I suppose there are musicians who have aged into their art gracefully. Ironically, when I started writing this, David Bowie was still alive.
Even more ironically, near injuriously, there then are musicians who have aged like bananas,
And Keith Richards still tours.
…Something else about Ice Cube and Are We There Yet.
Then what’s left are the pajamas-in-the-daytime set.
These are those whose appeal you equate with spending the day sipping coffee until 1 in the afternoon, milling about, before driving 5 blocks up the street to the discount grocery store where you buy five potatoes, one beer, maple syrup and toilet paper while glaring at the couple in North Face apparel in a strangely classist manner.
Does life still have the same meaning under fluorescent light?
You stand in the checkout line, becoming itchy beneath your fleece, wondering if it’s psychosomatic. You’re captivated by the smell of fried resignation coming from the deli department. The chicken carcasses dance their post-mortem pirouettes. They glisten, all pretty and clean. They exist fondly as they do formerly. Soon, you wonder this of yourself. The high school sophomore who rings up your groceries asks for your ID. You pause, momentarily; shocked that you realize you have memories older than she is. She sulks and heaves her uncaring arm forth, demanding legal rectitude in the form of a seemingly meaningless magnetic plastic totem.
This robotic bitch has never been haunted by heartbreak or the inevitability of death. Or, maybe she has, and you’re just too cold as to exist beyond the confines of your hollow, garbage vessel.
You know: those artists you feel just awkwardly comfortable approaching when it comes to their latest endeavors, like Morrissey, or Dr. Dre.
So, yes, I guess I am saying that Founders Azacca IPA is sort of like Morrissey or Dr. Dre. I guess that sounds pretty great.
…but it’s pretty yeah.
Since the day Mike Stevens and Dave Engbers founded Founders, they have at least attempted to brew along the cutting edge. The question now is: ArE They FUKin 2 Old 2 BrU?
Well, they are at least using a new, fresh hop in their attempt to stay relevant.
…In a glass, it resembles 4C iced tea clutched in the fingers of an angry aunt, smoking a pack between a kid and the delicate cycle. Translucent to transparent, it carries a slight haze with an off-white inch of head that recedes to a soapy film.
Sparse bubbles rise slowly from the bottom of the glass. Congratulate them.
My nostrils aren’t necessarily arrested, but perturbed by suggestions of orange sherbet, apricot, some sort of bullshit earthiness like wet leaves.
there’s something else. Something I can only describe as peach chutney follows.
let’s just call it Ritz crackers with some Smuckers’ orange marmalade on top.
I taste orange, melon—cantaloupe, light mango, grapefruit. There’s a grape characteristic distinct enough to the point of being reminscent of grape pop rocks. It tastes… irresponsible. It hearkens to the reckless abandon of one who pisses on walls of city hall, of one who bothers arguing that it’s in the name of liberal values, shouting, “I READ THE NEW YORK TIMES! I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING! I’M ALIVE! WAKE UP WORLD!”
…but I’m not necessarily saying this is a good thing.
The mouth touch is clean, yet not exceptionally thin—somewhat watery. Therein lies a medium to light mouth touch, dry, astringent finish.
I don’t know. I appreciate what Founders is doing, but with a beer like this I can’t help but feel they are sort of like the cool mom with the tight clothes who claims to like Kendrick Lamar because she heard he was a Grammy nominee, but cannot get his album title right (“Pimping a Butterfly?).
I’m not expecting you to understand.
*8.3 out of 10*