March 1, 2004
Over the next two weeks, Reuben Ham shifts the VELVET spotlight to rock'n'roll bedfellows sex and drugs, beginning with the latter in How To Match Beer With Music: Etiquette For The Drunkard With Swing ('Swing'?—Ed. Sorry—RH)…
BUDWEISER
In Australia, Budweiser sells for $20 per sixer. In Australia, nobody drinks Budweiser. The only people in Australia who are rich enough to drink Budweiser drink chardonnay. I enjoyed a brief, tempestuous romance with the brew, suddenly threw a diva-like fit in which I declared it too sweet and cloying, and returned to cheap, acrid drops of a more bitter consistency. My first taste of the 'King of Beers' coincided with my inaugural viewing of ON THE WATERFRONT, for which I fell at first sight—man-tears and all. Afterwards, I donned a skin-tight white t-shirt, folded a cigarette packet into my left sleeve, pretended that Eva Marie Saint dug me, and chugged a Bud. At that exact pinhole in space-time, it was the most magnificent beer I'd ever set tongue to—a feeling which may have been contingent on the fact that I'd just worked a twelve-hour shift at the docks, punched out the 'contender' speech and succeeded in getting Eva Marie Saint to dig me—all while looking good in a skin-tight white t-shirt. Some weeks later, I sipped a Bud and sensed a $20-shaped hole in my palate. Maybe I'd just watched EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND or something. I don't know. Bud needs Brando. Or at least domestic American prices.
Recommended listening companion: 'Luck Be A Lady Tonight' – GUYS AND DOLLS motion picture soundtrack
XXXX GOLD
The most popular beer in VELVET's hometown of Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. Just why is a mystery greater to me than a unified theory of physics or the fact that everyone anywhere seems to adore OUTKAST's 'Hey Ya'. It's about 3% alcohol, comes on like water seasoned with rodent urine, takes longer to make you drunk while making you more bloated, gives less of a buzz while offering less taste. Um, yeah. Party on, populace.
Recommended listening companion: 'Higher' – CREED
COOPERS EXTRA STRONG VINTAGE ALE
Ah—a beer I can wax lyrical about… until I pass out, which is usually about 200 mL into this brew. I could write an epic poem based around this ambrosial drop, and—actually, why not:
"Coopers Extra Strong Vintage Ale
It's 7.5%, or 1/5 the strength of Johnnie Walker Red
Like bad champagne
Or jail-house hooch
It'll make you leap buildings and write poetry and< use 'forsooth'
And wake up wishing you were dead
Forsooth"
While not in the cell-slaying league of Baz's Super Brew (a British—surprise!—concoction), a beer reputed to be 23% (more than half the percentage of Wild Turkey), a half-dozen of Coopers ESVA is a steal at $20—the price, of course, of a six-pack of Budweiser.
Recommended listening companion: 'One, Two, Freddy's Coming For You' – A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET motion picture soundtrack
TUI EAST INDIA PALE ALE
It's East India Pale Ale, yet it's brewed in New Zealand! Not that we care, since it comes in (obnoxiously bright orange) half-litre cans, is cheaper than anything in 375mL bottles, and doesn't taste like rodent urine. Who knew something sublime could emerge from New Zealand, other than the most hypnotically irritating accent this side of Johannesburg and films that enchant Jeffrey Wells?
Recommended listening companion: Anything. Yes, even 30 ODD FOOT OF GRUNTS [Remember, these are half-litre cans; hush, you'll be fine—quick, chug!…]
MATILDA BAY BEEZ NEEZ
A honey beer; a beer that tastes of honey. At first acquaintance, magnificent; at second, too sweet (yea, I did reach for my skin-tight white t-shirt); at third, just a beer that tastes of honey and that will make you drunk if you drink enough of it. Okay, I'm done.
Recommended listening companion: 'Kerosene' – BIG BLACK [Would you like vitriol with that? It'll be like sweet'n'sour sauce! Erm… that angry young men should stay away from…]
SUNSHINE COAST BREWERY ROBINSON'S CHILLI BEER
Interesting, this. I wanted to be blown away—to watch my head sever from my torso in slow-motion, a geyser of Elysian syrup occupying the place where my stupid-eyed smile had been only microseconds ago. Instead, I experienced an amber trickle with no more burn than a decent non-alcoholic ginger beer. I lamented, discovered that it was most certainly not non-alcoholic and actually nudging a respectable 5%, drank it anyway, declared it 'okay, I suppose', and moved on. One consolation: each bottle arrives with its own genuine chilli bobbing nonchalantly in the neck. This is cool; methinks the overarching concept, however, is half-formed.
Recommended listening companion: Kid A and Amnesiac played end to end – RADIOHEAD [insert withering quip involving the expression 'to be burned' here]
