Another dull clear-bottled beige-yellowed light-bodied Latin lager only Corona lightweights can stand. Mild corn-husked astringency contrasts equally intolerable cloying malt liquor musk and solvent sulfuric sash. Peppy carbolic hop fizz disrupted by blunt oxidization and spoiled cabbage patch.
All posts by John Fortunato
(HARPOON) CATAMOUNT MAPLE WHEAT (2011)
Perfectly descriptive limited edition maple wheat ale (updated circa 2011) brings candied black cherry cough syrup thickness to ascending molasses-sugared raspberry, raisin, and prune swoon. Thick Vermont maple syrup drapes creamy wheat-honeyed caramel malt richness, increasing dried fruited depth to crowded medicinal finish.
CIGAR CITY HUMIDOR SERIES INDIA PALE ALE
Classy Spanish cedar-aged IPA crafted to pair with cigar. Never too bitter and highly approachable, its bright cane-sugared tropical fruiting sits atop floral spice-hopped pine needling of rich copper-hazed Floridian. Aromatic cigar wrapper aromatics complement endless fruitful adjuncts. Pineapple, mango, kiwi, guava, passion fruit, peach, and cherry rampage across lingered lemon-seeded grapefruit bittering. Perfect as summery after-dinner sipper.
CAPTAIN LAWRENCE CAPTAIN’S KOLSCH
Easygoing straw-hazed yellow-fruited springtime session beer stays refreshingly smooth. Thematic honey-glazed lemony tartness picks up mild orange rind bittering above delicate grassy-hopped mineral graining, picking up minor vegetal astringency to white wheat backbone. Briskly carbolic seltzer fizz helps keep things light and airy.
(PHILADELPHIA) SHACKAMAXIMUM IMPERIAL STOUT
Decent stylistic selection lacks full-on mocha thrust. Pleasing coffee-burnt dark chocolate entry contrasts oaken hop-charred bittering and nutty reminder. Black cherry, prune, anise, and cocoa nibs deepen chicory-espresso midst, but an ersatz plasticity undermines tranquil bourbon wake. Tertiary soy, fennel, and celery illusions randomly drift by. On second passing, lactic acidity relegates French oak chip aging to dramatic bourbon-burgundy afterburner. Palm kernel-oiled cocoa buttering, chocolate-covered malt ball (a.k.a. Whopper) scamper, and black licorice gumming swirl across vanilla, raisin, hazelnut and macadamia frivolity.
SAMUEL ADAMS IMPERIAL WHITE
Almost undone by its scattershot complexities, unexpectedly dark coppery witbier possesses many inconstant qualities. Though advertised as ‘wheat ale brewed with spices,’ its simple boast holds no weight, as coriander flavoring seems negligible and the wheat influence, an afterthought. Yet its medicinal rum-spiced Scotch-licked brandy scurry and boozy vodka scamper will blur eyesight. Sugary orange-candied pastry-malted sweetness dabbing white-peppered clementine, naval orange, and marmalade fruiting goes beyond penetrative liquor luster. Ultimately, zesty citric niceties and mild juniper-hopped bittering encourage venturous mainstream deviants to imbibe indistinctly defined, undeniably strong, 10.3% alcohol intoxicant.
SAMUEL ADAMS INFINIUM
Colossal champagne-styled strong ale, circa 2011, provides well-rounded complexities almost overrun by a few uncertain peculiarities. Brewed in conjunction with Germany’s respected Weihenstephan, heady nectar retains wispy effervescence despite walloping 10.3% alcohol whir. Bubbly champagne flow picks up floral white-peppered hop bite contrasting initial red licorice spell as well as bustling orange-bruised apple, cherry, blueberry, and apricot fruiting (perhaps unwittingly hinting at Belgian tripel styling). Subsidiary pineapple, mango, cantaloupe, and peach tropicalia coats creamy cognac center. Teasing barleywine, brandy, banana liqueur, and rum illusions graze piercing spiced gin stint. But abstruse notions of perfume-oiled pinuad hair tonic and after-shave lotion may turn off less adventurous drinkers.
SPEAKEASY WHITE LIGHTNING AMERICAN WHEAT
Refreshing, yet vapid, ivory-yellowed light body retains soft citric effervescence and distant sugared spicing. Sour-candied lemon pith tartness and mild curacao orange wisp pick up floral honeysuckle nuance above wispy white wheat base. In deep recess, white-peppered coriander, cardamom, and caraway dot limey hop fizz. Serve to Corona/ Blue Moon fans as summery session beer alternative.
STONE HIGHWAY 78 SCOTCH ALE
In conjunction with fellow California brewers Green Flash and Pizza Port, lactic ruddy brown medium body seems a tad complacent despite fine auspices. Sweet Scotch entry lacks resilience, submerging leathery tobacco-peat dryness, brown-sugared molasses-cocoa fizzle, and blanched dried-fruited latency. Sugared fig, plum, and raisin illusions casually stroll by cardamom-spiced fruitcake center. Surprisingly ineffectual and watery, if not drab.
(UINTA) COCKEYED COOPER BOURBON BARREL BARLEYWINE
Quaint bourbon-barreled elixir needs thicker molasses-sapped malting. Creamy brown chocolate thrust fades fast as brown-sugared toffee, marzipan, and almondine illusions contrast alkaloid oak tannins and phenol hop bittering. Cherry, fig, and date spread across subsidiary vanilla spicing. Pleasant, but ultimately uninteresting.
ANDY’S CORNER BAR FLAUNTS JERSEY’S FINEST BEER
Tucked into the tiny Bergen County town of Bogota, Andy’s Corner Bar is neither run by a guy named Andy nor on the corner, but it’s definitely the perfect bar for beer connoisseurs frequenting Manhattan watering holes such as Jimmy’s No. 43, Hop Devil Grille, David Copperfields, and d.b.a.
Located along the narrow thoroughfare of Queen Anne Road, bordering Hackensack to the east and just off Route 95 five minutes from the Big Apple, this cozy storefront bar features only the highest quality brews from local and national microbreweries as well as international fare from England, Belgium, and Germany. A truly American family-run establishment, Andy’s qualifies as a New Jersey landmark in my humble estimation.
Opened at its current neighborhood spot in 1999, this vibrant beer hall’s history goes back to 1949, where it was incipiently stationed a few feet away on the corner lot (hence the prevalent ‘corner’ designation). Originally known as Bell’s, current owner George Gray’s father, Andy, began working there in the Seventies when it was called Jerry’s Oval Bar. Becoming its proprietor, the name changed to Andy’s Corner Bar thereafter. It was only a matter of time before son, George, discovered the joys of homemade brews and took over the operation.
“There was a home brew shop across the street that my friends started and I always liked good beer,” George explains. “When we decided to move the place, my son was sitting at a doctor’s office when his wife was pregnant. He ripped out a page in the magazine with a picture of a bar. He knew a guy who made bars. He measured our place and came up with the mural that would maximize our space. I wanted an oval or rectangular bar like the other place, but it couldn’t possibly fit in here. This bar is much longer, 18 feet wide by 55 feet long. Then, my wife’s friend, an interior designer, picked out a color combination with the walls and floors.”
Like myself, George remembers making purchases at Haledon’s Grand Opening Liquors during the late-‘90s. At the time, this beer Mecca, a veritable godsend for beer geeks, sold hundreds of different marketed beers. Personally, I’d buy dozens of different cans and bottles during each stopover to start my own beer compendium (www.beermelodies.com). I owe a debt of gratitude to Grand Opening.
George adds, “Most of their selection was imported beer back then. Half their beer went bad due to spoilage so they cut back on some brands. But they had a helluva selection.”
Admitting a bias towards robust stouts, Belgian beers, and newly fashionable sour ales, the bulky Bogota beer baron professes his favorite beer at the moment is Rodenbach Grand Cru. Though he doesn’t drink while working the bar, the adroit host instead tastes tapped samples before being dispersed to valued customers. Because of work obligations, George doesn’t get away enough to explore loads of brewpubs, yet he shows serious appreciation for Newark’s new-sprung brewpub, Port 44, and terrific New Paltz sanctuary, The Gilded Otter. One time he visited all five Major League baseball facilities in California, sojourning West to take in a few good beer joints along the way.
“San Diego and San Francisco all had good beer bars, but not Oakland. I’ve traveled around the country with my brother-in-law watching baseball games. We usually do a long weekend trip,” he says.
On my February 2011 visit to Andy’s Corner Bar, my wife settled into a tapped German wheat beer, the luxurious lemony banana-clove-draped Franziskaner Weiss, while I quaffed the previously untried Six Point Pilsner from Brooklyn. Sitting across the 12-stooled right hand bar in one of the six opposing black tables, we immediately encountered a gray-haired man claiming to have consumed at least one of each of the rear refrigerator’s one hundred-plus beers and ales. This boast was no joke since there’s at least a hundred people listed on the wall of fame plaque situated behind my head. As we speak, George’s cordial, diminutive wife, Barbara, working alone at this point, poured our servings with great care, adding a pretzel to the thin stick hanging out from inside the beer glass perimeter.
No doubt about it, Andy’s Corner Bar maintains a winningly rustic saloon appeal, with its gorgeous mahogany mural sprawling top-shelf liquor across the shelves and two olden TV’s (probably installed before high-definition became all the rage) clandestinely tucked into the corners. The hunter green-walled, red tile-floored space may be dwarf-sized, but the selection is fabulous and the ever-changing taps and cask-conditioned lines are clean as a whistle, allowing impeccable flavor profiles to shine through.
Before I met owner George Gray, I’d seen reviews on BeerAdvocate gloating about his bar’s immaculate tap lines. And I’ll be damned, the first time I chatted with George he was cleaning the cask lines for tomorrow evening’s Troegs Brewery celebration. He graciously apologized for being out of cask beers this evening, though no one’s complaining.
A tidy small town alehouse patronize by the older male crowd this early Tuesday evening, its clientele usually changes to younger adults by nightfall.
“Wednesday night is geek beer night with unique seasonals and unusual fare. Last week we had the new Sierra Nevada Hoptimum Imperial IPA alongside Belgium’s Gulden Draak. The kegs were both gone by the end of the night. There is a changeover crowd. The younger ones come in later. They’re almost all beer geeks. And almost as many are female now.” He adds, “I’ve been very impressed with the latest wave of 25 year-olds coming in. They know their beers. Twenty years ago, nobody had a clue.”
While the front jukebox plays classic rock like The Who’s “Going Mobile,” two bar frequenters join in on my typically sarcastic banter as I dip into Southern Tier Old Man Winter Ale, a caramel-toasted dry-spiced seasonal with brusque fig-date illusions. These long-time clients, one blue collar and the other white, live at least fifteen minutes away from Andy’s, but always make time after work to down a few great microbrews.
Naturally, the limited edition tapped brews are key to Andy’s growing success. I return the next day at 3 PM for the 9th Troegs Promo event. Immediately I reconnect with Jimbo, the retired gray-haired postal worker whose legendary beer consumption’s earned him a spot on Andy’s coveted ‘100 Beer Club,’ where trusty devotees quaff 100 different beers over a one-year span to receive territorial hall of fame recognition.
I decide to break tradition and quaff the heartier dark beer prior to the two new lighter-hued medium-bodied India Pale Ales. Full of brown chocolate sweetness, Troegs Old Scratch #41 Chocolate Stout layered cedar-burnt pleasantries above piquant chocolate-caked vanilla, toffee, coffee, black cherry, hazelnut, and cola nut illusions.
The dozen or so customers seated next to me at the bar concluded the best of Troegs three special offerings was Old Scratch #40 IPA, a sumptuously mellow caramel-malted, crystal-sugared delight draping soft peach, grapefruit, orange and grape tang across mild juniper bittering and neutral celery snip.
Neatly complementary, Old Scratch #39 IPA Simcoe revealed woodier hop dryness and sharper piney recess to deepen lemon-soured grapefruit bitterness above winsome pineapple-peach-melon tropicalia.
As the sun disappeared, the time was right to try Troegs two regaled cask conditioned amber ales, both richer and bolder than typical stylistic competitors. Soothing caramel-malted, apple-candied, spice-hopped Troegs Hopback Amber Ale retained truly subtle crystalline effervescence in its cask version. Better still, Troegs Nugget Nectar imparted creamy tropical fruiting to ample wood-dried easement, gaining grapefruit-peeled pineapple, mango, clementine, and tangerine tang.
George concludes, “I cater to my clientele and get the people I want. It’s not everyone’s game. I’m not looking for a power drinker or someone who is looking for the strongest beer we’ve got.”
www.andyscornerbar.blogspot.com
MOGWAI CLAIM ‘HARDCORE WILL NEVER DIE, BUT YOU WILL’
Fertile Scottish combo, Mogwai, became a provocative ‘post-rock’ beacon in the mid-‘90s, extending upon the profound reverb-heavy shoegazing Jesus & Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine devised and the proverbial noise rock experimentalism Sonic Youth pillaged. Fronted by proficient guitarist Stuart Braithwaite, these artful punks established themselves as one of the most investigative post-grunge acts, marveling the coolest indie scenesters with frighteningly awesome distended live jams (captured best at Music Hall of Williamsburg for sensational 2010 Secret Moves disc).
Nearly the antithesis to fellow Glaswegian trendsetters, Belle & Sebastian, whose eloquently picturesque pop whimsy counters their frostily frenetic fretwork, Mogwai’s finest art rock explorations tend to be drifting instrumental exploits weaving lovely arpeggiated chords, fuzzy scree crackles, spiny feedback shards, and distended obbligatos inside various symmetric textural shapes.
“We’re actually friends with Belle & Sebastian. We played the same scene, did some shows together. We’ve both survived and lasted for over a decade. I think we’re the last ones standing,” a jovial Braithwaite informs me as we stroll down memory lane.
In fact, he’s right. While the whole rock landscape blew up and slowly changed coarse, leaving a gathering of overlooked, underdeveloped, and sidestepped bands in its wake, the two Stuart’s (Braithwaite and Murdoch) continued gaining firmer access to an extended international audience, half of whom might’ve been babies when Mogwai took hold.
In the beginning, teenaged schoolyard pals, Braithwaite and bassist Dominic Aitchison, hooked up with drummer Martin Bulloch, then subsequently, keyboard programming 6-stringer, John Cummings. Despite their deliciously devilish Cantonese Chinese moniker, Mogwai lean closer to celestial beauty these days, migrating a bit from the fiery ‘evil-spirited’ irascibility of yore, at least by current indications.
Gallant ’97 debut, Young Team, pitted subtle transcendent poignancy against distorted pedal affects, turbulent riffs, and discordant clamor underscored (strangely enough) by the same dangling conversations, incoherent mumbles, and distant murmurs still inoculating Mogwai’s extemporaneously tailored abstractions. Abstruse instrumental highlight, “Like Herod,” a cathartic creepy crawler, builds ample tension prior to its jarringly explosive release, setting the general course of action for the rest of this powerful early landmark (at least before it dissolves into an eerily cocoon-like catacomb). The crunchiest cacophonous clamor, reminiscent of grunge igniters Nirvana, Green River, and the Melvins, vanquish the intriguingly majestic soft-toned complexities with a brutal assault.
A perfectly rhapsodic rainy day relic, ‘99s Come On Die Young went just as easily from elliptical to bombastic. Piano-playing flautist Barry Burns, came onboard, adding an extra dimension that’d permanently solidify Mogwai. Soon after, a few EP’s and remixes flooded the market, followed by ‘01s even better Rock Action, where the blissful atmospheric tranquility (mindful of contemporary slo-core designers Slint, Codeine, and Low) yields tremendously fruitful results. Abrasive anthemic eruptions provide maniacal gale force winds rising above the leisurely balladic restraint.
“Slint was absolutely inspirational,” a humbled Braithwaite offers. “My earliest musical enlightenment came from Velvet Underground, Jimi Hendrix, Sonic Youth, The Cure, and My Bloody Valentine. I always had a big interest in rock music.”
As Mogwai’s live reputation grew, so did their stimulating repertoire. ’03s epic masterwork, Happy Songs For Happy People, cajoled sweeping symphonic melancholia out of ambient pieces that shunned the pasts metal-edged hardcore derivations, sounding remarkably like pioneering generative artisan, Eno, in retrospect.
“I think musically we just try different things. It’s nothing really drastic, just organic changes. We tried a lot of different instrumentation over time. So we’ve definitely developed since our first album,” Braithwaite says. “But it’s hard to pin down. We try to change up just about everything.”
Though ‘06s extravagantly detailed Mr. Beast and its exclusively instrumental successor, ‘08s The Hawk Is Howling, didn’t luxuriously expand Mogwai’s sonic template, both received critical respect. The former featured “Auto Rock” (used as incidental music in Miami Vice film), an ethereal piano brooder that blossoms into a fully blown onslaught. The latter contained frenzied pile-driving scrum, “Batcat,” and the appallingly christened, “I’m Jim Morrison, I’m Dead,” an ominous slow-burner reaching crushingly skull-splitting metallic crescendos.
Having accumulated an extensive catalogue to fall back on, this enduring troupe continues to grow, rising to the occasion once more on their seventh studio set. A monumental re-entry, Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will, absolutely exceeded expectations.
“The Hawk Is Howling was a more sparse, heavy record, whereas Hardcore is probably more upbeat and optimistic. But I definitely like both records,” Braithwaite asserts.
Dramatic commencing overture, “White Noise,” may seem akin to Lou Reed’s disquietingly shrill Metal Machine Music via its title, but the deliberately-paced neo-Classical framework, bell-like jangle, and melodic piano create an interstellar effervescence even Braithwaite’s zooming guitar cannot crash through. The galactic traversing stays afloat on “Mexican Grand Prix,” a neo-psychedelic organ-droned illumination that wouldn’t seem out of place on an early Yo La Tengo album.
Braithwaite contends, “That’s definitely inspired by (‘70s-related krautrock band) Neu. There are bands from Germany we’ve liked for a long time, so those sounds we’ve kept in our minds. There’s a sweeter organ sound.”
As for the weirdly titled songs, he believes sometimes the band’s plain lazy and just name each track after how it may sound. But mostly, they keep each member “vaguely amused.” Designating the closing vignette, “You’re Lionel Richie,” was easy enough.
“Some songs are named after things that happen. Like one time, I saw Lionel Ritchie at the airport. I was hungover and I said, ‘You’re Lionel Ritchie.’ The guys remembered that years later,” he shares.
Sometimes the epithets are completely random, such as “San Pedro,” an upbeat straight-ahead rampage that has nothing to do with the coastal California city. And why should swooped orchestral lullaby, “Death Ray,” with its glistening Cathedral organ, be labeled thusly?
“That’s a nice number. I’m not really good at talking about the songs, to be honest. It’s fun to play live,” Mogwai’s main man quips.
If there’s one kindred band, it may be cinematic Texas phantoms, Explosions In The Sky. Both bands put on monumental shows and enjoy crafting beautiful guitar-etched tunes that touch the sky.
When asked if there’s a correlation, Braithwaite concludes, “Yeah. They’re friends of ours. Good guys. They probably like the same bands as us. That wouldn’t surprise me. When we go out to play concerts, it takes awhile for us to get up to speed. But once we get our shit together and hit stride, watch out.”
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