Massive Attack - Mezzanine and Founders Dark Rich and Sexy Porter

Unarguably there is one word that will always bind beer and music; sex. It's what made rock and roll what it is. It's what fills the bars with twenty-something singles every Friday and Saturday night. This record and this beer should probably both come with a warning label because of it--this is for when shit get serious, take your Whiz Kalifa mixtape and $1.50 drafts elsewhere--no amateur hour here y'all.

This record, from the second you pull that slab of black wax (and yes, you better have this on vinyl for chrissakes) out from the white sleeve and drop that needle, immediately brings the heat. That deep, slow, pounding bassline and hard kick drum attack that open Angel just beg for low lights, lace, and leather. It sets the pace for this whole record as the whole track moves along with such restrained ferocity, a bit of a tease right before that filthy guitar comes in to call off all bets. The vocals all smoked out and fuck-me-eyed in their delivery just send this over the top right away--but did we learn nothing from Xavier McDaniel in Singles. Be patient as this is track after track of hard-dank-ass beats and beautiful melody, experimentation and familiarity, gruff male aggression and female frailty. Just sexed up as can be from bottom to top.

Now where does the porter come in? Well, in case you hadn't gathered the name of this beer could be the entire adjective bank for the record, Dark, Rich, Sexy, and this offering from Founders delivers on all fronts. This thing pours just jet black, and gives you that earthy, smoky yet sweet, rebellious smell and taste that only a good porter can. It's a slow drinker for sure, matching the pace of the record flawlessly. It's thick and creamy and the flavor just hangs on your breath on lips for what seems like forever. It's aggressive and up front and unrestrained but still so got-danged smooth and full of roasted chocolate that it's hard to not want more.

When put together these create that perfect hazy kind of euphoria. That feeling of only being slightly conscious but fully aware--blissed the fuck out. All senses firing at max capacity for two glasses, sixty-minutes of classic trip-hop. Draw the curtains--no regret.

The Congos - Heart of the Congos and Oskar Blues Brewing Mamas Little Yella Pils

Going in a bit of a different direction today. Reggae and pilsner, two things that have been done so wrong so many times that it might be easy to give up on both. However, when done right there are very few things better, and that is what we have here. 

Lee Perry had a tendency to get a bit carried away at Black Ark, there is no question about that. The Congos got right at the heart of the island though, and Lee let them bring the roots out here. Simple riddims, songs about what they knew, and oh my god those harmonies--Myton's soaring falsetto and the counter of Johnson's flawless tenor lifted these basic, comforting sounds, into the stratosphere ultimately creating perfection from simplicity. 

The same concept works for Oskar Blues here. In a time when so many breweries are so intent on turning up the volume and redefining the American beer, they get back to the beer that beer drinkers drink--the pilsner. It is unifying, it's comfortable, it's poundable and easy--just like roots reggae. As I mentioned before though, so many pilsners have gone wrong that they have unfortunately become identifiable with trash beer. These guys get it right here though. Mind you they haven't reinvented anything, the signature pilsner malt is still there, in color, on the nose, even on the first hit. But then there is this bit of lemon and grass and hint of hop presence that make this beer an absolute work of art. Of course, it also doesn't hurt that these little yellow cans are just oh so fucking dope.

So, you put these two things together at your next cookout. The Congos are playing, people are digging it because EVERYONE has gone through the reggae phase. Drinking Red Stripe, listening to Legend, fogging out the third floor of your college dorm, it is a rite of passage for anyone between the ages of 20-40. This record will get heads nodding, it might even get a couple of people up and dancing. Mama's Little Yella Pils isn't too strange or elitist that your normal Bud Light drinkers are going to turn it away. It's poundable and perfect for warm weather, just like the Congos. Two products here that have excelled by getting back at their roots. In some way they share a sense of quiet rebellion and calm all at once, and maybe that is more of why these are so perfect together.

Sure, the riddims and general vibe are going to get people into the music. But there is a sort of bleary eyed realism at work on the record also. Sometimes what we know and what we do isn't as easy as it seems. The Congos were hanging onto something that was quickly slipping away from Jamaica--an identity. This record dropped some fifteen years after independence and the mechanical urbanization that swept across the island, and by and large the islands plural, after that was an intense change I would assume. Dancehall with it's breakout stars like Yellowman echoed the change in pace. Musically the culture had come to America and there was money to be made here. The Congos songs about fishing and playing the drums and retaining a certain way of life were a call in some way for people to remember where they came from it seems. 

Perhaps Oskar Blues has made a similar statement here. Getting back to cans (which are completely perfect for a day on the river, or camping, or the end of a hike--those simple but perfect things) and abandoning the signature bomber of the craft beer world is a huge statement (one that I fully support and greatly appreciate other breweries such as Andersen Valley, 21st Amendment, and Avery taking part in). In addition, banking so much on the pilsner (I am not discounting any of their other fine beers, but they have put a lot of effort into getting this pils out there) rather than making 25 different IPAs or a stout that has been aged in french oak barrels that once were used for aging some obscure wine that none of us gave a shit about the first time around. Just simply getting back to great American beer. It's a pretty great thing to see people taking so much pleasure and working so hard at just making something right rather than making something new which is something the Congos obviously understood 25 years ago.

Mikal Cronin-s/t and Green Flash West Coast IPA

Rock and roll is alive and well!!! As proof I submit for evidence the excellent record from SF garage hero Mikal Cronin (see also exhibits from The Oh Sees, The Fresh and Onlys, The So So Glos, Sonny and the Sunsets, Nobunny, and Ty Segall, many of whom I am sure will be referenced in depth on this site at a later time). Cronin has played second fiddle of sorts to Ty Segall for awhile but really stepped out of that shadow on this record (which is better, though only slightly, than Segall's effort from last year) and has become one of my favorite new things to happen in quite awhile. There is something in his writing and structure that is so punchy and just delivered with such velocity that it just knocks you on your ass (see Gone as a prime example). Perhaps this is a result of his age (dude is barely legal ladies), I don't know, what I do know is he references everything from great '60s psych, to early '90s college radio heyday lo-fi anthems, to Neil Young anthemic rock and/or fucking roll, and does it better than anyone else right now. It's so completely unexpected to have something, or rather someone, perfect something that has been done for so long and so many times before.

Which brings us to the remarkable West Coast IPA from one of my favorite breweries, Green Flash. The west coast IPA is everywhere. They are generally some sort of hopbomb, caramel colored, off balance micro-trend. Well, so is this, but holy shit is it good. As soon as you open this guy up it is just this huge piney citrusy nose that follows all the way through. This thing will blow out your palate for sure, but you know, in that good way. So many breweries have made this over the years that it is hard to find something that stands out. For me there are two things that make this world-class; the smoothness--most hopbombs are so bitter and just finish on the weak end this is solid from front-to-back, and complexity--there isn't just one note here, there is the floral, the citrus, even some biscuit happening--just crazy richness all around.

So, why put these two together? With Cronin you are likely to be immediately drawn to the blown out fuzz, lo-fi feel, similar to how the massive hop profile is going to demand your focus with the Green Flash offering. But people, there is so much more here. At the risk of being cliched, there is craft in both of these little gems. At the heart of the Cronin record lives a songwriter trying to break out from those young years into a sort of adulthood. Someone that demands respect and speaks to something that we have all probably gone through. But he does so in such a hard charging manner, that sort of arrogance that can only come from someone who: 1) doesn't know any better and 2) is truly ready to take on the world, no more second fiddle. Green Flash is in a similar situation. If you are on the west coast you are going to compete with the big-boys; Sierra Nevada and Anchor Steam, the godfathers if you will. But these cats are ready to take that step and really break away from the pack. The amount of flavor here is so bold, almost challenging the drinker, and the craft beer world-at-large. It's loud and needs a record like the Cronin album that demands maximum volume. Turn it up, tip it up, welcome to the next big thing.