05 August 2008

I Will Dare | The Beer and Music Connection

Over the last several days, the Knights of the Beer Roundtable have been trading a lot of e-mails about music (if you're coming to the Second Anniversary party at Brugge Brasserie on Thursday evening, you'll find out why). This e-mail exchange, Chris's most recent post about drinking beer at the Radiohead show, and Mike's name-checking of the Pixies threw me into some thinking this evening about my mutual loves of beer and music (which I tossed together briefly in our Mikkeller review).

As I mentioned in that post, I was a DJ in college (circa 1985-1990), doing most of my spinning at parties. Because I was busy manning the DJ booth at these parties--I had two turntables, a cassette deck and, eventually, a CD player, so I was always cuing something up--I didn't drink a lot of beer. At most, I'd drink two beers, which didn't give me much of a buzz. Instead, I got my kicks from telling crestfallen song requesters (usually sorority girls) that I'd lost my copy of Modern English's "I Melt With You" (I hadn't lost it; I was just really sick of the song after playing it 500 times) and from scaring the crap out of partygoers by suddenly spinning the Dead Milkmen's "Bitchin' Camero" or Dead Kennedys' "Let's Lynch the Landlord." These latter two songs were quintessential dance floor clearers, which were very handy when it was 3:30 a.m. and I wanted to get rid of the handful of beer-goggled dudes and chicks who were making one last attempt to take someone back to the dorm for a little drunken fun. At that time of the morning, I simply wanted to head home and get some sleep.

My lack of serious beer consumption was probably for the best since the most common beer offerings at these parties were Busch and Little Kings, which even in the mid to late '80s were not ranked among the American beer elite. This might explain why I never blacked out or puked from drinking until age 24, at my bachelor party before my first marriage. Yup--I just wasn't one of those college binge drinkers.

Sometimes, however, the music I played made me want to drink more that my standard one or two beers--y'know, it stoked my thirst. During party prep, when I was trying to cue up as many songs as possible before the party began, I would usually throw on an album, which was normally something that wasn't very dance friendly. A lot of this pre-party music was the standard '80s college radio/alternative stuff--R.E.M., Husker Du, Echo & the Bunnymen, the Cure, Cocteau Twins, New Order, the Smiths, the Clash, and Bad Brains to name a few. But none of these bands were pure beer-drinking fuel like one I haven't mentioned: the Replacements. Indeed, as soon as the 'Mats' classic Let It Be went on the turntable and the first few chords of "I Will Dare" jangled out of the speakers, I'd be primed to start pounding any macro swill, even Michelob Dark. Perhaps I was influenced by the aura that surrounded Minneapolis's favorite sons; they were notorious for their sloppy, drunken shows and were known to get so trashed that they left the A&R types who came to scout them scratching their heads over the hype surrounding the band. It's sort of funny--my impulse to drink due to the 'Mats' music always reminded me of a Three Stooges episode, the one in which Curly goes into a fighting frenzy whenever he hears "Pop Goes the Weasel." Yes, that was me--the '80s version of Curly Howard.

So, readers, as you ready yourselves for Thursday night, do you have any interesting beer/music connections to tell us about? Drop us a comment.

Chris' Five Ws (and One H)

Some of you may recognize this recurring feature from my old blog, DIG-B. Expect to see these pop up from time to time when I've got an overload of random thoughts that don't require individual posts.

Who walked or biked to work in the driving rain this morning? I've been trying to walk more but this morning was too much for me; I drove.

What do you like to drink before or at concerts? For pre-Radiohead drinking on Sunday I packed my usual, an assortment of IPAs: Weyerbacher Double Simcoe IPA, Bell's Two Hearted, Mad Anthony IPA and Southern Tier IPA. I think the hoppy-beers-at-concerts connection goes back to my younger days, when Sierra Nevada Pale Ale was my concert beer of choice. Too bad you can't even get that inside Verizon Wireless Music Center.

When will Hot Shotz reopen? Or will they reopen? Fingers crossed.

Where will you be Thursday night? (Jedi hand wave) You'll be drinking at Brugge....

Why do I feel like I'm the only one not enamored with Creation Cafe at Buggs Temple? My wife and I have had some absolutely wonderful food there (PATTY MELT) but after half-a-dozen tries we have yet to receive what we'd even consider decent service. It's always something, usually an abnormally long wait to be seated or to get "first contact" after being seated -- even when they're not that full -- on down to simple necessities like napkins and silverware. We chalked it up to growing pains at first and kept going back hoping for something better. One of these days, though, we won't, good food or not.

How long until I brew my next homebrew batch? We forgot about the last bottles of our IPA until recently and they're getting a mite "musty" at this point. Maybe tomorrow? Special dinner plans. Thursday? HBG party. Friday? Perhaps, but there's the fall-out from the HBG party that might affect motivation. Looks like this weekend at the earliest.

Reader Submission | My First Beer by Kirk Winters

Yesterday I shared my "My First Beer" story, and asked for our readers to step up and share theirs by sending stories to hoosierbeergeek @ gmail.com. I'm happy to say that we've had a quick response... Let's keep the momentum going, shall we? Our thanks go out to Kirk Winters, who submitted this little gem.

The story of my first beer starts with a Motel bathtub full of Icehouse and ends with me and a friend hiding from the cops in a Denny's restaurant.

I'm not just a beer geek, I'm pretty much a geek in all facets of life. I spent the majority of my high school weekends watching star wars and playing video games, Dungeons and Dragons or other nerdy board games like Axis and Allies. I had gone to a few parties where people were drinking but was never interested in joining in.

But when a group of my friends decided to get a hotel room on the night of our high school graduation and have a party I figured that was as good a time as any to pop my booze cherry, so to speak.

I caught a ride with some friends to the Motel which backed up to the interstate and was surrounded by trucker-friendly establishments such as truck washes, gas stations and all-night diners--far enough away from our suburban point of origin. When we arrived the "party" was already started so to speak. The bathtub was filled up with ice and peppered with 16oz. cans of Icehouse and a few friends were smoking outside the back patio door.

My dad had frequently given me sips of his Pabst Blue Ribbon as a youngin' so I was well aware of what beer tasted like but I had never sat down and drank my own before. I was given a can which I promptly opened and took a long pull. I was not averse to the taste of those small sips my dad gave me, but drinking the real-deal out of my own can was an entirely different experience. The ice cold bite, the intense carbonation and then the awkward bitterness... I can't say I was a fan.

Fortunately I didn't have to endure it for long. I wasn't through a third of my can when a knocking was heard at the door. The person closest to peered through the eyehole and quickly turned to us and hush-shouted "It's the cops!"

There was a flurry of action as the 15-or-so of us dropped what we were all doing and bolted for the back door. We were fortunate enough to have been granted a first floor room so we were able to run free of the Motel and escape.

Of course we didn't have anywhere to escape *to* per se. Me and my friend Mandy just kept running until we hit the ditch between the Motel property and the interstate--all of about 100 feet away. We tried our best to stay hidden while we peered through the tall grass and weeds to see what was happening. We saw the police cars but nothing else. After a few minutes we realized that this wasn't the best place to hide so we crawled through the ditch to get to the Denny's next door. Once there we grabbed a table and ordered some drinks and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible--which wasn't all that easy considering we were dirty, scratched and itchy from crawling through the weeds.

About 10 minutes later a pair of policemen walk in which caused Mandy to panic. I have no idea whether they were the same officers that knocked on our door or not, but, luckily, they didn't appear to be looking for anything more than a cup of coffee.

After finishing our drinks we left the restaurant and found a pay phone (remember those?) where I was able to call my dad and have him come and get us. He didn't ask any questions, bless his soul.