Lager Rhythms

“Let it flow. Let yourself go. Slow and low, that is the tempo.”

–Beastie Boys

After eleven years of brewing ales, I’ve started my first lager. On December 30, I brewed 10 gallons of bock. I pitched the yeast the next morning, with the wort at about 50F. No activity for at least 3 days, then slowly the bubbles came. After 3 weeks in the fermenter, this methodical creation had dropped from an original gravity of 1.066 to 1.030.

I knew this would take some time. Further slowing the action is probably the part about me not having terribly sophisticated temperature control. With my fridge on its warmest setting, this one’s spent most of its time around 45F, at the lower end of the temperature spectrum. Clean and lovely, it will be.

Like Tom Petty said, “The waiting is the hardest part.” But like David Lee Roth said, “I’ll wait.”

Happy MacGowan Day

My son Tom’s Simpsons calendar says that not only is today Christmas, but it’s also Shane MacGowan’s birthday, though I’ve seen the latter listed elsewhere as December 26.

Regardless, Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday to the former Pogues frontman. We drank porter, which went well with our mounds of fudge, and Spaten Optimator, which went well with apple pie, a la mode.

The Session # 9–Beer and Music

Music has always been an integral part of my life, an integral part of my being. My gramps, Joe Johnston, was a professional musician back in the forties. His impact on my life goes well beyond music, but today we’re here to talk about tunes.

While I’m something of a headbanger at heart, Joe has seen to it that I have a well-rounded musical education. My grandma has a picture of me tearing open Kiss’ Rock and Roll Over–a Christmas present when I was in kindergarten–but my gramps’ efforts to educate me haven’t fallen on deaf (or bleeding, remarkably) ears. Undoubtedly, I’m nearly as hooked on the likes of Stan Getz as Black Sabbath. I love the Blues, Grunge, Swing, Classical and face-melting rock. Well-rounded as I am, nothing beats the Mighty Zeppelin in my book.

Two of my prized possessions are Gramps-related music photos. That’s him, left, back in the day. Pictured below is none other than Mel Torme, sitting in with Joe’s band when the drummer took ill. Always the sideman, and never the braggart, Joe once turned down a Woody Herman job offer. He had a young wife on the road with him, so preferred week or two stints rather than the constant one-nighters of the big name bands like Herman. Besides that, they paid better. I’m proud to know that my gramps rubbed shoulders with the Dorsey brothers, Torme, Herman, Lawrence Welk and others (in real life, Welk didn’t have that accent). He’s taught me to appreciate music, but I’m no clone: I can’t believe that nut job turned down working with Woody Herman.

My non-Gramps-clone status has been confirmed further, just these last few weeks, for example. I’ve been working in what will be next year’s garden lately. Perhaps no one else in gardening history has grooved to Kid Rock like I have while wrangling a tiller. Then again, and to quote the Kid, “You never met a motherf–ker quite like me.” Joe probably doesn’t listen to much Kid Rock.

Though Kid Rock’s more likely to drink Mickey’s than the rockin’ stuff from his home state of Michigan, he makes a good segue to beer. The thing I like about Kid Rock is his depth and texture melded with arse-kicking bang for your buck. His influences range from country and Southern-fried rock to to hip hop and metal. That’s one complex grainbill. Couple that with some over-the-top dry hopping, 12% abv, a bourbon barrel swarming with brett and a couple of years’ worth of age, and you’ve got yourself a Kid Rockin’ Russian Imperial Stout if ever there was one.

This blending of characteristics is clearly why I’m such a Led Zeppelin fan. They rock. But a good measure of the time they’re  in a rocking chair swaying with an acoustic guitar or mandolin in hand. Blues and rock and folk. Willie Dixon and Joni Mitchell and Elvis Presley. With these influences, what need would my mom have had for concern? To me, they’re a malty old ale with some age and vinous oxidative notes. Warmth, raisins and dates. And a kick.

But you’re not always up for a band, or a beer, so complex. Cake is a good example of a one-dimensional band that’s good to drink. Kiss. The Ramones. Dick Dale. All good, but not so complex.

There’s a lot of lousy music out there today. Budweiser = Britney Spears. Fizzy yellow stuff moves a lot of product.

But there’s good stuff out there as well. The craft beer bands I spend a lot of time with these days are Flogging Molly, Izzy Stradlin, Old Crow Medicine Show, Buckcherry, Amy Winehouse, The White Stripes, The Arctic Monkeys, Lucinda Williams and Gillian Welch.

Of course, there’s that whole drinkin’ and listenin’ thing. That’s just a huge given. A huge pleasure. A huge slice of my life.

I’ve veered in many directions in my life, but like a good beer, music and my silver-pated grandfather have served me well, kept me grounded, kept me good.

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Not long after The Session #5–Atmosphere, I realized that I’d left out one of the most crucial parts of having a beer. I followed that post a day or two later with my own Session #5.5–Music, maestro. It delved into the old days of AC/DC, cheap beer and dirt roads. If you missed it, I’d encourage you to back up and check it out.

For the sake of tossing out other beer and music related posts over the last few months, I’d encourage you to hit these as well:

Brew Like a BB King (talks about the “less is more” approach to beer and music)

Izzy-inspired Living (talks about how one musician inspired me to quit my job)

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Many thanks to Tomme Arthur, from The Lost Abbey, for hosting this month’s Session.

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As a side note: Hey, Bailey, can you get me tickets for the Zep show at the O2? I didn’t get drawn in the lotto.

Cheers, all!

Brew like a BB King

The other day I’m making the rounds reading some of the other beer blogs I enjoy, when Stonch makes it a point to send us toward Epiphany, from Shut Up About Barclay Perkins.

I’ll now pause while you go read that…

….Apparently, I’m not the only person who found that post profound, as yesterday I noticed that Stan at Appellation Beer made reference to it as well. To me, the idea of “honest beer” is the very essence of honest living, something that the grander scheme upon which my idea of brewvana is built.

But it’s so easy to get distracted. It’s so easy to get caught up. It’s so easy to shop at Wal-Mart. It’s so easy to eat at McDonald’s. And it’s so easy to juggernaut our way toward stunt beer after stunt beer leaving our tastebuds exhausted and our local brewpub struggling to make ends meet because their beers aren’t cool enough anymore.

It may be blasphemy for me to say it, but I, for one, am a little sick of hops–especially American hops. Having taken a sabbatical for about two years, I’m only now regaining an appreciation for an American pale ale or IPA.

For those same couple of years, I’ve been making some effort to Brew Like a Monk. On one hand it’s very simple. On the other hand, it’s right difficult. To get my dubbels where I want them, I keep adding a little of this, a little of that. Or place my hops differently throughout the boil. A simple grain bill is one thing, but I’d wager that the mash schedules for some of these Franconian nectars are a touch overbearing. It’s also likely that a little lagering is in order. Try as I might to brew simply, these two issues provide a challenge to the run-of-the-mill homebrewer like myself. Step-infusion mashing takes effort. Lagering, and fermenting at cooler temperatures for that matter, takes a spare fridge. It’s only recently that I’ve gotten myself in a position for the latter.

As a music fan, I find myself thinking of BB King or Stan Getz. These are two of the most gifted musicians, yet their signatures are embedded in economy. They don’t waste a single note to say what they’ve got to say. BB King is a Belgian dubbel while Tom Morello is a double IPA. The fact is they are both amazing. But to think that BB found his niche without years (lagering) of meticulous (probably including a decoction) practice, is naive. And it must be pointed out that while Morello is best known for his blistering guitar work for Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave, a listen to “Getaway Car” is in order. That kid can play his guitar like a monk as well.

In the grand scheme of things, I think all this is very important stuff. If American brewers had left it like it was, many of us would still be drinking Bud Light. The envelope needs to be pushed. But the roots must not be forgotten. This is true in the world of beer, and this is true in everyday life. If we shop at Wal-Mart, small towns will disappear. Hardware stores, shoe stores, clothing stores, one by one will be forced to close their doors. I say will, but this has been happening for years. This is bad. Craft beer is taking (has taken) beer back. We should also consider the notion of taking small businesses, and with them small towns, back. I don’t want to eat at McDonald’s. I want to eat at a real place owned by real people, where they make fresh pies from scratch.

I want to brew like BB King. And Ella Fitzgerald. And Jimi Hendrix. And Iggy Pop. And Stan Getz. And David Lee Roth. And Lucinda Williams. And Joey Ramone. And Frank Sinatra. And Dave King. And Dave Rawlings. And Angus Young. And Johnny Cash…

And brewvana, in beer and in life, is as simple as that.

The Session 5.5–music, maestro

It’s hard for me to fathom, but somehow, when writing last Friday’s Session on Atmosphere, I managed to blow off music, one of the most integral parts of my soul. I focused on people and places, but missed a huge element of atmosphere: the tunes.

 

I drive my wife crazy with music on all the time. Zeppelin, AC/DC, Flogging Molly. And more mellow stuff, too: Stan Getz, Sinatra, Solas. For her, it causes sensory overload when accompanying a conversation, meal preparation, Jake bugging Tom while Tom’s watching The Simpsons and the occasional barking dog. I tune the other stuff out and the music sheds the muck of a long, ugly day. She needs quiet for that task.

 

In any case, music’s a big part of beer drinking I’d say. I’ll never forget the atmosphere the local musicians created in the pubs of Ireland. And if George Thorogood doesn’t make a party better, I don’t know what does. With beer and music on my mind these last few days, I thought I’d share my iTunes playlist entitled “Dirt Road.”

 

Dirt Road harkens back to my younger days, when lacking anything better to do, a few of us would gather on an out of the way dirt road and make our own little party. Dirt Road is the soundtrack of our Bruce Springsteen-like “Glory Days.” It proved difficult to create, as I had to leave off whole albums. How many times did we listen to Back in Black, High Voltage and the rest of the AC/DC catalogue, for that matter? Can you have a playlist that simply repeats “Have a Drink on Me” for two hours? In the end, I came up with a relatively comprehensive list of anthems that set the tone for our revelry. With the exception of the opening three tracks, which always started the evening, I tried to limit it to one track per artist. I hope it sparks memories. And I hope that, like me, you drink a lot more responsibly these days.

Here ‘tis, somewhat annotated and in no particular order:

 

“Back in Black,” AC/DC

“You Shook Me All Night Long,” AC/DC

“Have a Drink on Me,” AC/DC

“Gypsy Road,” Cinderella (Hair and silly clothes pigeon-holed the rapsy, bluesed out Tom Keifer, one of the most under-rated songwriters of their era)

“One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer,” George Thorogood (these days it’s John Lee Hooker for me, but this is just a great beer drinking song)

“Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers,” ZZ Top (that was then…)

“Bang a Gong (Get it On),” T. Rex (I have bigger influences, but if I had a band, this is how I’d want to sound)

“Honky Tonk Women,” The Rolling Stones (more than one way to gimme shelter)

“Wanted Dead or Alive,” Bon Jovi

“Fly me Courageous,” Drivin’ N’ Cryin’ (where’d Rodney ever end up?)

“Authority Song,” John Mellencamp

“Hair of the Dog,” Nazereth (these days, give me some Adam)

“Slow Ride,” Foghat

“I Love Rock & Roll,” Joan Jett (I once named a beer after a Joan Jett song)

“Rock ‘n Roll All Nite,” Kiss (and we partied every day)

“Slide It In,” Whitesnake

 “The Lumberjack,” Jackyl (two words—chainsaw solo)

“Epic,” Faith No More

“Night Moves,” Bob Seger (we grew up on a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha, and my first car was a ’60 Chevy)

“Refugee,” Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers

“Black Dog,” Led Zeppelin (but give me Led Zeppelin III any day of the week)

“Wasted Rock Ranger,” Great White (great accompaniment for the life of danger)

“Paradise City,” Guns N’ Roses

“Stroke,” Billy Squier (I don’t know why Hedstrom didn’t like this one)

 “Ice Cream Man,” Van Halen

“Werewolves of London,” Warren Zevon

“Pour Some Sugar on Me,” Def Leppard (I didn’t drink tequila for years)

“Rocker,” AC/DC (you’re crazy if you thought I wasn’t going to include something from the Bon Scott years)

“Life’s Been Good,” Joe Walsh

“Keep Your Hands to Yourself,” Georgia Satellites (I never get tired of this song)

“Unskinny Bop,” Poison (Hair today, gone tomorrow)

“Everything About You,” Ugly Kid Joe

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” Queen (party on, Wayne)

“The Joker,” Steve Miller Band

“Free Bird,” Lynyrd Skynyrd (now that I’ve moved away from the South, I can stomach these guys again)

“Hard to Handle,” The Black Crowes

“Fire Woman,” The Cult

“Takin’ Care of Business,” Bachman-Turner Overdrive (thank goodness Carlos didn’t die–not good for the foreign exchange program)

“Mother,” Pink Floyd

“Purple Haze,” Jimi Hendrix

“Gettin’ Better,” Tesla (another under-rated band, in my opinion)

“Seven Bridges Road,” The Eagles (the ultimate dirt road song, if ever there was one)

 To atmosphere, to music, to friends old and new. Cheers!

Izzy-inspired living

The first time I heard “Welcome to the Jungle,” by Guns ‘N Roses, I was hooked. If Axl wasn’t such a ding dong (a ding dong with writing skills, that is), they’d have gone on to be one of the greatest bands of all time. As it stands, they’re a little further down the list than I’d like.

In 1991 Izzy Stradlin, the rhythm guitarist, quit. It was mighty tough to clean up his act when surrounded by the heavy drinking and drugging taking place on the road. For him, the thrill was gone. At the time, I couldn’t fathom the idea of leaving that band. Fame. Money. An endless river of beer! Put up with Axl, I thought. You’re famous. I bought his first solo album, Izzy Stradlin and the JuJu Hounds, and began caring less about Guns and more about Izzy. It was clear that Izzy was Guns ‘N Roses. Axl was Axl, but Izzy’s fingerprints were all over those songs. Without him, legendary status was out the window. And what happened? It fell apart.

In the years that followed, I figured out something beyond the Izzy Stradlin songwriting I liked so much. I figured out Izzy. I, too, found myself working a job that simply brought me down. It was positive work. It was upstanding. It was comfortable.  But I was unhappy. That’s no way to live. As I stood there admiring the cajones it must have taken for Izzy to walk away, I was inspired.

Life is too short to not have a beer job. I wasn’t rich or famous, and it felt a somewhat bolder move when one has a family to consider. I quit. A wave of relief smacked me over the head like a sizeable wet carp. I’ve always been a dedicated and hard worker, and that’s what kept me in my job rut for so long. But there’s a difference between quitting and moving on. Moving on was very freeing.

Life takes many twists and turns, and recently I have taken another turn. Friday was my last day of the beer job I enjoyed so much: doing sales for The Duck-Rabbit. Even though I enjoyed my job, I feel good about the departure. It’s a family-geared decision, and one that does not feel like an albatross or a rut. Any day of the week, my family takes precedence over beer.

Today, I am a homebrewing, freelancing gardener.

Tonight, satisfied, I raise my glass to Izzy Stradlin. He’s no William Wallace, but to me, he represents freedom.