Simon Barber

Laphroaig Quarter Cask

Thu, 12 Jan 2012 17:38:00 +0000

In recent years, the Laphroaig Quarter Cask has become my favourite whisky, and so it seems only fair that it be included in my collection of (pre)Posterous whisky reviews. The bottle itself is unfussy, strong and confident. The ideal dram should share the characteristics of its owner, and I see no reason to quibble here. Once the business of reaching into the tube to retrieve the small Laphroaig booklet has been concluded, you will know what it is to be a giant before removing the cork with a satisfying pop.

This whisky is matured inside quarter casks. For those without a calculator, that's a quarter of the size of a regular cask. If a cask were a cake and you cut it into four pieces, this cask would be like one of those pieces, only with less icing and more smoke and less cake. The Quarter Cask method is 200 years old. They say age is just a number, and friends, that number is 200. In ye olde times, the casks would be carried by mules. I don't have a joke for that. It is said that changes in weather can shorten a whisky's sleep. Well folks, the beast is awake, and it's hungry.

Tasting notes

The tasting begins and immediately i'm face down on the malting floor, shivering and naked like Travis Walton, only in a distillery and with less bullshit about aliens. A huge clump of north Atlantic seaweed washes into my mouth and I begin to whimper softly. The salt preserves me for several weeks like a fine ham. Eventually, I rise to my feet and a small halo of mist forms around my head. Let the games begin.

First impressions: biscuits and barbecues; maize snacks from Red Mill; zoo cages and slimy cherry stones; a WWII ration book; bruised cooking apples; the anorak worn by your neighbour - the one with seven Austin Maestros on bricks in his driveway. The aroma opens out and now it's in full bloom: nuts sprinkled on ice cream; the pieces of popcorn you dropped at the cinema; a ninja with a smoke bomb; soap powder; stew; AstroTurf; engine oil; studio 2 at Paisley Park; cinammon waffles; a coal-carrying orphan; the Towering Inferno; ash covered Kippers; 100 years of industry; soil; dirt, dust, and finally, total protonic reversal.

Wandering among the kilns and stills and tuns, the acrid effect of the 'peet reek' fills my eyes. I continue to weep, but now I cry for the futility of trying to better this taste. The oaky liquid can only be described as biblical. So much so, that upon tasting, my entire family must return to their hometowns for a census. Like some Roman Emperor thumbing his way to mercy, I'm suddenly wrapped in the warmest velvet. Yet this is velvet stored in casks and made sweet by the wood. In a phenolic haze, I stumble out of the barrel room and into a golden autumn as honey oozes out of my mouth, down my shirt and into my boots. I'm getting a dash of coconut; a seafarer's bulbus nose and medicinal marijuana. Suddenly, i'm singing 'Bright Eyes' as an animated rabbit wisps his way ever closer.

The finish is truly remarkable: the singed underbelly of pork futures; billowing blue smoke that forms into the letter 'Q', posing a question that is never asked. The texture is woody and rough, like the hands of a Bedouin breadmaker. Finally, i'm left with the same smug smile of the person who tried to tell Toto that 'Serengeti' was a clumsy word to sing. Before it's all over, I am suddenly very cold. I've achieved the final level and experienced the chill filter. I flatline, but i'm still smiling. This is how it was always supposed to be. In this age of disposable culture, there is nothing quite like the overwhelming craft of a whisky that tells a story. It may be a convoluted process, the making of this, the finest of all drams, but in closing dear friends, I say this: call Stanislavski and bring a bottle, because there is method to this madness.

5/5

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Peter Gregory Barber (1947-2011)

Sun, 26 Jun 2011 22:51:00 +0000

I have been asked by friends and relatives for a copy of the eulogy I gave at my father's funeral on Friday 24th June 2011, so I have published the text below along with some photographs. He was a wonderful Dad and a close friend. He leaves a great void in my life and I will miss him greatly. He is survived by his three children, Clare, Simon and Helen and his wife of 36 years, Anne.

An American writer named Robert Brault once said: 'enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.' Today, I'd like to briefly share with you a few of the little things that we remember that make us so grateful to have had Peter as our dad and as a husband to our mum.

Now I'm sure that all of you all knew Peter for different reasons: perhaps as an enthusiastic member of your cricket team; as the guy who helped you to get a mortgage for your first home; as the man with the loudest sneeze in the known universe. Some of you knew him as Father Ted; as the man in the van who delivered parts for cars; or even as the hardworking roadie for a talented, yet criminally overlooked, Liverpool band.

We knew Peter as a man you could laugh with, share a beer with, or rely on for the most consistent and unfailing support. It was really through music that my relationship developed with my Dad. Many of you may not be aware, but Peter helped me to start a record label based out of our loft at home and to set up a small recording studio there. He was a risk taker. He was also an excellent secretary and accounts man, and he carried out administrative duties both for our musical enterprises and for the Cheshire Lines Cricket Club, his home away from home. There were many nights when, as teenagers, my sisters and I were subjected to a late night recounting of the day's events on the cricket field as he talked us, ball by ball, through his 'knock'.

See the full gallery on Posterous

When it came time to take my music on the road, Peter drove the tour bus - to no less than 80 shows - stopping only to sell CDs to audience members. I don't think he'd mind me saying that his cockney sales patter came in handy. Though, I promise you that he did avoid all use of rhyming slang. Whether it was London to Liverpool or Edinburgh to Manchester, Peter was always there for us and always just one of the boys.

Our dad supported all of our endeavours, whether with music, Clare's career in journalism, visiting Helen during her time studying languages in Seville and later with her teaching. He facilitated our dreams through his relentlessly positive attitude. Indeed, he was an optimist and his approach to finding the positive things in each and every day is a lesson that has given my mum, my sisters and I, enormous strength.

One of the most common remembrances that we've received from Peter's friends is that he was thought of as a gentleman, and we are very proud of that. He always conducted himself with dignity, grace and class - except if he was doing DIY. He took home improvements so seriously, he could make rewiring a plug seem like he had just diffused a ticking bomb. And he was a master of employing exactly the right expletive for the occasion.

Peter really was an amazingly laid back Dad and husband. I recall the time that I borrowed his car for a trip to Birmingham. When I arrived there, I pulled onto a driveway where a gate had been removed and a rusty spike had been left sticking out. It scored a huge dent right along the side panel. I took the car home, head in hands, and explained what I had done. He went outside to inspect the damage. He leaned over to examine the huge hole in his paintwork and said: "looks much worse than I thought it would." Then he went inside and put the telly on. He never scolded me; never asked me to pay for repairs; never even mentioned it, ever again. Although he took pride in everything, he was much more concerned with whether we were happy than what happened to his material possessions.

Peter had a memorable laugh and a great sense of humour; except when he was doing the crossword. He was so intent on solving it, you'd think it was the Enigma code. And then he would only allow my Mum to fill in the missing words on a Friday night before the next crossword arrived in Saturday's paper. He'd even call my sister Helen for clues before finally admitting defeat and handing it over to his wife.

He was a generous dad, husband and grandfather. In our youth, he took us all on many wonderful family holidays abroad, many of them to Turkey, where he diligently monitored any potential suitors that approached Helen and Clare, and he never resisted spending whatever he had to ensure that we had a wonderful experience. I will never forget a trip that my father and I took together to New York a couple of years ago, where his positivity and enthusiasm became truly inspiring to me. He found wonder in the world and he was not jaded. His passion for life was infectious.

Peter lived his life with no regrets. He was a courageous and brave man and a wonderful husband. He loved the simple things in life, and we like to think that they were the important things. Those were some of the reasons that we loved him. We'd like to say thanks to you all for being here today, for the kindness that you have given to him and to us. Thank you for sharing in his life.

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Caol Ila: Cask Strength

Tue, 21 Dec 2010 09:20:00 +0000

Having neglected my blog for a large part of 2010 in favour of songwriting and other projects, I felt it only right that I conclude the year with a 'pre-posterous' whisky review.

Brethren, I spake not lightly when I say that the cask strength Caol Ila is the first whisky to hurt me, both emotionally and physically. It is with no hesitation that I confirm this brutal copkiller of a dram into a list that sports Chuck Norris's roundhouse kick as its sole entry. Consume this one in a padded room. Like Chuck, this dram will go through you faster than you can say 'Kevlar hip flask'.

Upon first contact with the Devil's dram, I was immediately compelled to undertake a half marathon in the hope that I could outrun the knowledge of what I had done. Visually, this whisky has the stern, wisened look of an American character actor. A rich mahogany tone masks the true darkness beneath the cork. For the better part of a week after my initial tasting, the skin was flayed from roof of my mouth, like Islay's own version of Mason Verger.

The tasting

I've been looking forward to this. Islay malts have all the clinical precision of an operating theatre and it's time to scrub in. My hands go numb immediately. A thin white plume of smoke appears. I should get out and stay out, but I'm not ready to surrender. A distant bonfire on the beach makes way for woollen mittens and carrot-nosed snowmen. Jurassic-era amber flows over the tongue. I want to live forever. Like only the most surprising Revels, the centre is filled with sugary orange peel, sweet caramel, and coffee. A sharp right turn for hot dogs soaked in brine and I'm slapped back to consciousness by a whiff of soapy zest.

Bottled straight from the cask at 61.6% vol, I can safely conclude that more than half of this sucker is nuclear. Indeed, it's so peaty that both Peter Duncan and Peter Simon will threaten to return to mainstream television before the tasting concludes. A sudden dash of pepper. A day old Peperami. In no time, i'm into the lemon meringue finish, crying with laughter as I bat my arms through great fluffy clouds of burnt sugar. There are still a few surprises left however: that Malibu Barbie that was always out of stock. Creosote. Treacle toffee. Four hours in a sweat lodge in Wyoming. Castor oil. Motor oil. The war on terror. A cinnamon breeze blows through the finish and I'm running my hands through a barley field, heading toward a yellow sunset as Hans Zimmer provides the soundtrack.

This dram does it all. It clunk-clicks life's seatbelt into place and then takes the corner on two wheels. It melts down your fillings, makes an idol that you must worship and then punishes you for vanity. It shows you that everybody is equal then asks you to rank the guy that bottled it.

This is a special whisky and you owe it to the baby Jesus to spend Christmas without a soft palette. This right here is the father, the son and the full proof spirit and it has all the miracles you need. Forget chocolate coins. You don't need any Lynx Oriental shower gel. Caol Ila will fill your stocking and Santa will die at the foot of your bed. This drink will comb your hair before you go to midnight mass and it will force you to sing all of the carols backwards, in Latin.

Yes, this drink knows you better than you know yourself. It is quietly waiting for you. There is no other option for you now. It knows when you've been sleeping and it knows when you're on Christmas break. Take up a weapon and stand at post. Caol Ila Cask Strength is coming to town.

5/5

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Crossing the States

Wed, 21 Apr 2010 18:06:00 +0000

"My whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future" - Jack Kerouac, On The Road.

During May 2010, I'll be making a road trip across America, driving about 6,000 miles from the east coast to the west. Starting in Boston, the road trip will take about 25 days and will include a number of wonderful cities before finally ending up in Seattle. Luckily, I'll have my wife and my brother and sister in law to share the driving.

Crossing the States is something i've always wanted to do, so i'm really excited that the time has finally come to hit the open road. We'll be blogging the trip at http://crossingthestates.com where you can see the route and more details about the itinerary. Updates will also be posted to my Twitter, Facebook, Flickr and Vimeo accounts, so hopefully you'll find it easy to follow along if you are so inclined.

You can bookmark Crossing the States, subscribe to the site, or grab the RSS feed. Thanks and have a nice day, y'all.

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Coming soon

Thu, 18 Mar 2010 23:40:09 +0000

These pages will be updated shortly.

Sights of New York

Thu, 11 Mar 2010 01:23:00 +0000

I recently took a trip to New York with my old man. It was his first trip to the Big Apple, so I was able to show him many of the sights and enjoy his reaction to the city - not only in terms of the scale and beauty of the architecture, but also through the energy of the place: the vibe of the streets, the subway and the small snippets of conversation you catch as people live out their lives all around you. We had a wonderful time, and managed to meet up with some old friends. Here's a gallery of some of the things we were able to see:

See the full gallery on Posterous

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Jazz in Central Park yesterday

Thu, 11 Mar 2010 00:34:30 +0000

jazz_in_central_park.mp4 Watch on Posterous

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Building a Telecaster: part 5

Sun, 17 Jan 2010 11:44:00 +0000

Here it is folks, the final instalment of my Telecaster project. The guitar is now complete. In this set of pics, you can see the neck being bolted on, the installation of ferrules, the nut being sanded to allow for the strings and the process of setting up the guitar so that it has a nice low action and is intonated properly. This is done by adjusting string length from the bridge so that you can play in tune over the full range of the neck.

See the full gallery on Posterous

I'm really incredibly pleased with how this has turned out. The guitar looks and feels great. For those that are interested, the entire project cost approximately £400. This includes the vintage spec swamp ash body, a Fender neck, a vintage Fender bridge, the pickguard, jack holder, strap pins, Fender tuners, Fender neckplate, bridge cover, Fender leather strap, a tweed Fender case and all of the items used to treat and finish the wood including Danish oil, wet and dry paper, clear lacquer, T-cut polish and lint free cloths. As I stated previously, I was sent the control plate and the pickups by a friend in Los Angeles but these would not add a considerable cost to the project if purchased as well. I estimate that the whole project has not taken more than 8 hours work. Not bad for what is essentially a really nice Tele. Special thanks to Nick G for his help in assembling the guitar!

Here's a quick iPhone video of me (testing out some of my typically fiery licks) so you can see it in action:

simon_testing_tele.mp4 Watch on Posterous

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Building a Telecaster: part 4

Sat, 16 Jan 2010 15:30:00 +0000

"Previously on 'Building a Telecaster'..."

In this latest episode of my guitar making serial, you can see the installation of the 'scratch plate' or pick guard, the machine heads (tuners), the control plate which provides the volume and tone controls, the jack socket and some vintage strap holders. For the tuners, we had to do a little bit of drilling to accommodate the pins that hold them in place, but this went really smoothly. I used a 1 ply, 5 hole, black, matte pick guard, Fender tuners and a whole lotta magic.

I'm not one for breathtaking cliffhangers, so suffice to say that once everything was soldered together and screwed on tight, we plugged in a 1/4" jack lead and tapped the pickups. Success. Everything worked as expected first time. I'm able to use the pick up selector, tone control and volume as normal. Can't wait to hear it in action. In part 5, we'll get the neck on and intonate the instrument.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Building a Telecaster: part 3

Fri, 15 Jan 2010 10:54:00 +0000

In part 2, I treated the ash body of the guitar with Danish Oil. This warmed up the colour a little but kept the natural grain of the wood as I intended. After applying several coats, I waited for it to dry properly and then buffered it so that it developed a sheen. It's now protected against moisture and other potential problems.

The next stage was to assemble all of the parts and get started with mounting the bridge and pickups. For this I enlisted the help of my friend Nick, who is the sort of guy who can help you go from zero to guitar hero with the help of a soldering iron and a screwdriver. Armed with all of the parts and my trusty iPhone 3GS for photo blogging, we met at Nick's garage to begin the build.

I was amazed at how quickly the guitar started to come together. The routing for the wiring and through-body stringing was already done by the luthier, so we decided to first assemble the bridge. This involved mounting the pickups on springs in order to allow them to be adjusted. Following this, we carried out the earthing/grounding work on the pickups by soldering the wires as instructed by some articles I had brought along. Finally, everything was installed and locked down tight. You can see these stages pictured in the gallery. Next up, I'll be blogging the installation of the pickguard/scratchplate, control plate, jack and machine heads.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Building a Telecaster: part 2

Sun, 10 Jan 2010 13:15:00 +0000

See the full gallery on Posterous

Today i'm adding the first couple of coats of Danish oil to the guitar body to give the wood some protection and a bit of a sheen. It's looking exactly as I had hoped so far. I chose the natural oil so that it would be pretty much transparent and maintain the original look of the swamp ash body. Got to wait a few hours between coats so I decided to digitise my old VHS movie collection. First up, ninja classic Sakura Killers.

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Building a Telecaster: part 1

Thu, 31 Dec 2009 13:18:00 +0000

This Christmas, I have started a project that has been on my to-do list for some years, but just never got around to. I'm building a new guitar. Often, when people build Fender style guitars from parts they have assembled themselves, the instrument is called a 'Partscaster'. I already have a name in mind for this guitar, but I won't be revealing it just yet.

Over Christmas, I purchased a Telecaster shaped body from a luthier up north. It's a two piece 'swamp ash' body which looks and feels really good. I tried to ensure that I got a good quality wood as I want this guitar to be a heavy, solid axe with plenty of tone and sustain. There's probably a bit of six-string voodoo in that, but I'm up for sprinkling some magic elf dust on this build.

I own a small number of guitars, mainly Fender Stratocasters, but since I sold my Fender Telecaster about a year ago, I've been hankering after another. Despite playing since I was about fifteen years old, I've never built a guitar before, so no doubt there'll be plenty to learn about aligning the neck, wiring the electronics, doing a proper set up and playing it in. The first, and perhaps the most daunting task, is to oil the wood for protection and to give it some kind of finish, whether that be just buffering it to a sheen or actually applying some kind of clear lacquer. I want to maintain as much of the natural wood look as possible, so i'll need to be careful there.

I've also picked up some other parts, including a Fender licensed neck, a vintage Fender bridge, jack plate, and machine heads. The pickups and other hardware came from a friend of mine from the U.S. who sent me the innards of his Telecaster many years ago and which were the original impetus for this project.

As you can see from the photos, I couldn't wait to do a rough assembly and get a basic idea of what it might look like. Luckily, the neck fits perfectly in its pocket as do all of the parts. Next up, i'll need to procure a vintage style 1 ply, 5 hole pick guard as I want this guitar to be sporting a black scratch plate and to maintain the vintage 50's Tele approach that it seems to be taking. I'll be posting more images of the build as it comes together in part 2.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Nikka from the Barrel

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 08:27:57 +0000

Nikka from the Barrel is the latest addition to my whisky cabinet and the second of my (pre)Posterous whisky reviews. This star from the east was the winner of the Best Japanese Blended Whisky category at The World Whisky Awards 2007. Like the fat kid you sat next to at school, this dram has been described as 'big-boned and bursting with character'.

Nikka from the Barrel is a blend, but don't let this cloud your judgement. With grain and malt from Miyagikyo and malt from the Yoichi Distillery, this 51.4% whisky hits a home run harder than a precocious Little-League champ. Nikka from the Barrel has been matured in first-fill bourbon casks; its stunning square shaped bottle draws me in for some nosing impressions.

The first nosing reveals bubble gum; the kind that bursts in your face and needs to be cut out of your hair. Soft oak and vanilla follow. Its golden hue calls to mind the time you totalled William Katt's 1994 Ford Taurus in Calabasas, California. Spices, milk, caramel, sherry and rain-soaked wood enrich the palate in quick succession.

Tasting offers yet more surprises. It's colourful - like a manga cartoon in your mouth. Orange peel, boiled rice and wallpaper paste. Japanese lanterns flickering at your Sensei's graveside. It's a well-balanced drink this one: a 10p mix; those beige chinos you used to wear; a Barclays PinSentry card reader you have to take everywhere with you in order to log into online banking.

A dash of water opens it up considerably, but weakens its impact - like a low budget horror movie remade in Hollywood with A-list stars. An aroma of charcoal follows: an Australian trucker roasting a hitchhiker's head over an open fire; a whiff of mint; a MySQL database; a '57 Fender Telecaster with an .88mm gauge plectrum tucked into the scratch plate; raspberries, apples, dark chocolate and the shootout sequence in the milk factory from that Dolph Lundgren movie where he is afraid of the colour white.

It's not over till the Samurai says so. The aftermath of this most 'dram'atic blend is as surprising as the initial tasting. The Nikka conjures cocoa, pine trees and pumpkin pie while closing sensations reveal a Michael Myers mask and a box fresh 1 exabyte hard drive from Western Digital with eSata and Firewire 800. Finally, whisky.

I can't recommend Nikka from the Barrel enough. At the price, it's a freshly sanded dojo floor; a kata in the rain at 6am while catching fish; the climactic hand drum sequence from Karate Kid Part II. Take your pick, but choose wisely.

4.7/5

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Talisker 57° North

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 20:40:46 +0000

Talisker's 10 year old single malt has to be my favourite dram. It is the complete whisky. In musical terms, it is Prince Rogers Nelson in a bottle. Now comes a Talisker named after the distillery's high latitude (coordinates can be found on every box). 57 Degrees North is a 'special strength' Talisker that clocks in at, you guessed it, 57% vol. Its potent colour calls to mind the viscous honeyed glow of Castrol GTX. It tastes like Talisker 10, on PCP.

The initial nosing suggests strength and peaty smoke, conjuring images of Jón Páll Sigmarsson struggling to roll heavy casks onto a barbeque. There's a subtle citrus fragrance and a whiff of the ocean in this too. The only way to describe it is to imagine french kissing Fidel Castro while some salty old sea dog tells bawdy jokes in your ear.

The taste itself is even more refined. It's cold, stark, and yet worldly; a Victorian chimney sweep carefully writing with a fountain pen in a leather-bound jotter. A complex aftertaste follows, engulfing the tongue in workhouse sawdust and Ipecac. Finally, soil; no doubt a commentary on where we will all ultimately return.

It's not over yet, however. In the aftermath of this potent spirit, the air has hints of lemon peel, cracked black pepper, artichokes, Edam cheese and the final chapter of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. It's deceptive indeed and the more naive palate might mistake this experience for a dinner party hosted by a Harlequin who looks almost exactly like Robert Powell. Experience tells another tale.

It's a journey this one. 57 Degrees North is more than just a name. These coordinates map the DNA sequencing of the human dramnome, proving without a doubt that the human body is 57% whisky. This cask strength Talisker is a high octane thriller with a breathless dénouement. Don't add even a dash of water to this rabbit punch of a drink and your mouth will thank you for it. Yes, with the high volume of alcohol it may seem unforgiving, but so is life.

5/5.

Special thanks to Dale Lloyd (@dale_lloyd) for the Fidel Castro line.

Permalink | Leave a comment »

Hardback copies of my PhD thesis arrived at last

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 18:36:27 +0000

I wrote this bitch.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Permalink | Leave a comment »