On tap at River Of Beer, 2016-debuted middle-of-the-road Bavarian American pale ale offers perfume-spiced citrus hops to mild earthen astringency. Laid-back lemony grapefruit tang saddles light wood-dried bittering. Serve to dismissive macrobrew relics as simply better alternative.
On tap at River Of Beer, simple moderation works well as a low-alcohol table beer, but its jasmine-flowered grains of paradise adjunct loses luster as white-peppered lemon wisp tingles the tongue ever so gently above light pale malt spicing.
LITTLE EGG HARBOR, NEW JERSEY
At Little Egg Harbor’s Great Bay Business Park in a beige aluminum warehouse with red awning lies PINELANDS BREWING COMPANY, a nanobrewery looking to expand to a 7-barrel brew system by May 2016. Presently, Pinelands raw space contains an office area, brew tank room and tap room (with slate-topped bar, picnic table, small community table and green-walled beer bottles).
Brewmaster Jason Chapman utilizes exquisite locally sourced water to craft an ever-changing lineup of well-rounded brews. As of my April ’16 one-hour stopover, Chapman’s already created 30-plus elixirs in a few months.
Two fine flagship beers initially caught my senses. Easygoing Pitch Pine Pale Ale brought lemony orange tang to mild leafy hop pungency, subtle pine resin and wispy herbal restraint. Bright ‘n lively Evergreen IPA bettered Pitch Pine with its crisper clean-watered minerality underlining juicy grapefruit-peeled orange rind bittering and woody dry-hopped astringency.
Smoked rye malts and peppery nuances gave Rye Nugget Pale Ale a certain uniqueness as its carbolic spritz tickled the nose while the diacetyl vegetal tinge never seemed out of place. Coming on like a beefed-up amber ale, perhaps, Sharpshooter IPA provided an apricot tea-like sweetness for caramel malts, leafy hops, dewy peat and dried fig.
Gathering spiced yellow fruiting, caramelized pilsner malts and grassy hops, Bueno Con Taco (a moderate-bodied lager) must’ve been made to go alongside simple Mexican dishes since it’s light flavor doesn’t overwhelm snack foods.
Great Bay IRA (Imperial Red Ale) softened its sharp grapefruit-seeded orange rind hop pining and black tea-like bittering with caramel-roasted amber malt sweetness, tangy peach-apple-grape conflux and crisp tobacco respite.
Perhaps my personal fave, Evan John Porter, let toffee-spiced vanilla bean sweetness pick up sugared coffee, Kahlua, caramel latte, hazelnut, cappuccino and Coca-Cola tones above its dewy earthen base.
Not to be outdone, Zero Shuck Oyster Stout provided creamy oyster-shelled sinew for its black patent-malted dark chocolate, cocoa bean and vanilla overtones and bitter French-roast coffee sedation.
On early March ’22 stopover, snow came down as I indulged in a few more Pinelands libations.
Thin cream ale, Raspberry Jam, found soapy raspberry chalkiness lingering lightly in salty lemon-hopped astringency.
Juicy tropical fruited floral spicing and dry pine resin indulged Imperial IPA, Tucker’s Beacon, unfurling sunny grapefruit, pineapple, peach, orange and tangerine tanginess upon sugared pale malting.
Nitrogenated Evan John Porter added coffee-roasted cocoa bittering to tarry chocolate malting and molasses-draped toffee spicing.
Milk-sugared coffee and dark chocolate syrup graced Cockeyed Milk Stout, leaving wood-seared hops to buttress its molasses oats bottom.
Bettering all of ‘em, Gnarly Pine Barrel-Aged Barleywine let caramelized bourbon vanilla drape brown chocolate sweetness, whiskeyed Scotch warmth and toffee-spiced dried fruiting.
www.pinelandsbrewing.com
MUSICAL WARRIOR SHELBY LYNNE FIGHTS FOR FREEDOM
By John Fortunato
FOREWORD: Originally published in High Times during 2011, this Shelby Lynne interview revisits one of County & Western music’s best artists. Unlike the pondedrous drivel clogging mainstream Country radio these days, Lynne harkens to a time when non-generic talent like Johnny Cash (whose mother she played in the movie, Walk The Line), Lucinda Williams, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, etc.
Talented singer-songwriter Shelby Lynne Moorer’s a kindred spirit. We both love John Lennon, Steely Dan, vinyl records, college football, and good herb, but absolutely hate auto-tuned singers, American Idol, and stale Country radio. An adorable Southern pixie, Shelby Lynne’s conquered lots of ground since breaking away from Nashville’s tawdry music machine.
A true American underdog who’d face colossal challenges, Shelby and her equally gifted sister, respected folksinger Alison Moorer, confronted the most traumatic event possible when their depression-bound father took his life after shooting their mother to death outside the family’s humble home. Living at separate relative’s homes in Alabama thereafter, they overcame adolescent adversity, then record label politics, to become successful independent artists.
Only through constant perseverance would Shelby gain a musical foothold. In her teens, she cut two formative Nashville albums plagued by ultraconservative music industry veterans who’d vilely swept away a decade of Willie Nelson/ Waylon Jennings outlaw types.
‘93s Western Swing-derived Temptation was Shelby’s springboard for solo success. But it was seven years before I Am Shelby Lynne found an international audience captivated by her naked emotionality and earnest sentiments. Living in the peaceful confines of Palm Springs, California, ever since, she then unloaded a steady stream of albums utilizing the finest instrumentalists available. Much like heralded ‘60s singer, Dusty Springfield, whom Shelby paid tribute to on ‘08s acoustical retreat, Just A Little Lovin, she shares a common interest in not only Country & Western, but also Rhythm & Blues.
Dressed in a Brooks Brother sweater vest and cab driver hat, Shelby’s cute as a button when I meet her at a midtown Manhattan hotel. She’s courteous, demure, but also full of spunk. As a kid, all she wanted to do was sing, perform live, and make music. That wish came true, but at a cost. In order to break out of Music City’s cookie cutter string-laden adult contemporary slumber, this courageous feline would need to achieve her independence in a ballsy manner.
“I started fighting against Nashville after realizing I wasn’t going to have any radio hits. I figured I might as well make some good records anyhow. My passion was Western Swing, Jazz, and Country. You have to have a rebel spirit or you’re just corporate product – which I’m totally against. If someone said endorse beer or whiskey I’d be into it because I partake in those things. But at the same time, you can’t sell your soul. Sometimes you’ve got to stay poor to make the music right,” Shelby explains.
Strangely, the conservative producers and record label geeks who wanted to mold Shelby into a pampered Country starlet were too oblivious to take advantage of her killer body as a promotional tool. Instead, she did it for kicks on her most accessible record, 2001’s Love, Shelby. Produced by pop kingpin, Glen Ballard (who’d previously given Alanis Morissette universal mainstream exposure with ‘95s best selling Jagged Little Pill), its resourceful combination of lovelorn ballads, rock-driven rants, seductive come-ons, and Blues-based testimonial’s proved how diversified she really was.
But it’s not clear whether Shelby’s multifarious tunes revealed more than the ultra-sexy front and back cover and inner sleeve snapshots did. Wearing cut-off blue jeans with fingers placed ever so libidinously around her crotch area and showing off a mirrored image of her delicious butt cheeks, Love, Shelby’s salacious pictorial spread is undoubtedly one of the most arousing album designs ever.
She has a laugh, then justifies, “It seems if people want me to do something, they ought to not bring it up. So sexy is all in the heart. There’s a lot of ways to pull that off. It doesn’t have to be in the drawers. I’ve gone through my phase of tits and ass. But now is not one of those times.”
Throughout her career, Shelby’s melancholic tearjerkers and heartfelt love letters have neatly juxtaposed booze-riddled missives and jubilant Gospel-rock shuffles. On 2010’s Tears, Lies And Alibis (released on her own boutique label, Everso Records), the cooing songbird brought subtler atmospheric restraint to plaintive torch songs. Yearning romantic fervor counters gloomy heartache on poignant reflections sensitively bestowing a matured perspective. But when the sadness gets too intense, she reaches for the bottle on lonesome steel guitar-based weeper, “Old No. 7.”
“I wrote “Old No. 7″ in a drunken blur,” she claims. “I could only write what I know but never know where I’m headed. What each player brings to the party is so different. If you make plans, you’re an idiot.”
Working with Muscles Shoals legends David Hood and Spooner Oldham on Tears increased her ambition, though maybe not in the same way some stony Willie Nelson associates did awhile back on Temptation.
Shelby recalls, “I was a shy brunette kid with long country hair back then. We’d head out on the road after a show and my band would be cackling. I’d be in the back curious about what’s up. Finally, one night, I got the nerve to see them smoke pot. Then I did what every dumb kid does when they start getting high. I said, ‘I can’t feel anything. Am I high?’ Next thing, we pull into a truckstop to get food, and I’m eating one of those grill cheese sandwiches you get out of the package. It hit me. Then, I loved getting stoned.”
Though she doesn’t perform high, before I Am Shelby Lynne came out she’d spend many mornings smoking herb with Grand Marnet and a pot of coffee by her side, writing tunes under the influence. Allegedly, those songs are lost in a box somewhere. As a vehement pro-pot advocate, the transplanted Californian was recently miffed when Proposition 19 didn’t pass.
“Bible thumpers and misinformed conservatives need to go away,” she says. “They say weed’s a gateway drug. What kids can’t get their hands on weed? Kids can find it when adults can’t. Like Willie Nelson told me, ‘You just can’t do anything too much.’ I went through a wake and bake phase. But I find it’s more of a reward smoking a joint with someone afterwards.”
Although Shelby takes her pro-marijuana stance seriously, the only time she ever mentioned getting high in song was on I Am ‘s autobiographical “Where I’m From.” On this mellow jaunt, euphoric memories of her Alabama teen years come to the fore, climaxing initially with the line ‘I’m up the old Tombigbee River/ high as the pines all the time.’
As our conversation drifts onward, Shelby shows off some awe-inspiring photos of the 20-foot marijuana plant she and an associate grew from a few mediocre Mexican seeds.
“It ain’t pretty but I got half a pound. My friend found me some gnarly, ugly Mexican weed. We had the best time drinking tequila and smoking weed in Cabo San Lucas. I like shaky weed with seeds. That shit makes me giggle. It smokes well and smells like Christmas trees. I didn’t manicure the bush. Just let it grow.” But she cautions, “Medical marijuana makes me too nervous. It’s too strong and fancy.”
Coming full circle, Shelby and younger sis, Alison Moorer, got the opportunity to perform together for only the second time in late November. Putting on a warm duet concert at Tarrytown Music Hall, the Moorer’s shared original compositions, Everly Brothers chestnuts, Christmas carols, and a sisterly a cappella Color Purple number to three standing ovations. It was a true musical affirmation. And Shelby, the older sibling who’d fought for everything she got, shed a few tears.
-John Fortunato
On tap at Poor Henry’s, magnificent soft-toned India Pale Ale boasts busy fruited flavor profile above resinous pine pungency and musky cannabis snip. Syrupy peach, mango, cantaloupe, honeydew, apricot and fig sweetness as well as honeyed caramel malts luxuriously contrast citric-pined hop bittering. A small step beyond the usual lemony grapefruit-orange West Coast-styled IPA’s.
Impeccable ’16 collaboration between Italy’s Brewfist and Oklahoma’s Prairie Artisan Ales stays thick and creamy as dark-roasted coffee assault gains cocoa nibs upsurge, fudgy chocolate sweetness and vanilla bean richness over tarry hop-charred molasses bittering. Caramelized espresso, creme brulee and caffe mocha illusions as well as distant cherry, blueberry, blackberry and raisin fruiting stay recessive.
On tap at Poor Henry’s, impressive cocoa nibs-embellished Imperial Stout gains plentiful dark-roast coffee richness, creamy black chocolate decadence and latent black cherry reminder above moderate nut-toasted hop bittering.
On tap at Poor Henry’s, creamy (11% ABV) Imperial Stout brings richly smooth bourbon-sugared brown chocolate and vanilla sweetness to cedar-smoked hop roast. Molasses-sapped dark cocoa, medium-roast coffee and scurried black cherry add depth as bourbon vanilla warmth soothes the soul.
On tap at River Of Beer, kaleidoscopic middleweight Imperial Stout dances on the tongue like a Bolshoi ballerina as molasses-enriched brown chocolate spicing and fudgy toffee sweetness gain ancillary brown-sugared fig and raisin sentiment. Chocolate-caked coffee, cocoa and vanilla illusions deepen sweet mocha theme.
“Lusty” medium-bodied brown ale places rich gourmet coffee roast above lengthy walnut char to contrast caramel-sugared brown chocolate sweetness. Ancillary espresso, vanilla, cocoa nibs and toffee illusions augment dark-roast mocha malting. Luxurious coffee adjunct truly jettisons this enduring digestif.
On tap at Poor Henry’s, soft-toned IPA-fruited moderation brings zesty Mosaic-Citra hop freshness to the fore. Lemony pineapple-grapefruit-orange melange picks up mineral-grained respite and light floral daub. Yet another hop-forward pale ale for enlightened lighter thirsts ready to move on to increasingly tastier suds.
On tap at River Of Beer, zesty mandarin orange-derived Meyer lemon tartness lightly sweetened by sugary crystal malts. Mild citric-spiced acidity receives latent herbal astringency at brisk shandy-like lemondrop finish.
