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.