Bitch of a Brew

New Year's Eve, for those of us in the industry, can be a bitch, man. Working on a holiday, fighting to stay sane in a sea of maddening drunks, scraping up tips, wishing you were inebrebriated as they are, just a little bit, maybe. All just because the calendar year comes to it's inevitable end. And when the clock strikes, the countdown ends, the champagne is spilled, the confetti thrown, the noises made, the kisses stolen, ...we have two more hours to keep serving them, and then comes the clean-up.
After all that, you need a damn good brew. I saved one up special for tonight, from Dogfish Head, in honor of the 40th anniversary of a legendary record.

Miles Davis' Bitches Brew, Ale Brewed With honey and gesho.
(notes composed while listened to titular track from said album)

Boom, boo, boom, boo, boom, boo…booom, whaa, whaaa, wha…wha-aaaa

Fusion of African and American styles, (if you call Imperial Stout American, which you should), much as jazz was born of African rhythm and American innovation, and that Bitches Brew is the cornerstone of jazz-rock fusion.

baddup, baddup, baddup, baddup, badd-yup, bree-dow…

baddup, baddup, baddup, baddup, beyyoup, breedown, dow, dow, booom…

it's dark as a witch's cauldron, yep, kettle-black, with a rich, roasty brown head, somewhat slim, long-lasting, looking the perfect part of a stout.

and now the bass, then the sticks, and here comes Chick (or is it Joe?), and Miles walks back in, strutting with some horn, Lenny lays it down, Dave keeps it tight, Miles runs it down, lets it flow, blows it out…echo, echo, reverb, reverb, backbeat, funky flow…it's grooving...

You couldn't ask for a better nose, nice and roasty, rich and toasty, bittersweet, cocoa, some hops, but mostly malt, little sweet, creamy, just a touch of bitter…

for some sweet, here comes Wayne Shorter, blasting his soprano saxophone, …beautiful…funky keyboard riffs, Lenny White gets it rocking, bass is bumping…

And McLaughlin is ripping now, keeps it funky, keeps it rocking, …some space, some room for riffing, mellow ripples on the musical pond, keys keep a funky feel, Chick and Joe going at it, accents from John, while Lenny kicks it, it's all percolating, it's bubble, bubble, boil, and trouble, and Miles pops out of the cauldron again, twisting new flavors from this murky morass, this mystic blend.

eye of newt, leg of crow…pinch of crumbled of spider web...

Taste: bittersweet roasted malt flavor comes first, with a mellow undertow. Sweetness and honey, then comes the chocolate, and the roast. Grainy, earthy,
Trumpet blasts, and suddenly we get reeds, along comes Wayne on soprano, slinking like some black medium, a serpent come along to guile the innocents the witches will prey upon….It's a bit like tasting a stew and trying to guess the ingredients without looking. I know what comprises this fusion, how are they contributing to what I taste? What part of the tej plays into the stout, how much imperial is left? All good questions…expertly matched sweetness, matches with hops and roasted malt.

and spasmodic displays of keyboard dexterity, shadows of major and minor chords, strike out to convey a mood of menace, while the guitars trace a plot of intrigue, and the trumpet comes along to spell it out.

buddup, buddup, buddup, buddup., buddup, budd-yaa, yaddattatttaa, ta- da….

I can feel a lighter part of what should be a very thick, heavy stout, a lessening of spirit, here, some sweeter part carves a hole in a dark, wicked greater sum. Bitterness remains minor, but the dark, twisted, wretched, sinister strumming prevails. Corea is still hanging on to those dark, minor chords, while Davis drops in , and sends his bombs, hitting the terrain, with rhythmic aplomb, Lenny keeps the groove, Dave and Harvey hold it down, Joe adds his particular spices, all the while Miles keeps popping in his own sauce.

The brew itself is a brilliant blend of menace and delight, with the tej deftly folding and contouring the larger and louder parts of the imperial stout that comprise 2/3 of this mix. You don't so much taste the honey, but it's influence is there, much as Miles' bebop origins creep into and interweave these rock rhythms and create something incredibly new.

Drumbeats keep everything rocking, keyboards add their licks, bass tosses in some grooves, and here and there our trumpet man sends out his signals. It's a wicked witchcraft thrown down here, alarms sent out to warn all, far and wide, of the crones doing deeds foul and offensive, ..this ale, though, …we can taste and survive. The bitches brew will not do us in, this time.