and possibly longer) the modicum of a shit I gave about baseball I eagerly take back.

Massive remodling going on at home right now.  Some smashing and destruction is involved.  Trying to limit my nervous breakdown to a mere heart attack.

And the Beastie Boys' MCA (Adam Yauch) has died.  What a crap week this has been.

Las Vegas, Day 3: Impressions at XS, Encore Las Vegas

A delightful result coming from the questionable camera on the BlackBerry Bold 9700.

I present to you: Impressions at XS, Encore Las Vegas.

Turn up the volume.

Long Beach Scottish Festival

The Long Beach Scottish Festival ran this past Saturday and Sunday in and around the Queen Mary.  Our friends James and Jess participated, as did Kristen and I .  By "participated" I mean ate, drank, and cheered all things Scottish.

There was no haggis (thankfully?), but there were meat pies.  And a steady stream of pipers.  There was Scotch whisky, but no Scottish ale to be found.  There were kilts EVERYWHERE.  Gaelic tchotchke tents.  Dancing competitions.  Sheep herding.  And a steady stream of pipers.  There was also gelato, spicy cheese kettle corn, and street tacos -- little known Scottish delights.

Here's a hastily assembled (whisky-free) recap of the sunny day.  And a steady stream of pipers.

The Tuesday Loop

This is a very intense writing week for me so I might be a little more scattered and schizo with this week's postings.  First let's talk w--

I've got this song stuck in my head.  Its chorus keeps running over and over and over again.  I can't stop it and I don't know how it got in there.

Hey, Blue Text, it's difficult enough to focus right now even without interruptions.  So, if you could hush for a few minutes, then you and I can discuss offline later.

I'll try, but this song is driving me crazy.

First, let's talk whisky.

The Dram Quest

As you'll notice, a new list has popped up in the right frame of the page.  These are whiskies that I most desire to sample.  None of them are outrageously expensive.  No 30+ year olds nor 1960-somethings.  Most aren't easily obtainable, but I desire the chase.

I'll cross 'em off as I try them.  I'll add new ones from time to time, but I'll keep the list below 20.

The Whisky Library...

...has grown considerably in recent months.  I'll be updating the Sources on the Whisky Notes page this week with this whole list:

Michael Jackson's Complete Guide to Single Malt Scotch, 6th Edition - I recommended this in the whisky gifts post.  It really is one of the great all-time volumes on whisky.

Jim Murray's Whiskey Bible 2012 - A zillion (or maybe 4500+) whiskies reviewed by a gentleman who seems to be a bit of an unconventional character in the whisky scene.  Though I agree with him about half the time, each of his reviews are insightful and full of whisky love.  Also recommended in that whisky gift post.

101 Whiskies to Try Before You Die by Ian Buxton - GREAT book.  I reviewed it here.

Single Malt and Scotch Whisky by Daniel Lerner - A gift from an old friend.  My first whisky book.  The binding is totally shattered.  A good early intro whisky book.

Whiskypedia by Charles MacLean - Similar structure to the "Complete Guide", sans reviews, but every page packed with oodles and oodles of distillery info.  MacLean's a great writer and this is a great reference book.

Scotch Whisky, A Liquid History by Charles MacLean - Speaking of super reference books, holy moley!  This is going to take a while to get through, but I'm working on it.  So much good stuff!

Malt Whisky Yearbook 2012 - The pictures!  The articles!  The stats!  This is THE annual must-have.  There's so much great news about the state of the industry and the fine brown liquor itself.

Whisky by Aeneas MacDonald - Tremendous.  It is literature.  And that is by no means exaggeration.  Beautifully written.  Lyrical, even.  Originally published in 1930, it was the first book written by and for the whisky drinker.  There's tons of history and distillation instructions, but the pseudonymous writer crafts such a lovely homage to the beauty of whisky, that I'm going to have to cover this in its own post.

Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo, Hmm Hmm Hmm Hmm Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo.  Damnit, the tune's still there!  Where did it come from?

Hey!  Hush, the post is still going.

The Bro is in Town

Jason arrives in LA today for business reasons.  On Thursday and Friday we're going to visit at least two great drinking establishments.  More on that once it's done.

Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm--

And I'll be taking the Metro!  I've lived in LA County for over 11 years and I've never taken the Metro.  Largely because it never is where I am nor where I am going.  But now it is where I am and where I need to go.  Hopefully that experience is uneventful and won't need its own post.

Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo, Hmm Hmm Hmm Hmm--

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

I've always been a big fan of Abbey Road, but now that I've given Sgt. Pepper's another go I think it may pull ahead as my favorite Beatles album.  Technically, it's astounding.

It would be Exhibit A for why psychedelic drugs are good, but I don't think most mortals can hold the clarity and vision together enough to create such a complete piece of art--

Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo--

It destroys The Beach Boys Pet Sounds as far as innovation and song structure--

Oh no!  I can't stop the song!

Yes, you can!  Just a few more min--

It's burning through my defenses!  Oh f--

I want your loving
And I want your revenge

Oh dear.

You and me could write a bad romance

I'm going to---

I want your loving
And I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance

We didn't need to hear that a second time.

Oh ohhhh whoaaaa ohh ohhh
Caught in a bad romance

Whew.  I feel so much better now.


Hello?


What happened to Black Text?


Hello--

For the benefit of Mr. Kite
There will be a show tonight on trampoline
The Hendersons will all be there
Late of Pablo Fanques Fair-what a scene
Over men and horses hoops and garters
Lastly through a hogshead of real fire!
In this way Mr. K. will challenge the world!

Now, on to work.

The things I collect

Yesterday I had 60 T-Shirts.  60.  We have our own washer & dryer.  There are 7 days in a week.  60 T-Shirts.  I threw away 10 and that was a chore.  I won't even tell you what the sock drawer looked like.

To be fair (to who? myself?) a third of those Ts were for the gym.  For those folks who don't know, after I exercise I look like I've just jumped in the pool with my clothes on.  So I set aside specific Ts for that abuse.  About 16.

Clearly, I like T-shirts, but there's more to it than that.  I collect things, often without knowing it.  There's a genuine Hoarder gene in my family so I have to be on the lookout for signs of its prevalence in me.

The act of accumulating non-perishable consumer goods outside of wartime is connected to other existing human psychological complexities.  Don DeLillo might say that it's part of our desire to postpone death.  Freud would probably agree then loop in issues with libido.  Jung might reference a disconnection with a spiritual center.  Psych 101 would likely suggest depression or repression; holding onto physical things provides the illusion of control.  A good communist scholar could say that it's one of the end results of capitalism, the unnecessary and imbalanced accumulation of goods.

So here are some things that I may or may not have collected:

Yes - T-Shirts.  I'm now down to 50.  In my defense, 16 are for workouts only (as mentioned above).  I can't wear those out into public because after a couple of hours The Ghost of Sweat Past haunts them.  8 more are white undershirts for winter or work wear.  Another 6 are long sleeve Ts.  That leaves 20 normal-wear short sleeve Ts.  In my defense, I live in Southern California so it is T-shirt weather for seven (or more) months of the year.  Thus one T a day for about three weeks.  Not in my defense, we do have that washer and dryer inside our condo...

No - Canned food goods.  We eat them within two weeks after buying them.

No - Boxed food goods.  I don't even buy 'em.

Yes - Baseball cards.  I had 22,000.  Now I have 5,000.  See here for my considerable efforts to rid myself of the 17,000.  I started collecting cards in 1985.  I stopped in 1993.  Then a haze of depression reignited this flame from 2001-2003 as I sought something that I could control.  That was an illusion, I never had control <-- to paraphrase Jurassic Park.  I stopped collecting permanently because I wanted to be more mobile, not wanting to haul countless boxes of cardboard behind me wherever I went.

No - Toilet paper.  We may buy big packs of it, but it is used and flushed with regularity.

Yes - Books.  Every few years I go through my shelves packing a box of books to go to a donation center.  I don't buy too many books anymore, but the shelves keep filling up past the bursting point.  Maybe the books are breeding.  The thing is, I'm not reading all of them right now.  I couldn't possibly read all of them again in this lifetime.  So why are they there?  To make me look cultured?

Yes - Movies.  First it was VHS tapes.  Then it was DVDs.  I have a 7-foot shelf packed solidly with the thin rectangle cases.  It used to be something I could be proud of.  My collection is of nothing but the best.  But with digital video on the rise, and constantly getting better quality-wise, the collection is beginning to look like an anchor rather than a creative skiff.

No - Wives.

No - Cats.  But to be honest, I understand The Cat Lady.  Go ahead, walk into a pound.  See the dozens of caged little domesticated animals who are there through no fault of their own.  Dozens of clean, self-reliant little buddhas who will die if I don't adopt them all.  Go ahead, pick just one.  Or two.  Or three.

Yes, sorta - Coins.  I wasn't responsible for their collection.  They're from family and old family friends.  It's a very impressive lot.  It's swell to have stuff from the 19th century.  Money that's been in America longer than my family has.  I don't add to the collection, but I do keep it.  It weighs about 50 pounds.  It's odd and hideous to move.

Yes - CDs.  Dear G-d, I've been trying to move these things out of my home.  Every CD that has intact liner notes and cover has been shuttled out to Amoeba in exchange for store credit.  But I still have 200-300 of 'em.  They've all been digitized, but I don't have any of the stuff that came with them.  So they sit, lined up like cells in a silent organism.  I will seriously sell them all for $200 (or best offer).

Yes - Items in my Amazon "Saved for Later" cart.  Yep.  Guilty as charged.  That's more an act of sloth than any sign of neurosis.  Right?

"No."

No - Stamps.  Never understood the need to collect these things.  Probably healthy.

No - Video games.  Probably healthy.

Yes - All of my hand-written writing.  And...

Yes - Printouts of every draft of every script.  I'm sure this stuff can really be disposed of, but part of me can't let go.  I created it, now I'm going to throw it away?  What kind of parent would I be?  A parent of paper, I guess.

No - Shoes.  Can't afford to keep buying new ones.  The old ones look and smell bad.

Yes - Photos.  I think I can defend this as a human thing.

Yes - Receipts.  I can't defend this as a human thing.  More of a financial thing.  Luckily, I part with a pile every year.

No - Scalps.

No - Recipes.  Though I probably should.  They don't take up much room.

Yes - Internet Bookmarks.  Holy Sh*t!  I have hundreds of them!  What are these sites?  When did I go there?  Why did I go there?  Why did I think that I would need to go back there again?

Maybe - Whiskies.  I can't afford to collect whisky.  But if I could, THAT WOULD BE AWESOME. And...And...And in defense: Whisky can be consumed.  Whisky can be shared.  And then bottles can be replaced by new ones!  Sweet!  Oh wait, that's just my fantasy.  In reality, yes, I have twelve bottles.  Soon to be eleven.  As mentioned in my year in whisky post, I'm not trying to make money from them.  And I'm not saving them until eternity.  But I spent some good money on them.  And I don't drink to excess.  So they'll last a little while.  And occasionally gain neighbors.

I guess that's it, though I'm sure Kristen could enumerate those I've missed.  Moving from home to home puts one's collection habits in check......depending on the size of the home.  We've been living in apartments and condos, and we pay professional movers to haul our stuff, and I'm married to a woman who dislikes clutter.  Thus I have the motivation to reduce.  So, I feel like the collection gene is in control.  For now.

Hangover

FROM:

TO:

What is a hangover?

From the NIH-published Alcohol Hangover: Mechanisms and Mediators by Robert Swift, M.D., Ph.D. and Dena Davidson, Ph.D.:

A hangover is characterized by the constellation of unpleasant physical and mental symptoms that occur after a bout of heavy alcohol drinking. Physical symptoms of a hangover include fatigue, headache, increased sensitivity to light and sound, redness of the eyes, muscle aches, and thirst. Signs of increased sympathetic nervous system activity can accompany a hangover, including increased systolic blood pressure, rapid heartbeat (i.e., tachycardia), tremor, and sweating. Mental symptoms include dizziness; a sense of the room spinning (i.e., vertigo); and possible cognitive and mood disturbances, especially depression, anxiety, and irritability. The particular set of symptoms experienced and their intensity may vary from person to person and from occasion to occasion. In addition, hangover characteristics may depend on the type of alcoholic beverage consumed and the amount a person drinks.

From Wikipedia:

A hangover is the experience of various unpleasant physiological effects following heavy consumption of alcoholic beverages. The most commonly reported characteristics of a hangover include headache, nausea, sensitivity to light and noise, lethargy, dysphoria, diarrhea and thirst, typically after the intoxicating effect of the alcohol begins to wear off. While a hangover can be experienced at any time, generally speaking a hangover is experienced the morning after a night of heavy drinking. In addition to the physical symptoms, a hangover may also induce psychological symptoms including heightened feelings of depression and anxiety.

And concisely phrased by the Mayo Clinic:

A hangover is a group of unpleasant signs and symptoms that can develop after drinking too much alcohol.

It can start before the night is over.  It can hammer down in the morning.  It can pin a body down onto the carpet, dizzying the universe.  It can seize one's neuro-receptors and make one weep while listening to syrupy pop music and sitting in traffic.  The more religious-minded of us see it as cosmic punishment for our pleasures.  It feels like failure.

They set up shop in the brain with greater ease the older that brain gets.  I drank irresponsibly for at least three years of undergrad, hangover-less.  Then the morning after graduation, the lead-heavy beast seized me up into its raging grasp and squeezed my brains until nightfall.  But now, after my second glass of red wine the headache sneaks in and nothing is fun anymore.  Yet those red wine aches are mere squeaks compared to the nerve-shredding toxic spills of the morning after a lovely party-night.

Everyone has their own remedies.  To some folks, a good puke does wonders.  Bloody Marys for others.  Or a greasy cheeseburger with a fried egg on top.  I used to go for a long run to sweat it all out......TEN YEARS AGO.

I've actually only had two hangovers since I've been a married man.  One of them was this weekend.  You see, normally, a couple glasses of whisky and I'm set.  But my dearest wife and I decided to check out a local sushi place as well as an Irish pub (both walkable!) and......we had cocktails here at home before it all began.  It was a great night.  It was a terrible morning.

---

Here's a list that I made when I was feeling like a sweating lump of coal with a headache:

Things that are good for a hangover:

Cold Water

Vitamins

Powerade

Quiet early-era Miles Davis (volume low)

Fried potatoes (any kind)

Dominoes Cheesy Bread - OH MAN I JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT THIS STUFF

Club Soda

Beer - Just one or you're starting up a whole new problem

Dinner for breakfast, Breakfast for dinner

Football on TV

Sunglasses (indoors)

Curling up on the floor

Antiques Roadshow Marathon

The magical nap - The one where you fall asleep at 11am and wake up at 1pm

Other people's pity

Blogs

Things that are bad for a hangover:

Light

Dark

Sound

Consciousness

Sweat

Gravity

Constipation

Fire Ass

Fire Trucks

Harleys

The bad nap - The one where you fall asleep at 11am & wake up at 11:15am, feverish

Brushing teeth - It hurts, it hurts

Nodding head "Yes"

Shaking head "No"

The smell of day-old spilled liquor

Loud avant-garde Miles Davis

Physical intimacy beyond "Hi."

Weeping

---

There really aren't any consistent remedies, though hydration and zinc can go a long way to letting your body repair what you'd just f**ked up.  What you can do is avoid the hangover in the first place.

How to avoid a hangover:
Don't drink
Hydrate between drinks
Pick your poison - None of this beer-then-whisky-then-vodka-then-wine-then-gin-&-tonics
Stay away from mixers - All of their sugars contribute to the impending horrible crash
Don't do shots

Don't get old
Cut your head off

Drinking is a lovely thing.  There's no need to be physically punished for it.  Sexually?  Maybe.  Ere, I digress.  It's about treating yourself right.  Having a glass of great single malt scotch is treating yourself right.  Drinking everything that's wet and within arm's length is not treating yourself right.

Since you're reading this blog, you know that I like a malt beverage from time to time.  So I don't say this lightly:  Drink Responsibly.  Don't punish yourself over a love of the good things.

The Honey-Do List for the Holidays

Happy Holidays, folks!  I hope that everyone's vacations begin soon.  The Industry began its holidays on Friday; as a result much of the machine has slowed down.  But there's no rest for the creatives, though maybe a brief break from development emails.

I just returned from Arizona and am now prepping to leave for New York and Ohio.  I have some entries lined up, so as long as I have the interwebs I strive for blog diligence.

Whiskies - I have a tremendous Taste Off lined up while I'm in New York.  A lot of the classics will be involved.  If I live to tell about it, then you'll see it posted here.  I also have a very exciting whisky situation that may present itself in Ohio.  I dare not say anymore about it.

Once I finish some further research, I'd like to continue posting some Whiskey 101 posts.  You know, some (borrowed) wit and (stolen) wisdom about the sauce.

I happily found a bottle of Black & White, an old-school dirt-under-the-fingernails whisky blend.  Why so happy?  Well, this is the stuff I cut my whisky teeth on when I wandered the British Isles nine years ago.  When one's a broke backpacker, one drinks the whisky one gets.  Black & White is what I gots.  Seeing the (liter!) bottle on the shelf at Pasadena's Mission Liquor was genuinely surreal.  I'm waiting to open it in 2012, after which you may see me do an about-face on highballs and whisky & ice.

Movies & Music - In doing all of these whisky posts, I haven't had a chance to finish Chapter 5 of the George Herman Hitchcock Project.  Regrettably, my general film flow (terrible word choice) has been at a trickle for months.

But I've been listening to tons of new (though, actually old) music.  Back in this blog's youth, there were music posts every week.  I would like to do at least a couple per month.

The Condo - January will bring some new projects.  I will provide before-and-after pics when it's all good.

Politics - Just saw the Kim Jong Il news.  2011 continues to be The Year It Sucks to Be A Dictator.  And for that I am thankful.

I'll be back on Wednesday!

Just because

There are some days that I know are going to be challenging from the moment I wake up.  Today is undoubtedly one of them.  If you're having one of those days too, I wish you well.

In honor of difficult days, here's a video of a man playing a Beethoven piece on his piano for several old, handicapped, injured, and blind elephants in Thailand.  I'll let the video speak for itself.

 

Mini-updates on movies, music, and home

This post will be much less organized than the previous one since my mind is scattered from many hours of working on stories.  So here's a list:

1.  MOVIES

Here's a full gear-shift from the previous post.  A video!

When Hitchcock's producers gave him the greenlight to turn Blackmail into a sound film, he had to figure out what to do with the accented voice of his Hungarian leading lady, Anny Ondra.  He ultimately decided to keep Anny as the lead, but have her lip-synch the dialogue while an English actress, Joan Barry, read the lines in the mic just off-camera.

Before he decided to do this, he ran some sound tests with adorable Anny.  Somehow this footage survived!

Watch Hitch drop an incredible old-school version of a That's What She Said joke:

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2.  MUSIC

There's been an sudden influx of album re-releases:

Smile (The Beach Boys) - Arguably the most famous unfinished album in Pop music history dropped into the market yesterday, 44 years late, in at least four different packages -- 1 CD, 2 CD, 2 LP, and a $140 special edition.  This had been intended to be the followup to "Pet Sounds", a further revolutionizing of sound recording and songwriting.  But due to label issues, creative disagreement, and Brian Wilson's fragile state, the album was shelved before it was finished.  This pushed Wilson further into a mental illness that was later revealed to be schizophrenia.

"Smile" had been making its rounds via bootlegs for thirty-odd years.  Brian had also recorded it without the band back in 2004.  But this new set was completed with the original recordings and approval by the rest of the group.

No more songs about surfing, instead an avant-garde "teenage symphony to God."  That's going on my Wish List.

Quadrophenia (The Who) - For those who don't know me, I like The Who...to an irrational degree.  And this is my favorite studio album of theirs, and possibly anyone's, ever.  It's the Catcher in the Rye of Rock n' Roll.  It's both messier and more mature than "Tommy".  It's full of crazy love, crazy hate, and tremendous teen angst.  And like Catcher it takes on different colors and meanings as the audience gets older.  Eighteen years ago, I named my first real short story after one of the songs.  Today, I get the exact opposite meaning from that song, "The Punk And The Godfather."

I already have two previous releases of this album, so I'm going to avoid the massive release on November 15th.  There will be a double-CD (organized in a bizarre manner in order to fit in some demo recordings), a multiple-LP, a loaded iTunes LP, and a $130 special edition (with 4 CDs, the 1979 film, a hard cover book, and other Who-phernalia).

Achtung Baby (U2) - U2 rereleased THEIR BEST ALBUM (yes, their best album) yesterday for its 20th anniversary.  And yesterday, a cute little package arrived for me containing this very thing.

It was this 1991 album that got me hooked on these Irish fellas.  They had gained massive fame and fortune from the Unforgettable Fire to Joshua Tree to Rattle & Hum period, but had found themselves at a creative dead end.  So they ditched their world famous style and built their sound back up from scratch.  Gone are the politics and peaceful ruminations.  Here are seething broken hearts, the terror of unrequited longing, and spiritual disillusionment.  It's their best music and (by a considerable distance) their best writing.

The anniversary release came in FIVE parts: 1 CD, 2 CDs, a vinyl set ($140), super deluxe set ($125), and an Uber deluxe set ($435).

Okay...

Grrr...

I can't keep the rant holed up anymore.

I F***ing hate these $100+ releases!  It's an insult and punishment to the fans who cannot (legally) access the songs they want to hear without shilling out an incongruous amount of cash for RECORDED SOUND.  It's an execrable bourgeois show-off jerkoff golden-calf-wanking malignant affront and completely inappropriate in this economic climate.

It's conspicuous consumption.  It's not music.

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3.  Abrupt subject change!

HOME

Kristen and I have been working on the second bedroom.  The Mold Room.  The Office To Be.

We've soaked the walls, removed the wallpaper, removed the wallpaper glue, bleached the mold, removed vents and weird wall things, and are now prepping to paint the walls and ceiling.

It's taken longer than we'd anticipated, but the work has been calmer than last month's Ceiling Spectacular had been.  Plus we've been able to work side-by-side which makes it feel more like teamwork.

The office may be ready by this weekend.  And that is great.  We'll have some before, during, and after pics once it's good to go.

A good Wednesday to you all!

I really gotta get out more

Can’t remember the last time I had such a lovely night as this.  Hung out with three happy brilliant beautiful ladies.  Ate a great burger.  Shopped at Amoeba Music.  Found street parking!  Walked around the neighborhood of my old drinking haunts in the neon Hollywood night.  Went to a new bar (Piano Bar) and was able to get a great seat.  Tried a new whisky, Ardbeg 10.  Shared some Oban 14 with Mona.  Caught up with friends.  Grooved to fantastic live music (Brother Sal!).  Saw an awesome award-winning TV star.  Took two freeways that I’d never travelled before and they were both EMPTY.  Saw the high rises of Downtown enveloped in fog.  Drove over the bridges of the Port of Los Angeles, the new DJ Shadow CD thundering over my car speakers.  This isn’t the literal order of events, but I’m remembering everything simultaneously.  It’s nice to get out of the condo once in a while.

[Ed.: I wrote this at 1:45am, 100% sober. Haven't edited a word. Will update with pics if or when possible.]

A Hard Day's Night review

It bursts onto the screen with the thumping, jangling title song and the great visual homage to the insatiable female pursuit of Keaton’s Seven Chances.  It ends with another Keaton homage, this time as a big British kiss to Cops.  Everything in between zips along like a Marx Brothers movie wherein everyone is Groucho.  It’s one perpetual chase.

(Source)

The image jiggles and wiggles via handheld cameras and setups inside cars and trains.  And if the shot slows for even a moment, the editing keeps pushing momentum forward.  If the viewer mutes the A Hard Day’s Night and just watches it play out in silence, he or she may start to feel a bit of Tony-Scott-style vertigo, as everyone involved in this production seems to be on an espresso-and-amphetamine enema.  But in a good way.  This is all joy.  The worst that will happen is that one may get a headache from the onslaught of happiness.

(Source)

There was precedence for pop music stars in narrative film before 1964.  Al Jolson helped break the cinematic sound barrier.  He was followed by Eddie Cantor and Bing Crosby.  Then Sinatra came along and bared his acting chops in dramatic roles.  Elvis then sent the progress back thirty-one steps as he played roles that were not “Elvis” in name, but were clearly an non-actor stumbling through scripted lines.

But here in Richard Lester's A Hard Day’s Night, The Beatles are playing The Beatles – sexual angst, live-ish musical interludes, wacked-out fans, and all – as an alternate universe version of themselves: The Four Groucho Marxes.

Four Grouchos means four times the non-sequiters, four times the god-awful puns.  The issue with this is the terrible hit-to-miss ratio.  If there’s a "joke" every 10 seconds (I really attempted to measure this), then that means there’s about 880 jokes in the film.  That’s impressive, in its own way.  But once one subtracts the stuff that charming due to its unceasing spill, there’s only about a dozen jokes that are actually funny.  That’s about a 1.4% success rate.  Yes, some of the quips are dated (I wish I spoke ‘60s British), but otherwise the film becomes a very unique experience in absorbing an ocean of words.  Thus the humor is bold in its own way.  Plus if you listen carefully, there are quips about orgies, drugs, producers, PR, trend setters, and television.


My own favorite bits were the visual ones: a silent vaudevillian losing his dove act, shaving on the bathroom mirror, Lennon playing with toys then disappearing into his bubble bath, the end credit sequence, and the aforementioned chases.

Unlike Elvis, the Fab Four fare very well with their line reading.  That’s no mean feat with the bounty of dialogue.  Ringo comes out the best since he’s given the most to do with his character.  Oddly, it’s the professional actors that come off incredibly hammy and awkward.  Wilfrid Brambell, who plays Grandfather, is unwatchable which is unfortunate since he’s in every other scene.  I’m not sure if I should applaud a punk-style actor’s direction, but it takes great efforts by the Four to keep all of his scenes from sinking the momentum.

Different movie, but Brambell's general acting style in A Hard Day's Night (Source)

That’s a mild complaint, though.  The visual energy, constant invention, and The Beatles win out in every scene.

(Source)

Pardon this abrupt change in tone, but I want to close with an observation about the ending, which itself is a shift in palettes.

(Source)

As The Beatles perform in a small auditorium, hundreds of girls shriek out of control, weeping, screaming incoherently, bodies contorting and spasming.  At first it’s irritating, then funny, then frightening.  It’s filmed so intensely that it’s not a visual accident.  I understand that the specific context is dated, but it’s very unsettling.  There’s probably a sociological explanation for it, but what is it?  Hundreds of years of sexual repression?  (Also see: Justin Bieber, Twilight.)  It reminds me of Alan Parker’s and Roger Waters’ vision of a rock band as a fascistic power, working up the mostly male youth to the brink of insanity then setting them loose to destroy in The Wall.

(Source)

Here at the end of A Hard Day’s Night, the young hunting horde has cornered their pop star prey.  But rather than ravishing them like the Maenads of myth, the girls stand in place screaming in a frenzied mass, perhaps hypnotized and unaware of their own sexual power, or just seduced by four boys in bad haircuts.

If you are flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit.

Thank you Mitch Hedberg for today's title.

Yes we are moving, very soon. Signing the lease tomorrow. The apartment is full of boxes. More every day. Won't miss the neighbors. Or the noisy park. I really need to stop writing in short sentences now because that is really not my style and only works best to punctuate action.

An earthquake hit the LA area yesterday. I thought I'd just let you know that in case you missed the media over-covering the event. On the fifth floor of a 12-story building in Burbank, I was discussing data entry procedure with my office-mate when we heard what sounded like something really big slamming down onto the floor. Twice. Someone said, "What the hell was that?" Then things starting shaking in crazy jazz rhythmic patterns. I stood in the doorway. Everyone else who wasn't frozen in her seat filled the other doorways. Once I realized that I was going to live through this, a crazy adrenaline joy ran through me and I may have laughed. Then the shaking stopped. And the building started swaying. I didn't care for that. Standing in the middle of a swaying 200-ft. building felt like being on a boat in the ocean. For a full minute. And not one of those supposed "minutes" everyone references when something seems to happen for a long time. I checked my watch after a while. In a building made of bricks, steel, and glass, the hearts beating inside filled with hormonal panic. Breakfasts churned and may have threatened to escape. I saw no puke but heard much discussion of it. But all was over quickly, and Los Angeles went on its way again within minutes, though the TV reporting tried to stretch it out all day. "There have been no reports of damage or serious injury, BUT THIS MAY CHANGE!" Thanks Shepard Smith. You're an ace.

KP and I watched The Lady Eve this weekend. Barb Stanwyck gleamed in the black and white while Hank Fonda played a total fool. For the sake of men everywhere I was embarrassed by his character, but simultaneously saw the truth in it. The script was structured so strangely that only Preston Sturges's brilliance made it work.

I'm also still absorbing Velvet Underground's Loaded. It's taken about eight listens, but I think I'm finally getting it. In any case, "Sweet Jane" is a fantastic song. And I dreamt (really) to "Oh! Sweet Nothing". I like Lou Reed's pop-structured music but it's still so shocking to listen to after having enjoyed Velvet's first album for 7 years.

Rethinking our favorites

I've just seen a film so beautiful that it has caused me to rethink the way we rank our favorite pieces of art, music, and film.

When we're young and impressionable, or being introduced to or happening upon a new art form, I think we set the standard to which all future forms of that medium are judged. And I'm not sure how often we break that standard. Think of your favorite rock albums EVER. Think of your favorite movies EVER. If you're like me, you probably have dozens of "Greatest" lists. I know my top 10 lists are often established at the start.

For instance, best rock albums? I'm pretty sure that 80% of my top ten were all discovered within the first 4 years of rock 'n roll worship. Best rock band? The Who, of course. They taught me the many definitions and basic themes. Favorite bluesman? John Lee Hooker. Same story with him. My three favorite electronica albums were all discovered within my first year of listening.

And I don't think it's just me. Only recently has Rolling Stone let any recent albums into their top 500. Their top 25 has only two that were released within the last 25 years. Their top 30 songs only have two from the last 30 years.

When compiling their top 10 films lists every 10 years from 250 filmmakers and critics, Sight and Sound seems to have a similar issue.

In 1992, none of the critics' top 9 were from within the previous 34 years. The directors' list has only 3 of the top 12 were from the same time period.

In 2002? Here are the years for the critics' top 10 list:

1941, 1958, 1939, 1972-4, 1953, 1968, 1925, 1927, 1963, 1952

Directors' list:

1941, 1972-1974, 1963, 1962, 1963, 1946, 1980, 1958, 1950, 1939, 1954

And to be honest the critics' list never changes over the years. And you will always know who's going to be no. 1.

Are we getting worse at our art? One would think that we'd be getting better with practice. Were the early works better because they came first? We were younger then, more impressionable. Awe came easier. Are we being unknowingly unfair to new creations?

I feel like this is related to our own individual lists of favorites. (Exceptions to this rule being those who think each new Michael Bay film is the best movie ever.) Those early ones, the first ones which introduced us to new emotional experiences, seem to get priority over all others.

Watching Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors was electrifying. For the first half hour, I felt as if I was witnessing something more important than cinema. By the time the film finished, I'd realized that, no, this was actual cinema. I'd forgotten that feeling, which had last materialized about 8 years ago during Kusturica's Underground.

If you have been reading my blog posts for a bit you may think that every movie I watch is at the top of my list. This is untrue, I just love film that much. Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors could break The Top Baker's Dozen (I don't have a top ten) but I wouldn't know who to kick out or why. I won't name names because I won't spill the whole list, but I'll reference when a flick has made the list (like Underground).

To sum up Shadows -- it's a magical realist lovers tale set in the Carpathian mountains. Though the film was shot in 1964, it could take place at any time since language was born. The editing is lightning fast and brilliant; apparently the Russians paid more attention to Eisenstein than the Americans did. Surprise. The acting is delightful because all but the leads were non-professional locals. And then there's the whirling, spinning, flying cinematography. Apparently Sergei Parajanov found an impatient winged forest spirit to operate the camera. The result can be exhilarating or nauseating, like the lives of the dancing, singing, loving, drinking characters. Those who are happy avoid sorrow by never stopping to mourn. Those who mourn are those who suffer. I think I'll move beyond the past too and find a place in the list for this one.

Gettin' it done

Just saw The Hustler (1961) last night and it was such a pleasant surprise that I had to tell someone. So I'm telling you. It was sitting on my overflowing media shelf as part of a Paul Newman set that I bought only to obtain Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid. If I knew that The Hustler was going to be so strong, it would not have remained lonely and unopened for so long. But that solitude was appropriate. The film is so much harsher than Scorsese's 1986 sequel. It's a 135 minute descent into separate private hells for all of its characters. Not a single cuss word, no nudity, and the only acts of physical violence are hidden, but the end result is brutal. Newman carves out a brooding layered performance. Piper Laurie is a constantly unsettling disorienting presence. George C. Scott could possibly be playing the devil as his character is completely bereft of a soul. And Jackie Gleason is so graceful that I want to dig up more of his movies. Anyway, it's a film about a pool hustler, possibly the best there is. And at the end it may leave you pondering the definition of "winner" and "loser".

Since I referenced Scorsese, I've realised that I forgot to mention that KP and I have watched The Last Waltz (or at least parts of it) 3 times in two weeks. Definitely a nominee for top concert film ever. And I'm really excited that Kristen liked the music. The Band is awesome. Might need to add their first 3 albums to my list of art to get.

Speaking of great rock, I downloaded Shadows of Knight's other album, Back Door Men (1967). Not a disappointment at all. Right now it's playing for the fourth time today. I don't listen to anything four times a day except maybe my work computer restarting. Anyway, besides using one of the best blues double entendres ever as a title, they pummel out the music. The tunes are threatening and propulsive. They burn through Hey Joe as if on amphetamines. They even drop a couple of jazzy instrumentals.

On the exact opposite side of the music universe, I had KIIS-FM playing a bit today too. Finally heard "Lollipop" which seems to have taken over the charts for some time. It's a solid club song. Has a good beat, but the lyrics are largely unintelligible because every 5th word is blanked out. I wish they still beeped swear words instead instead of cutting them out. It may have provided this song an additional track. Someone should try that. Also heard "American Boy" which sounds like a quality dance tune. Made me wish I was back in London. And I heard the gory "Bleeding Love" which apparently is either a romance for murders/taxidermists/surgeons or it's just terrible symbolism. "You cut me open"? Could it be the worst pop music metaphor ever?

Hardly. Pop music records are made to be broken.

Post without a Theme, Vol. 2

I'm back with another post without any specific thematic goal. Let's see if I can keep it tight.

Music:

I've given the The Zombies' Decca Stereo Anthology 2-CD set a week of traffic listening. Technically they only released one sorta-album "Begin Here" that was cobbled together by the label when they had their first successful single, "She's Not There". "Odessey and Oracle" remains their only intentional album. The Decca Anthology scoops together most of their efforts in the studio between 1964 and 1966 and remixes them from mono to stereo. The result is interesting but not as impressive as I'd hoped. "Odessey and Oracle" is amazing, everything before is generally OK. In their early stuff I find little sign of what was to come.

CD 1, chronologically earlier tunes, sounds like a bit like early-Beatles-lite, albeit a little more jazzy. A lot of harmonizing about kissy-poo things. "She's Not There" stands out because it's trippier and crazier. Their other hit "Tell Her No" can be taken as really demeaning to women since the girlfriend in the song is treated like a mentally-disabled child. The theme is, paraphrased, "If she tries to f--- you, tell her no because she's supposed to be f---ing me."

CD 2 is much better. Though the songs are generally about smoochy subjects, The Zombies seem to be ironing out their own sound. My favorite tracks on the album are actually the final four, which are just the instrumental backing tracks for some of their songs. The tunes are very cinematic.

Alas, "Odessey" stands alone. But that's okay, at least it exists.

Movies:

"Une Femme Est Une Femme" - Saw it, love it. Godard wins this round as well. I really enjoy his early cinema -- a lot of playing with expectations, music, archetypes, and cliches. This one is almost pure bliss, though both intelligence and a lack of directorial modesty hide well behind all of the antics. The film belongs not to Godard, but rather Anna Karina (whom he scooped up for himself around this time). If one were to edit out all of her mugging for the camera, all that would remain would be 5 minutes of Jean-Paul Belmondo smoking.

"Antonio Gaudi" -- Hiroshi Teshigahara's documentary on this Spanish artist is mostly a head-scratcher. The art and architecture are shot and edited beautifully. I gained an appreciation for Gaudi's creations. That's about all of the positivity that I can dig up. Teshigahara chooses to have no narration whatsoever, which in theory is a great thing. Documentary talking heads can be the equivalent of radio's dead air. But the lack of non-visual information forces the viewer to focus on the rest of the sound, which is uneven at best. Moody eerie music alternates with symphonic pieces, neither of which really influences the visuals. Rather than highlighting the potential multiple reads that one can get from Gaudi's art, they instead clash in a more irritatingly drawing too much attention. Also, there's about 60 seconds of spoken information and on top of being largely irrelevant, one doesn't know who the talking head is or why that information is chosen. I'm left wanting to know more about Gaudi, but not in a good way. I'd rather start fresh, ignoring that I ever actually watched this movie.

"Iron Man" -- Enjoyed it. Was exactly what I'd expected, which is a good thing since I expected a lot. It's not Jean Vigo, but it's the perfect summer movie. Casting against type worked very well. Good call Favs. Robert Downey Jr.'s screen presence did not wane for a moment and Jeffrey Lebowski was really creepy as Obidia whatshisname. And Gwenyth Paltrow was smart and gorgeous. Here are some pictures of Gwenyth Paltrow: