Best of 2017: A Retrospection in Confusion

2017 proved musically unconventional for me. Through spring and summer, I wallowed in the past more than the present. Thanks to my friend and yours, Kelly Minnis, I discovered Chick Corea and Return to Forever around New Year's and subsequently spent months on the hunt for more jazz fusion - ie. Weather Report, Al Di Meola, Joe Farrell, George Benson’s CTI Recordings (not fusion, but solid elevator luxury), and even swankier Herbie Hancock. I still haven’t listened to all I acquired, which is more confession than boast.

At 2017’s onset, I also happened upon the deliciously essential Getz/Gilberto collaboration, which introduced me to both Stan Getz and Brazilian vocalist Astrud Gilberto, igniting a Bossa Nova kick that naturally bled into an appreciation for music from Mexico when I enrolled in a Spanish class this Fall. I listened incessantly to 2017 releases by Lila Downs, Carla Morrison, and Natalia Lafourcade for audible practice but soon fell genuinely in love with their voices and artistry - especially Lafourcade’s Musas, which is stunning.

Still, betwixt the sonic buzzing, I managed to find a few new releases I hope follow me into next year and beyond. For the list below, I attempted to curate seven titles -in honor of the year- recommendable with a personal referendum of merit. To my surprise, I landed on nine instead. Looking at this list, I’m realizing the year’s loudest track was my own ADD.

1. A Sundae Drive Versailles - I had the pleasure of reviewing Versailles for 979 back in March. The praise I sang then bodes repeating: these Houston garage-rock tyrannosauruses (and all around fine folk) prove the art of making an Album - a singular work of musical and tonal themes - need not be a thing of the past. This was the first record I fell in love with this year. I hope you will, too. Fave track: “Fly South”.

2. Joey McGee Terlingua Taproot - Nepotism alert! Joey McGee is my good friend. We’ve shared many plates at T Jinn’s. But, nepotism aside, when I first heard McGee’s “I’m Gone”, I went from friend to fan by the chorus’ end. Do yourself a favor: find Joey’s next live spot (he’s prolific!) and tip his tip jar, man. Also, request “Long Road Home”, another personal favorite. Those opening lines lay me open every time. Fave tracks: aforementioned.

3. Willie Nelson God's Problem Child - Willie needed a solid follow-up to 2016’s retread sleeper Summertime, but I didn’t expect Willie to deliver a goodbye letter. Damn! I’m not ready for that day. But, according to this record, Willie’s made his peace and, as GPC’s primary tone suggests, he’s as surprised as any of us he’s still around. Even the cover - Willie’s weathered profile washed in red - harkens back to 1974’s Phases and Stages, the concept album that proved “Shotgun Willie” was not some forgettable fairground spectacle. At 84, Willie sounds strong. Resolute even. Like he’s got several records still blazin’ up in him. But, as Tom Petty so boldly declared in October: no one knows the hour. I miss Willie already. Fave tracks: “Old Timer” and, Willie’s tribute to Merle, “He Won’t Ever Be Gone”.

4. John Mark McMillan Mercury and Lightning - No other album on this list commanded such a dance with my affections as this one. On one hand, McMillan infused a poppiness to M&L that recalls all the reasons Springsteen lost fans in the 80s. Still, when songs like “Wilderlove” and “Enemy, love” and “Death In Reverse” and “No Country” work in their talons, you’re stuck. These songs feel impenetrable: earworms that just won’t quit. And I’m glad. In these songs, McMillan reminds me of things I hope to never forget. Fave tracks: check above.

5. Mon Laferte La Trenza - Stop what you’re doing and cue up this Chilean rock goddess’ “Mi Buen Amor” or “Amarrame” or “No Te Fumes Mi Mariguana” and experience how Mon Laferte so easily absconded with my Spanish practice and replaced it with full-blown fanaticism. I’m driving around belting out lines I haven’t even translated yet! So be it. I’m just praying Laferte finds her way to these Estados Unidos soon. Fave tracks: you should be rocking them already.

6. Bell Witch Mirror Reaper - Now we’ve hit the bummer side of the list. I also reviewed Mirror Reaper for 979 in November. My primary note welcomes repeating: everything about this record appears to be a gimmick. One song. 83 minutes. Two distinct movements of slow, brooding, funeral doom guitars and drums and organs with vocals from a recently deceased former bandmate piped in for tributary reasons. It sounds almost corny, I admit. But sitting through the entirety of MR -as I have half a dozen times- is a beautiful experience. (“Beautiful” in the way Darren Aronofsky films used-to-be beautiful.) The second half, starting right at the 49 minute mark where it gets all ambient and drony, is hand-down my favorite record of 2017. I’d pay too many dollars to witness Bell Witch perform this album live. My bday is in September. Feel free to help me make that happen. Fave track: duh.

7. Amenra Mass VI - Here’s some doomy, sludgey, post-something metal from Belgium that - like Bell Witch - perfectly assimilates all the things I take pills not to feel and then pieces that scattered grand suckery together into bizarrely beautiful chunks of meditative blister-gaze that I cannot get enough of. Crap. I love everything about this record, even that one dude’s off-putting razor-gargling squealy vocals. It’s a delightful piece of genuflect-able art that makes me want to be better person . . . someday. Fave track: “A Solitary Reign”.

8. Bison You Are Not The Ocean - After all those feelings culled and coddled by Bell Witch and Amenra, I need a swift kick to the groin to boot me out the door and back into the wild. So I appreciate an angry, nail-spitter of a record that reminds us that heavy metal is still a valuable daily resource. It’s like corn: we can utilize its energy more than we realize. Bison’s new record -sludging straight down from Vancouver- is all that beautiful corn for me. Fave tracks: yes. I even dig those weird little flutey bits at the end of “Tantrum”.

9. Power Trip Nightmare Logic - Same as Bison, but this groin kick portaled to us all the way from 1987. There’s not one bad thing about this record except that it ends. I recently saw Power Trip open for Cannibal Corpse. DO NOT MISS POWER TRIP LIVE! Or this record. Start with the single, “Executioner’s Tax”, and then sample a deeper cut like “Waiting Around to Die”, which opens with a bizarre synthy-esque digitized bass loop before ripping into lightning fast riffage - a total of 1.5 minutes of intro on a four and a half minute track. I like them odds. Fave tracks: all of Manifest Decimation, but Nightmare Logic is a solid follow-up.

A few artists released 2017 albums I wanted more time with - Enslaved, Converge, Wode, Cafe Tacuba, Lea Ann Womack, Filthy Friends come to mind - but two ears can travel only so far in a year. Better luck in 2018. See you there.

Bell Witch's MIRROR REAPER: An Album Review

Let’s get technicalities out of the way. Mirror Reaper marks the third full-length album from Seattle doom metal duo Bell Witch. Released October 20 from Profound Lore Records, Bell Witch delivers the entire 83 minutes of Mirror Reaper’s duration through a single track. (For fans of Sleep, that’s 20 minutes longer and one track less than 2003’s Dopesmoker - not that anyone’s suggesting a measuring contest here. I’m just offering context. Not to mention, veteran Sleep and Neurosis producer Billy Andersen captains the Mirror Reaper helm, putting this album into the realm of modern classics even at its inception.) The technicalities here are worth getting aside as they comprise the least interesting details about this record.

Mirror Reaper’s backstory as eulogy is key. Recorded in response to the passing of founding member and drummer Adrian Guerra, Mirror Reaper works as a single track split over two distinct movements: the agonized “As Above” and the resurgent “So Below”. Bell Witch’s current line-up, Dylan Desmond (bass, vocals) and Jesse Shreibman (drums, organ, vocals), confessed unique intentions for Mirror Reaper on their Bandcamp page: “In love and respect to [Guerra’s] memory, we reserved an important yet brief section in the song for him that features unused vocal tracks from our last album. This specific movement serves as a conceptual turn in the piece, or point of reflection.” From a band who traditionally focuses their narratives on ghosts - look to 2015’s beautifully epic Four Phantoms - in order to explore perplexing and uncomfortable boundary lines between life and death, Guerra’s posthumous vocals offer a turn - right at the 51 minute mark - that feel far more tangible than merely conceptual.

Those who commit to Mirror Reaper will find its uniqueness not bound to format. After repeated listens, Mirror Reaper, for me, becomes more compelling, more complex, even beautiful. Spending time here is not difficult. The album holds and demands attention, moving in places both unexpected but grossly familiar to anyone who’s experienced grief. Bell Witch musically recalls a painful truth: grief takes time. It requires process. It brings our entire spirit to a grinding halt and then kneads us into something new that we never imagined. Perhaps something stronger. Perhaps enlightened. We can’t know until we endure and emerge. In that context, Mirror Reaper - this 83 minute doom symphony - offers a snapshot of such endurance. Nothing on this record is rushed. No one is hurried. Music builds and falls. Vocals rise and fade. Single notes simmer, drifting slowly into larger, darker expanses of chasm deep echoes, and this beyond our awareness. We find ourselves suddenly in new territory - “a new shore” as Guerra sings. Meanwhile, cymbals crash like broken water while bass lines swim twisted through currents of, initially, anger and despair, until eventually giving way - prompted by hymn-like layered organ swells - to something lighter, something akin to peace, perhaps hope. How ironic that Mirror Reaper, a record about an actual death, ends at the opposite of doom.

Grief’s full portrait is here. A sun setting. A darkness ruling. But then a sun reappearing. Bell Witch reminds listeners - by closing and pulling back these curtains - that, sure, we can keep our eyes closed, but the sun will reappear. In that sense, Mirror Reaper is an 83 minute exercise in emerging.

READ 0304: Watch Billy Collins.

Find out a few things about this guy. He's one of the best at his game. I'd read this poem before and totally missed the humor in it until I saw this video and heard Collins' voice. Enjoy.

Baroness PURPLE : Album Review

With each new release since their 2007 debut, Red, Baroness has built a reputation for publishing better songs than albums. On their sophomore follow-up, Blue (2009), Baroness attempted a darker, heavier sound, blending influences of sludge and some kinda grind-type-thing that felt like a cartoonish sidekick to Mastodon's Leviathon. With Yellow & Green (2012), Baroness released two albums worth of slower, more emotive, methodically blended hard-rock that left most listeners wondering if Y&G was a conceptual project. The lack of cohesiveness across the packaged individual records, not to mention the entire project, firmly answer the concept question, but so did the meandering musical rabbit trails that seemed to have no damn clue where certain songs wanted to go. How could listeners plant both feet into Y&G when the band - or maybe their producers - had not? Y&G is not a complete disaster; nevertheless, a double-album offering four of five good tracks is hardly worth admission price.

Still, I am a Baroness fan, and I enjoy aspects of all their albums. For this reason, I was glad to spend time with Purple, released December 18, 2015 from the band's own label, Abraxan Hymns. Purple negates the old Baroness reputation: from cover to cover, with minor exceptions, Purple is a damn good album. Also, cohesively speaking, Purple works as a concept piece. It's impossible to fully engage Purple without considering the 2012 bus-crash that injured two members into early retirement and nearly stole guitarist / vocalist / artist John Baizely's ability to play and paint. After the crash, Baizley stated on the Official Baroness webpage: "I can say, after nearly 6 weeks of reflection, that I feel more resolute and passionate about our music than ever. I have come to realize the importance of time in this particular equation, that is, I have none to waste and none to spare." This urgency marks a primary hallmark of Purple's success.

Purple opens explosively with "Morningstar", satisfying the band's Mastodon crush. "Dry yours tears, my darling / There's a pistol-whipped look in your eyes / The captain was gentle / He left you alive." Baizley charges with an immediacy he's not yet possessed. His vocals contain greater diversity, even in a single track here, than he's previously challenged of himself. That being said, Baizley, at times on Purple, trades early Baroness screams for a more vulnerable singer-songwriter crooning that, even if it's not pretty, offers an authenticity that reminds listeners of what birthed this album. Such rawness can be heard on "Shock Me" (poppy finger-snapper) and "Kerosene" (cheesy hi-hat titter-tat opener bleeds into symphonic gang-chant: "When I am done / I'll lay in the sun". Super nice.). These solid tracks are unfortunately followed by Purple's weakest spot: the instrumental "Fugue", which invalidates its denotation while also detracting from the conceptual impact thus far. Odd choice.

The other high point of Purple is the new percussive line-up. Sebastian Thomas on drums and Nick Jost on bass together add a layered foundation beneath most tracks. Thomas' punk quick roots surface during particular intros and outros, calling listeners back to his bizarre complexity in the track's body. Jost's background as a jazz bassist is found in his improvisational nature. More than a repetitive rhythm keeper, Jost stomps around the track adding emotional transitions between various hooks and breaks. Tracks like "Try to Disappear" and "The Iron Bell" showcase Thomas and Jost's benefit to the band.

Still, the guttural punch of Purple lands in track six, just over the half-way point. "Chlorine and Wine" is Baroness at their best. A simple, pretty drum and guitar instrumental opener erupts into a battered catharsis of thickly layered riffs and crashes topped with Baizley's Walt Whitman-urgent "yawp." Then verse two. Jost's bass line opens wide. Verse three. Then Baizley and Peter Adam's dual layered guitar solo, punctuated by hi-hat ellipses and Jost's piano interlude. And then the band's gang-chant finale: "Please / Don't lay me down / Under the rocks where I've found / My place in the ground / Home for the fathers and sons." This is a fucking good track. Goose-bumps and fist-pumps from open to end. Religious music. Healing music. A song wielded as a weapon and tear-gagging belly-romp laugh in the face of death. Not yet, sucker. There's more to be done. And these guys are doing it.

The Sword's HIGH COUNTRY - A Review

Experimentation and exploration in music are a must. God forbid current artists be met with the same outcry Bob Dylan received in 1965 upon releasing Bringing It All Back Home. Dylan's fans couldn't fathom their acoustic god going electric, and they booed him from the stands. Without musical experimentation the Beatles would have never cut The White Album, The Beastie Boys would have never gone hip-hop, and Kanye wouldn't have cut the forgettable 808s and Heartbreak on his way to My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. The case of Kanye proves timely as he possibly released 808s and Heartbreak a bit early in the experimentation process. Kanye may have wanted to hold all that down until he landed on something more profound. The same can be said of The Sword's newest release, High Country.

Bless The Sword's hearts: High Country is a boring record. The greatest thing to be said of High Country is its invitation to return to The Sword's earlier, heavier records. Unfortunately, a chronological listen through The Sword's discography attests their continual movement from darker, old-fashion doomy stoner sound, as on Age of Winters (2006), to more democratically commercial, southern hard rock, as can be heard to some degree already on Warp Riders (2010) and certainly, with an added tinge of blues guitar, on Apocryphon (2012). By this year's High Country, The Sword has morphed into a full-on non-metal pseudo-hard-rock southern jam band (trumpets?!), which, again, would be fine if they achieved more than an uneven tribute album to the '70s bands - less Sabbath and Sleep, more ZZ Top and Steve Miller - they've genuflected upon these past three years.

Nevertheless, High Country is not without it's high points. "Mist and Shadows" opens slowly on the rhythm of high-hats and field crickets, then evolves into the strongest blues riffs on the entire album. It's a sweaty track full of swagger and space synth, featuring J.D. Cronise's strongest vocal moments on the record. This bleeds into the short synth instrumental, "Agartha", that feels more giallo soundtrack than 70s southern pride. "Suffer No Fools" might be the stand out track, combining The Sword's classic thick, heavy crunches with bluesy string-bending solos, all of this propped against a wall of solid 70s synth. The track closes with a crowd in uproarious applause, as if the band knew this was the track holding the entire album together. "Suffer No Fools" reveals The Sword at the height of their experimentation, holding their gaze toward future potentials while keeping one foot firmly planted in their signature sound. "Turned To Dust", one of the album's final tracks, steals too much from AC/DC's "Hells Bells" in the opening to not raise eyebrows. Even after the really great tracks previously mention, "Turned To Dust" is an unfortunate closing track, reminding listeners that High Country reads more like a term paper leaning too heavily on credible sources rather than a bold, brash manifesto proclaiming where a legendary band could go next. 

Because some of you have asked

My pick for Best Album of 2014 - Sacred Ground by Austin-based band Skyacre.

Oculus: A Film Review and Critical Response

Mike Flanagan's Oculus (2013) tells a modern day fairy-tale about sibling commitment, magical mirrors, and the possessive quality of memory and imagination through the vehicle of my favorite horror film of the year. I enjoyed this movie, first of all, because I prefer movies that tell really good stories, and Oculus, at its core, is a really good story. Secondly, I like stories about the endurance of family commitments, about families conjuring the courage and determination to fight their demons together. Far too many movies and television shows today feature dysfunctional families, usually for comedic value. And while I do often laugh along, I personally no longer belong to a dysfunctional family. My wife and I are committed and determined to wage life's obstacles together, and I appreciate the opportunity to see stories of families doing the same thing. Lastly, I have so far been unfamiliar with the acting talents of Kaytee Sackhoff (who plays the mother, Marie Russell), as well as Karen Gillan (who plays heroine Kaylie Russell). I've since learned that Sackhoff and Gillan have each had extensive runs on various TV shows. Their performances here blew me away. I'll be looking for more work from both actresses.

I do want to disagree with NY Times film critic Ben Kenigsberg on three points. First, he said that Oculus was "a derivative but efficient chiller". I disagree with the idea that Oculus was merely "efficient", which carries a negative connotation and ranks this film among the average releases of the year. No, I found Oculus to be one of the more triumphant films of the year for reasons I've already listed above. Kenigsberg also uses negative language such as "modest", "fundamental", and "stiff acting" to describe the production and performance values of Oculus. Again, I found the storytelling here rich and the performances beyond noteworthy. Kenigsberg appears to be critiquing films out of either his comfort zone or his preferred genre. Either way, get him back in front of the buddy-comedies and action-flicks he probably enjoys more. I'm already looking forward to including Oculus in my DVD library.

Maria Bamford's Ask Me About My New God - An Album Review

In recent Louis CK specials, Louis has helped us laugh at the awkwardness of divorce and the grossness of narcissism. Patton Oswalt points fingers at parenthood and religion, while Sarah Silverman stays fairly well focused on race relations and bed-wetting. Mike Birbiglia’s most recent album actually made his sleepwalking disorder interesting, heartbreaking, and oddly hilarious. Tig Notaro, in an unexpected turn at the Largo Theater last year, brought her breast cancer into light and reiterated how vital comedy can be to coping with personal disaster. If comedy accomplishes anything profound or great, it’s this: it teaches us to laugh in the face of unpleasantry, even despair.

And there’s a good chance no one has touched as closely to the void as Maria Bamford. Those familiar with Bamford know her comedy revolves primarily around her bi-polar disorder and her debilitating paranoia. Those unfamiliar with Bamford may not be prepared for her unique approach to comedy, which relies exclusively on character voices, random internal dialogues, and winding explorations of her family’s inability to understand Maria as a fragile teetering being. (In fact, Bamford’s family is extremely supportive of her comedy, as her parents declared by serving as the sole audience for Bamford’s SPECIAL SPECIAL SPECIAL recorded earlier this year in their living room.)

            

As a huge fan of Maria Bamford, I think her newest record – Ask Me About My New God – is her best yet. It’s tough for me not to use words like “genius” or “masterpiece” or “more inspiring than a Soul Surfer / Dead Poets mash-up” when discussing this record, so I’ll just say it’s really super crazy awesome amazing. Here Bamford further tackles her mental instability, as well as her inability to function within her family and society, but she also addresses (at length) her suicidal tendencies and temptations. She even offers profound reasons to stay alive, such as spite. This is not the stuff – depression, anxiety, mental illness, suicide – one expects from the year’s best comedy record, but Bamford is a brave one, revealing all her unwanted thoughts without reserve. As really good comedy should do.

Kylesa's Ultraviolet - An Album Review

According to Online, the term “kilesa” comes from the Pali language of Central India. In Buddhism, “kilesa” (spelling dictated per dialect) refers to a mental state of emotional distress or thought poison. The band Kylesa, from Georgia's fair city of Savannah, where the trees pull more tourism than the pecan pie or the hospitality, seeks to embody this cerebral slide. I can't speak to all that, except to say that when you're writing an animal attack death scene into a story, Kylesa is the perfect tonal inspiration.

Also from Online, one learns the band Kylesa fulfills most of the musical genres my mother considers “devil worshipping” – sludge metal, doom metal, death metal, stoner metal, psychedelic rock, fuzz rock, crust punk. I’m too new to Kylesa (and all this genre lingo) to say who worships who here. Kylesa's syrupy guitars and spiraled bass pry-back an Inferno-reflective doorway into the sky, assuring that Up remain rooted in Down, and Hope swings hinged on Despair. Vocally the album swims: yells, cleans, choral, shared male and female leads. Lyrically, Ultraviolet questions the validity of Absolute Truth. And the Christ follower in me, prone to similar curiosities, welcomes their inquiry.

Point blank: this record works. Slow and dire. Thick but beautiful. Ultraviolet pierces sensation, dividing the blur between conviction and suspicion. I’ve found profound creative inspiration in this record. And, called back, I’ve found Kylesa’s discography genre-ly scattered but consistently progressive.

Avenged Sevenfold's Hail The King : An Album Review

I never liked these guys, but they sell a shit-ton of t-shirts. When I taught high school English in Kansas City back nearly a decade ago, every other t-shirt was either Avenged Sevenfold, Fall-Out Boy or Bob Marley. I listened to some Avenged Sevenfold back in their City Of Evil days, and it did not move me. The guitars were finger-plucky, weirdly erratic, like darkly electric blue-grass, and the vocals were operatic, but they did not move me.

This new Hail To The King record is a lazy continuation of Avenge's already turgid reign. As a progressive metal record, AHTK fails. As a retrospective hat-tip to the slim history of late 80s hair metal, Judas Priest, or any Ozzy album featuring Zakk Wylde, the album serves as a catchy karaoke track of drunk sung nostalgias. I can't shake the notion that this record would have killed in the early 90s. But this ain't the early 90s. Avenged Sevenfold hallows-out a fine tribute to their predecessors and influences, but, like so much of their cultural fodder, I predict they'll shrink in the wash and fatten moths.

TEXAS CHAINSAW 3D Film Review

My buddy Jill joined me last night for a private screening of Texas Chainsaw 3D at the local Premiere Cinema. We did not schedule a private screening, it just appears no one else in BCS wanted to subject themselves to such murderous mayhem at 5:15 on a pretty Wednesday evening. So be it. Still, Jill and I both walked away more than pleased, admitting this Chainsaw drastically exceeded our expectations. 

A little background: this is the seventh film in the Leatherface franchise, but it's the first legitimate sequel to follow the 1974 original. Other Texas Chainsaw Massacre films in the ‘80s and ‘90s offered far out supplementary Sawyer family retellings. Thanks to Michael Bay productions, 2003 saw a cheesy remake of Tobe Hooper’s original, followed in 2006 by a stellar (and ridiculously brutal) prequel to the original. The fact that Texas Chainsaw 3D is the first actual sequel, following the events of Sally and company's demise, makes this one a must-see horror-geek priority.

The film begins with spliced footage from the '74 original, showing all the kill scenes (including the meathook!) and finishing on Sally's escape from the Sawyer house through the dining room window. The original footage ends with Leatherface dancing in the street and Sally laughing hysterically in the escaping truck bed. The new footage picks up immediately with a sheriff's car driving past Sally and the pick-up truck. This sequel begins not only the same day, but within an hour of the original film's finale. Not even Kill Bill 2 shaved it that close.

Through a series of events the film progresses to the present day where we meet college aged Heather Miller who suddenly finds out she was adopted from the Sawyer family. She never knew of her birth family until her biological grandmother, Verna Sawyer, died. As the last remaining member of the Sawyer family, Heather loads up her road-tripping New Orleans bound friends and heads to Texas to check out her inheritance. As expected from the infamous Sawyer family, Heather inherits more than she bargains for and discovers something distinctly powerful in her newly realized roots. 

This is a lot of plot to rehash, but I rehashed it for one reason: Jill and I both agreed that, more than any other film in Leatherface franchise, Texas Chainsaw 3D told an engaging story about the value of family, the crux of identity crisis, the commitment of friendship (in and out of the face of betrayal), and even of old school small town family feuds. Indeed, some of the 3D effects, dismemberment gore, and direction were laughable, but none ever stole from the story, which is something I never thought I would say about a Leatherface film. Generally these things follow a strict formula of kids in a van + kids on the wrong road = kids in a scattered putrid pile. Not this time. Here the film had a bit of heart and actually entertained as a narrative and a gore flick. Go figure.

I gave Texas Chainsaw 3D 3.5 ferris wheel hops out of 5. Yes, it was silly and gross, featuring abdominal gore and full face-peeling, but it also expanded a flat franchise with a bit of integrity and style. I heartily recommend this flick even if you have not seen the original.

Ciders, Southern Star, and Pecan Porter

          I mentioned last month that I would focus on hard ciders, particularly Texas brewed ciders, in this month’s Still Drinking. Well, it turns out I have a lot to learn about hard ciders. They’re a completely different type of beverage. Even as I attempted to taste various ciders, I realized complexities far greater than I imagined. I simply need more time and more tastings before I can say anything of value about ciders. However, I can say now that the two best ciders I’ve tasted thus far are Leprechaun’s Dry Cider (Texas brewed but not available in BCS as of yet) and Julian Hard Cider (brewed in California, available at our local SPECs). If I’ve learned anything through my cider tastings it’s that I mostly enjoy the dry ciders. I just don’t know why or what that even means, except that dry ciders seem – to this ignorant dolt, at least – to be a bit less sweet and more like a Brut champagne than anything Woodchuck cideries have yet to produce. Oh, and I also have learned that Woodchuck Cider is an unfair example of hard cider’s potentials. But that’s all I know for now. More to come in this department.
            Take note: Harvey Washbangers and Southern Star – our local Conroe Brewery – are teaming up on the evening of January 17 for a Southern Star Takeover event not to be missed. Southern Star, with access to all of Washbangers’ tap handles, will feature new ales including an Extra Pale Pine Belt Pale Ale (self explanatory), Cherry Hatchet Stout (a cheery infused version of their Buried Hatchet Stout), Buried Hatchet Nitro Stout (should be creamy), Smoked Lager (very exciting), Jasmine Infused Bombshell Blond (hitting zen just thinking about it), and Old Pontificator (I don’t know what that one is: I’m just looking forward to it). Of course, representatives and brewers from Southern Star will be in attendance to greet glad drinkers, and I’m sure they’ll have a little schwag on hand. Lord knows beer geeks love the brewery schwag nearly as much as they love the beer. Check Harvey Washbangers’ Facebook page for scheduling and details.
            A feature beer this month that I can’t seem to get enough of is (512)’s Pecan Porter. Dear my Lord – this is an amazing beer. I tried the Pecan Porter on tap several years ago at the Flying Saucer in Austin and found it to be both boring and totally pecanless. Well, either (512) changed their recipe or I changed my palette because the Pecan Porters I’ve enjoyed recently are already in the running for Best Beer of 2013. Weighing in at 6.5% ABV, (512)’s Pecan Porter is a malty miracle - full bodied, complex and dark as a Confederate's heart - enriched boldly by Texas grown pecans. (Buying pints of this beer supports several local economies!) (512)’s Pecan Porter is a part of (512)’s year round “Core 4”, along with their Wit, Pale Ale, and IPA. I don’t know enough about this brewery, and I’ve never tried any of the other Core 4 offerings, so I’m thinking a little Saturday excursion to Austin is in full order.