Agent Provocateur

Fancy your evenings in Guantánamo orange, but without the waterboarding torture? Then put a bid in for these limited-edition knickers from Agent Provocateur to support legal action group Reprieve. These two unlikely bedfellows came together to create Fair Trial, My Arse following

"...bizarre and unfounded accusations by the US military authorities that the Reprieve legal team smuggled contraband underpants into a prisoner in Guantánamo Bay."

So whilst Enhanced Interrogation Techniques are still exclusive to long-term holidays in Guantánamo Bay, you can enjoy your own "interrogations" at home with these sexy knickers – and support Reprieve and human rights.

But you'll have to be quick – Ebay auction ends on 28-Mar-08 at 15:25:53 GMT

And ps. they're orange and black - so you too can be a tiger like me grrrrrrrrr!!!!!

Comme des Garçons 888 (2008)

Ever wanted to be gold? Me too. Comme des Garçons designed their new perfume, 888, to be the olfactory expression of gold. Could this be our chance?

It's not the exotic Oriental I expected. No Alladin's cave here; no curling incense from a genie bottle amongst piles of gold coins and jewels. Quite the contrary.

Imagine you are in a Swiss bank with a biometric password standing in an air-conditioned vault – piled high with pure gold slabs. This is a serious perfume.

After testing it, I ran my nose up and down the inside of my forearm all day as if it had turned into a smooth bar of gold bullion. The smell is streamlined and modern with the base note a derivative of saffron with notes of pepper, coriander, geranium and amber.

It reminds me somewhat of Cinema, by Yves Saint Laurent (perhaps, the amber?); although if this is solid gold bullion, Cinema is more like a Solid Gold dancer in comparison. Personally, I imagine an older woman wearing it. But no doubt it will be a big hit in China. Eight is a lucky number in Asian cultures; and so, 888 is particularly auspicious.

For me, the only thing that smells equally good on everyone is money. Not everyone can wear gold.

Launched this month, it has a limited release.

Link: Available at doverstreetmarket.com (London).

Bladder Song

On a piece of toilet paper
Afloat in the unflushed piss,
The fully printed lips of a woman.

Nathan, cheer up! The sewer
Sends you a big red kiss.
Ah, nothing's wasted, if it's human.

- Leonard Nathan

Link: American life in poetry #7 - Leonard Nathan

Go live, win and lose

"Go live, win and lose, smash your hands against hysterical constellations, your head against phases of the moon, and your heart against another heart. Find the leisure to contemplate the results. You will discover the human condition. Foolish people who say that they seek reality don’t know what they are saying. For them, the worldly, when they approach it, they tremble and feel weak, distressed, fearful, terrified and repelled. They reject the truth and turn somewhere else for it, an easier, a softer, lifeless one. Little do they realize that they have been through the door itself, and in error, stupefying ignorance, in that immensity, said "nothing is here", and stepped back to dullness. They may be less eloquent and merely realize the words "it is painful. I must stop it", and step back."

Link: The Lotus is born in fire, by John Brzostoski

Doris Lessing: "Oh Christ... I couldn't care less"

When Doris Lessing won the Nobel Prize for Literature, reporters waited outside her home in North London to give her the news. She responded: "Oh Christ... I couldn't care less."

She is my favourite 88-year-old Nobel Laureate! As the second sentence of The Golden Notebook (1956) says:

“The point is,” said Anna, “as far as I can see, everything is cracking up.”’

Link: Doris Lessing on Nobel Prize

Finish your collapse and stay for breakfast

photo by Ted Pushinsky

The band with the name that most accurately reflects my life– Broken Social Scene – is playing in London Friday May 23rd at Shepherd's Bush Empire (and you thought I was going to say AC/DC).

I've listened to 7/4 shoreline everyday now for about two years. It makes my mornings feel like I'm gliding on a freeway in a sports car when actually I'm walking to the station in bad heels.

Broken Social Scene have five core members but on tour they include "whoever else was available to attend any individual show". I like to think of them as a collective. How many people are going to be on the stage in London? Hopefully, as many as they can find! And Ms Feist singing? Yes, please.

I don't think I'll be napping on no steps.

Link: All Tomorrow's Parties present Broken Social Scene

Divine Princes of Decadence

Why have I just finished two biographies about wilful and flamboyant self-destruction through spending large sums of money? I'm bored of my hell, I want to hang out in your hell for a change. Let's dream on in Less-Than-Zero style (£££, that is).

Bunker Spreckels: Surfing's Divine Prince of Decadence is about the step-son of Clark Gable who, at 21, picked up his inheritance in an armoured van ($50 mill) and set out on a mission to destroy himself. He asked his friend Art Brewer to document his life; and you can see for yourself in the photographs: he went from sun-kissed young boy to bloated, drug-crazed, gun-toting sex monster. He died of a heart attack at 27, before his film was completed. But you get the gist. I can't help but get a delicious thrill of schadenfreude observing a surfer self-destruct (Forgive me, but I grew up at the beach yet liked to wear gothic black: not fun).

The other biography is more seductive, or else, educative: Dandy of the Underworld, by Sebastian Horsley. Just like Quintin Crisp, just like Oscar Wilde, Sebastian Horsley believed the artist should also live the artful life, even more than creating actual art itself. To be a Dandy, in the historical sense, is a commitment to a lifestyle completely devoted to aesthetic pleasure and perfection. Even Mr Horsley's moments of pure squalor seem romantic because they are lived with an absolute commitment to his ideal. A few images will scar for me life: the amputee in the brothel with no arms or legs; well, it only proves there is courage in living your convictions.

Unlike Bunker Spreckel, Sebastian Horsley is still alive, living in Soho in London. He signed my book at Foyles bookshop. In ink, he wrote:

Hello dear, always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it. This is it. Love Sebastian.


Link: Sex, drugs and rolling surf: interview with B Bunker Spreckels
Link: Sebastian Horsley's blog

Keith Richards: Exile On New Bond Street

Talk about the blues. I'm walking down New Bond Street in Mayfair with only £2 in my pocket. Then, like manna from heaven, rising from the street like a sphinx holding a guitar is... Keith Richards. Is it a sign? Yes, it is. For Louis Vuitton, no less.

What are you doing Keith!? I know you are on good terms with the devil – but come on, seriously – advertising is so much worse. I can hear Bill Hicks turning in his grave.

Well, he's not exactly hawking diet soda. Louis Vuitton is donating the money to the Climate Project, led by Nobel Peace Prize winner Al Gore. And it's the first time Keith Richards has ever participated in advertising of any sort.

The photograph is by Annie Leibovitz, set in a hotel room with skull scarves draped over lamps and a skull on the bedside table. Maybe that's where he is catching up on his reading of the bible? Checking to see if he is mentioned, no doubt.

The tagline: Some journeys cannot be put into words. New York. 3 am. Blues in C.

I caught the bus home. London. 5pm. Blues in Gee.

Link: Keith Richards for Louis Vuitton, Wednesday 12 March 2008

advice

"You know what I would do if I were in your place? I'd drink from the milk basin of the Milky Way; I'd swallow comets; I'd lunch on dawn; I'd dine on day and I'd sup on night; I'd invite myself, splendid table-companion that I am, to the banquet of all the glories, and I'd salute God as my host! I'd work up a magnificent hunger, an enormous thirst, and I'd race through the drunken spaces between the spheres singing the fearsome drinking song of eternity."

From the spirit of Galileo to exiled writer, Victor Hugo (1802–1885) during a séance.

Good advice. Must start tonight.


Link: From Conversations with Eternity: The Forgotten Masterpiece of Victor Hugo.
Link: Bruce Nauman, "The True Artist Helps the World by Revealing Mystic Truths" 1967

SoKo: "I wanna look like a tiger"

If you only listen to one Parisian ukelele player this year, make sure it's SoKo. Especially, if you are like me, always pondering humanity's animal nature while jumping on a mattress like a 5- year-old with Attention Deficit Disorder (and allergic to everything in modern life). How many times have I sung out in joy the relative benefits of being a tiger rather than a monkey? SoKo addresses this eternal question in her cute and slightly awkward English. Brilliant of you.

OK, even if you aren't like me, how can you not like a song with these lyrics?

“I will never love you more than my boyfriend
when I was 14. Even though he's now an asshole.”
("I will never love you more")

She hasn't got an album out yet but you can listen to "I will never love you more", "I think I'm pregnant" and "I wanna look like a tiger," on her myspace page. That's summer sorted then.

Link: SoKo myspace page
Link: Monkey taunts tiger Chinese video on youtube

Secretions magnifique: blood, sex - magic?

What does a perfume that smells of blood, sweat, saliva and sperm smell like? Harvey Nichols in Knightsbridge is the only place in London selling this "exclusive" scent by Etat Libre d`Orange. I jumped on the (not-so-fragrant) tube to find out.

In the perfume section, Secretions magnifique is easy to find. How many perfumes in Harvey Nichols feature a school boy drawing of a cock? This is anti-perfume; I get it. Ingredients: agreement adrenalin, agreement milk, agreement blood, iris, coconut (?), sandalwood...etc.

Here goes. I spray it on my wrist; my friend jumps a metre back.

Trauma in a Bottle

Do you know what broken bones and blood smells like? It all flooded back. Nine years ago – after a few drinks, we crossed the road and my friend was hit by a car. Blood poured from the crack in his forehead. I held his head up, to keep him talking, while we waited for the ambulance. The traffic passed around us. It was nearly midnight, but the bitumen was still warm from the day.

Smell is the most primitive of the senses. I was shocked a perfume could provoke this deep, visceral memory. This is not hyperbole; it felt shocking. Yet the perfume presents itself as an intellectual concept: magnificent secretions.

I tried to smell my wrist again - I wanted to keep an open mind, maybe it will change into something else? - but it literally made my stomach turn. All I could "smell" was confusion, panic, flashing sirens, exhaust fumes and too much alcohol thrown into the mix. Perhaps, it was just me: but could it smell better on another person?

Whatever. I had to get it off; this smell, this memory. Even the expensive Harvey Nichols' bathroom soap didn't help the nausea – and worst of all – I could not get the smell off my skin.

After I calmed down a bit I couldn't help but thinking, who would like this? Perhaps the sado-masochist in your life who owns everything. Although at £75 you'd want to be stinking rich.

Personally, I'd rather a night out, wake up next to some take-out trash in a dirty bed, still in my clothes from the night before, smelling of tequila and stale cigarettes, catch the humid tube to work, hungover, with my nose smashed up against some sweaty businessman's armpit. Now how do we bottle that?

Link: New perfume smells of semen and sweat - London Metro

obligatory Keith Richards quote

Keith in a tree (like a tiger! grrr)

Interviewer: Steve Van Zandt told me that you can never quite remember the feeling of walking on-stage in front of thousands of people, and that’s why it’s still exciting to do.

Keith Richards: That’s right. You just hope that it’s there, and up until now, it always has been. There’s a certain energy when a band gets together - open the cage and let the tigers out.


Two obsessions meet: Keith and tigers!


I'm so happy I might just have to climb a tree or something.


Link: Uncut Magazine, The Rolling Stones Cover Story, April 2008, p38

Mystery hum

"Listen closely, and you'll hear the Earth humming - in not just one note, but two. The source of this second signal is a mystery. For around a decade we've known about Earth's quiet 'vertical' hum, probably caused by the steady thumping of deep waves on the ocean floor. Now a team in Germany has discovered a second 'horizontal' note, too, and nobody knows what's causing this new signal."

And I thought it was from standing too close to the amps, too often. What a relief: it's just the Earth singing.

Link: New Scientist, Mystery hum, 23 February 2008

In Wonderland: Screaming Tea Party, Bar Rumba

"At any rate I'll never go THERE again!' said Alice as she picked her way through the wood. `It's the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!'

- Alice in Wonderland

Wednesday night. I am alone, both big and small at the same time like Alice down the Rabbit hole; I'm at Bar Rumba in Shaftesbury Avenue. "Drink Me?" asks Alice to the bottle. Oh yeah, I think I will, I'm in the mood for a riddle.

But every time I try to leave for the bar, I can't – what if I miss something? - what are they doing? Oh, I know this song, I think... what's going to happen next? Alice might not like a Tea Party, but I do. Especially one like this: a peculiarly-deranged, Screaming Tea Party.

This is not your average fairytale: it is a hyper collection of vicious riffs and scary lullabies. The band is based in London, but it feels like a trip inside the Manga story, Abandon the Old in Tokyo. The bassist/singer is in a sexy sarong, yet the guitarist is shredding his gaffa-taped axe and wears a black kerchief over his face. Then there's the very lovely kawaii-des-ne? girl on the drums that sorta makes your heart melt.

Every expectation is berzerked: kamikaze-like jumping from amps, old punk favourites readdressed like they OWN it, yet out of nowhere, a touch of the cymbal so soft it's painful; like a sweet lotion after an aural thrashing. The set itself became a fascinating riddle: Death Egg, a futuristic lullaby contrasts with the London punk redux of Between air and air. Like all good songs they are familiar, yet new and uncanny; I found myself saying, in my best nineteenth century voice, "That is very curious!"

I didn't leave the set for a drink... which is a very good sign at a gig, even if it is rather strange for a tea party. But it makes perfect sense at a Screaming Tea Party. What will they do next? Curious and curiouser – and, unlike Alice, I definitely want to go again. And get a bit stupid.

Link: Screaming Tea Party's myspace

Camden Town is burning down

"And to London, this is for London cause Camden Town ain't burning down."
- Amy Winehouse, Grammy speech for Best Album.

I don't even like seeing a pub closed after 11pm – let alone burned to the ground...

After my first thought – nope, it wasn't me – my second thought was, if Amy can start again, and look wonderfuckingful at the Grammys after her stint at rehab (and away from the front page of London Lite), then there's plenty of hope for her favourite gin-joint, the Hawley Arms.

As Noel Fielding from The Mighty Boosh told NME today, "The Hawley will bounce back stronger than ever I'm sure."

And no jokes about crack pipes. Leave the girl alone (I won't hear it).

Link: Amy Winehouse shocked, speechless - wins Grammy

Stagger Lee

Milo Waterfield's short film Stagger Lee

Stagger Lee turns up in songs like a recurring nightmare. He is the original bad motherfucker.

The story has been told and re-told by Lloyd Price, Ma Rainey, Sidney Bechet, Bob Dylan, Taj Mahal, Duke Ellington, Woody Guthrie, Bill Haley & His Comets, Wilson Pickett, Ike and Tina Turner, Fats Domino, Doc Watson, Dr. John, Tom Rush, Travis MacRae, Professor Longhair and later, by The Clash ("Wrong 'Em Boyo") and The Grateful Dead (where Billy's wife hunts down Stagolee for revenge and shoots him in the balls.)

The story goes that Stag Lee killed his friend Billy Lyons or "De Lion" in 1895 over a Stetson hat. Each songs tells its own version of this charismatic pimp and cardsharp. Here's the original hat incident as re-counted in the St Louis Missouri Globe-Democrat in 1895:

William Lyons, 25, a levee hand, was shot in the abdomen yesterday evening at 10 o'clock in the saloon of Bill Curtis, at Eleventh and Morgan Streets, by Lee Sheldon, a carriage driver. Lyons and Sheldon were friends and were talking together. Both parties, it seems, had been drinking and were feeling in exuberant spirits. The discussion drifted to politics, and an argument was started, the conclusion of which was that Lyons snatched Sheldon's hat from his head. The latter indignantly demanded its return. Lyons refused, and Sheldon withdrew his revolver and shot Lyons in the abdomen. When his victim fell to the floor Sheldon took his hat from the hand of the wounded man and coolly walked away. He was subsequently arrested and locked up at the Chestnut Street Station. Lyons was taken to the Dispensary, where his wounds were pronounced serious. Lee Sheldon is also known as 'Stag' Lee.

By the 1910s, the story of Stag Lee was well-known in African-American communities along the lower Mississippi River. Mississippi John Hurt, from the Delta, did the first recording in the 1920s talking about "that bad man, cruel Stagger Lee". The story then migrated to the mountains where musicians played it on porches in the traditional string-band style of the traditional Appalachian ballad.

Po-lice officer, how can it be?

You can 'rest everybody but cruel Stagolee

That bad man, oh cruel Stagolee

– Mississisppi John Hurt

My favourite, and most twisted, version is Nick Cave's Murder Ballads (1996). According to Nick Cave, talking in Stag Lee's voice, he was an openly gay criminal, who killed the macho boyfriend of the prostitute Nellie Bound.

What will be the next incarnation of this folk anti-hero? I'd like to know. It's a story that changes shape as much as the Devil. But one thing's for sure, it's the Devil - and Stagger Lee – with the best tunes.

Link: Old Blue Bus: Down Home with Stagger Lee

Rich hippie rock star

Keith Richards in Morocco with a local kif, 1967

Usually smell evokes our deepest memories of the past; this perfume unburies the deepest dreams for my future.

The dream is always the same. One day I will buy a palace in Morocco with 16 rooms, or enough for all my friends from around the world to crash whenever they "need a break". I'll spend the day in slippers and kaftans, with wafts of this perfume floating behind me in every room. Sharing a shisha and endless glasses of fresh mint tea in the shade on those bright Tangier afternoons. You'll never know who will turn up, sometimes Paul and Jane Bowles will fang by and we'll have a Naked Lunch... Who knows? But I do know: I'll be wearing this –

"Racy, dangerous, sensual tropical floral with extracts of rare Indonesian flowers, Madagascan Vanilla Bean and Clove Bud."

Ooooh, I so want it. Now.

Link: Rich Hippie Rock Star

RIP Jackie Orszaczky - peace brother

Jackie Orszaczky and Tina Harrod

This morning I was told of the death of Sydney funk legend, and friend, Jackie Orzasky.

What a loss to the Sydney music community. The depth of his music was only matched by the depth of his generosity and vision. He nurtured the best talents in the city. Tuesday nights at the Newtown RSL was one of the best nights in the country. You never knew who would jump up - just to have the chance to play with Jack. The atmosphere was always electrifying.

My favourite (and humble) memory of him is when we first met. We were standing outside The Macquarie Hotel, having a cigarette during a break. He turned to me and said, "are you a musician, too?"

I stammered, embarrassed, terrified - "um, no". My friend jumped in (bless her) and said, "Yes she is. J plays the piano".

"Well bring it down next time! We'll have a jam!"

There are many great memories, nights, songs of Jackie. My heart goes out to Tina Harrod, his inspiring wife, and their daughter.

Jack would never say good bye, instead he'd put his hands in a prayer position and bow down to you. Just like some funkadelic Indian swarmi, he honoured the god-like self in you. The same part that we share with all humankind and find in the best music, and that, so often, involved Jack.

PEACE BROTHER


Link: The official Jackie Orszaczky website

Oz Clarke & Michael Broadbent on wine, women and song...

Imagine my excitement when I saw this headline on the January edition of Decanter Magazine. Two wine industry legends promoting my blog? On the front cover of Decanter?

Alas, no. But here's a lovely description by Oz Clarke, from the article, about his favourite wine. It more than made up for the dashed hope:

"People always ask the best wine I've ever had. I tend to think about which girl I was drinking it with. One of the best wines I ever had was with a gorgeous girl I eloped with by train to Tuscany. We went into this little taverna, and asked for some red wine. The guy went out the back, got a really old scruffy litre bottle, went up to a vat, and squirted out this purply, foaming, prickly, sour, six-moth-old iwne, put a little cap on it and said "there you are". It cost next to nothing. We bought some salami, cheese and bread, lay out in the fields in the sun, and it was one of the best drinking experiences I've ever had."

Link: Decanter Magazine

The fifth taste: umami

There's more to taste than sweet, sour, bitter and salty. There is also umami: the fifth taste. What I'm always searching for in a wine, in everything.

"Both the word and the concept are Japanese, and in Japan are of some antiquity. Umami is hard to translate, to judge by the number of English words that have been suggested as equivalents, such as savoury, essence, pungent, deliciousness, and meaty. It’s sometimes associated with a feeling of perfect quality in a taste, or of some special emotional circumstance in which a taste is experienced. It is also said to involve all the senses, not just that of taste. There’s more than a suggestion of a spiritual or mystical quality about the word."

Link: The fifth taste

This wicked tongue

Wicked women and wicked tongues, Pt 1: the Hindu Goddess Kali

"Her tongue is out as a symbol of sudden embarassment. The story goes that while in a frenzy of destruction, no other God or Goddess could stop Her. Finally her somewhat detached husband, Shiva, descended, and lay down in Her path. She accidentally stepped on His chest, was overcome with shame, and was forced to stop destroying."

Link: Kali Puja at Chanduni Baari, Oct 2006

Detox

Yeah, detox is a good idea. In theory. But it's my birthday in January. That means only one thing. Time for Champagne.

This year, I'm as old as Jesus. Quite an achievement in itself. Granted, I haven't achieved as much as Jesus H. Christ. But you know, there's always February. Life is too short.

Then there's Easter. I can hear the tap, tap, tappity tap of the crucifying nails already...

Top 5 wines - Dec '07

number 5: Ailes de Paloumey Haut-Medoc 2003

Like Sienna Miller drunk: otherwise stylish except for this moment. This Bordeaux needs a few more years in the bottle. But still beautiful now, despite the lapse.

number 4: Domaine de L'Amandine Cote du Rhone 2004

If this was fashion, it'd be a life vest. In the easy-to-reach section of the supermarket, this is a trusty Cote du Rhone that will save you if you are in immediate danger (of not having anything good to drink on a cold night).

number 3: Cote de Beaune-Villages 2005 from Bouchard Pere & Fils

Fun! Usually I don't bother with the crap on the back label, but this time it rang true: "Notre but, c'est votre plaisir." Our goal is your pleasure. Simple but nice. Like two kisses on the cheek.

number 2: Knappstein Clare Valley Shiraz 2003


A very classy wine to wrap yourself up with on a cold winter night. The 15% alcohol will keep you warm, if the christmas pudding characters do not. It's theatre (from the balcony).

Number 1: Chateauneuf du Pape Roger Sabon Reserve 2003

Givenchy show, Paris Fashion week 2007

Something symphonic. The character just built and built. I even felt sad at the end of the half bottle (I could only afford a half bottle) because it hinted at the potential that could have kept developing...

Overall, a good month for red wine!

'The Musician' Majella Cabernet Sauvignon Shiraz 2005

What can I say about musicians? Erm, the less said, the better. Better talk about wine. It's hard for me to separate the music from the wine... oh, familiar territory.

Majella 'The Musician' Cabernet Sauvignon Shiraz 2005

Why do I like this wine? The complexity is incredible for a wine so young; hints of chocolate (my favourite!) and brambly undertones. It's big and it's in-yer-face but isn't that what you need on a cold winter's night? It's stunning Coonawarra with hints of eucalypt and sea spray, and it knocks most wines at £8.99 out of the water.

However, for all the joy it brings, there is a terrible, tragic story behind the name of this wine. It is named after Matthew Lynn (son of the owners' of Majella), killed early in 2005 in a hit and run accident. A 20-year-old who wanted to make music his life, hence the name, and it is a wonderful tribute.

“Without music life would be a mistake.” as Nietzsche said. It's a matter of separating the Who and the What. Music and Boyfriend. Wine and Music.

I don't know much, but I know...

I love you?

This wine is a freak (amazingly good value) and very, very reliable; a good musician showing up to the gig and just tearing it up, every time.

Paris Hilton's Prosecco in a Can

A bit rich


I once loved Prosecco. But now Paris Hilton has her own dodgy tinny, Prosecco Parties are forever tragic. Sorry girls. It's all over.

The prosecco is imaginatively titled 'Rich'. Just like Paris. Except with taste. And depth. And substance. Etc, etc.

Paris brings out sparkling wine in a can, Holey Moley, 13 December 2007

For the Sake of it 為

私は為を好む。

I am in Tokyo this week. I have no idea what this Sake is called or even what the alcohol level is: but guessing from this photo of me in front of my computer, it is pretty high.

If you know the English name for it, if there is an English name, please send me an email or message.

Rice wine: it's very good. I liike, I liike.

Turning Japanese and a bit mad:
Anna Karina in Godard's Pierrot le Fou (1965)

See you back in London in a week.
一週間のロンドンで会おう。

Love,
愛 jmd
x x x

Home for run away girls

my shrine to Louise Bourgeois

La Chapelle, Le Corbières AC, Cave de Castelmaure 2005 £6.49 (Oddbins)

Facebook. Is it a blessing or a curse? It keeps friends close but do I need to know someone I once loved is getting ready to throw a party for the real love in his life? I've been adding people, and, removing people since I've been here. Sadly, it sometimes feels more like an audit than a party.

It's a very different experience travelling with email, facebook and text messaging than it was 10 years ago when I wrote postcards and letters. Now, it's never been easier to be closer to friends, but its never been harder to work out to know who are your real friends.

Recently, my status update on Facebook read: JMD is in a home for runaway girls.

It was a bit random to say, but I had just seen the Louise Bourgeois exhibition at the Tate Modern. I have followed her work for a while, she is 96 years old after all, yet this exhibition was the most comprehensive I've seen. I was so inspired by her body of work, when I got home, I made a little shrine to Louise Bourgeois in my new apartment. Above is a postcard of her (who sends postcards anymore?) and her piece entitled: "Home for run away girls. Empty Houses. Les Fillemere d'Antony." Empty houses left behind.

Which brings me to my wine tonight: La Chapelle, Le Corbières AC, Cave de Castelmaure, 2005




Made by a small co-operative nestled in the Corbières hills (between Perpignan and Narbonne) in the Languedoc, South-West France, the quality of the end wine is decided by everyone before it is released. There's not just one person's reputation on the line, it's the whole terroir.

You can tell the fruit is of the highest quality and handled with care by a group of like-minded people.

South-West France is producing very interesting, modern wines at the moment. I like to sample wines from this area; there seems to be more experimentation, and less hindrance by old traditions and customs like other regions in France. The French agitateur is alive and well here, thank God.

Made from Carignan (50%), Grenache (30%), Shiraz (15%) and Cinsault(5%), it has unexpectedly fresh, clean characters shining through without foresaking the strong brambly, dark tones of French rustic wines. The depth develops over the night like a wine you'd pay double the price.

This wine proves friends working together, winemakers working together, can sometimes do a lot more than an individual or an individual winemaker. And I bet it's not on Facebook, or perhaps it is... Can you really be a runaway in the 21st century?

Run to the Corbières hills

La Tâche, a modern love poem

Love poems of old
Used to be descriptions of flesh
They described this and that
For instance eyelashes

And yet redness
Should be described
By greyness the sun by rain
The poppies in November
The lips at night

A modern love poem, by Tadeusz Różewicz

"What wine would you be?" I was asked at a party on Saturday night.

What the hell. "I'd be La Tâche 1990 from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti."

Why not? But I won't lie to you. I have circled this wine for years and years, read about it, heard it mentioned in whispered, reverential tones, yet - I have never tasted it. The 1990 La Tâche sold at auction for $US9000. Only 1200 cases are made a year. All I can tell you is what other people say once they've tasted it, there are even photos of people anticipating, sniffing it, drinking it.

I can only imagine it is what I'm missing in every other wine...

This is fantasy stuff, and all I know is, if I was a wine, I'd love to be drunk in the same escstasy and rapture as La Tâche. Yes, I'd like to be La Tâche.

As Woody Allen toasted, "Here's to an ideal without compromise." Hopefully, one day, you too can meet myself as a wine...

1990 DRC La Tache Domaine Romanée-Conti 1990 1 Magnum Lot $US9000

Stunning, full-on, classic La Tâche nose that displays almost unbelievable complexity so with many different elements that it is impossible to even begin to describe them all; the primary components include ethereal and still fresh pinot fruit, clove, knock out spiciness, anise, hoisin, soy and a trace of earth but these elements only hint at the sheer depth. The flavors are big, rich, refined, classy, penetrating and superbly powerful yet everything is in perfect balance... The finish is intense, pure and so long that it is haunting; I can literally still taste this wine days later after I've had it because it has such a dramatic and emotional impact. This is one of the finest, perhaps even the finest young Burgundy I have ever been privileged to try and it only seems to get better with each passing year. In short, this is absolutely brilliant. 99 POINTS.

Robert Parker Jr's 100 in Langton's Auction magazine:

I cannot think of a more profound, young red Burgundy tasted than DRC's 1990 La Tâche. Although it still requires another 3-4 years of cellaring, it is incredibly endowed, with an extraordinary perfume of Asian spices as well as jammy black raspberries, cherries, and blackberries infused with smoke, toast, and dried herbs. Full-bodied, but ethereal, with layers of flavor, as well as mind-boggling delicacy and complexity, this youthful La Tâche will be at its finest between 2004-2015. 100/100

Ain't no sunshine

jazz tan

"I don't like the summertime because everyone goes to the beach...What's the deal with the beach? It's where dirt meets water, is it that fucking amazing to you? Maybe I'm just jealous; everyone's got tanned skin, white teeth. I've got white skin, tanned teeth. NOT my environment. You put me under a neon beer light, I look pretty cool." Bill Hicks, Philosophy.

Quinta de Bons-Ventos 2005 Vinho Regional Estremadura 12.5% alcohol £4.99 Oddbins

Pack your black lace veil rather than your bikini. Like the traditional Portugal - where women dress in black in the harsh midday sun and where fado singers tell mournful sea ballads about lost sailors – there's a lot more to the Quinta de Bons-Ventos than a cheap holiday made for the British market. Taste the sunshine, but like the locals, take refuge in the cool shade.

What adds to the dark allure of this wine is it is a blend of ancient Portuguese grape varieties: Castelao (Periquita), Camarate, Tinta Miuda and Touriga Nacional. My palate could not decipher it at first, and it felt like I was drinking a red wine from another planet. If you are bored drinking the same varieties all the time, this is a very exciting buy. And you support indigenous grape varieties not wiped out Mondovino style by the major grape varieties such as Shiraz and Cabernet.

Recommendation? If I have to go to a funeral, I'm taking a bottle of this wine to the wake. Celebrate life going on. Have a glass with your old friends, remember old times, and smile through the tears. It's a dark wine but also full of cherry-delicious joy. Excellent value.

Bloody Good Red: a wine for tigers

Dreamtigers

"In my childhood I was a fervent worshipper of the tiger: not the jaguar, the spotted "tiger" of the Amazonian tangles and the isles of vegetation that float down the Parana, but that striped, Asiatic, royal tiger, that can be faced only by a man of war, on a castle atop an elephant. I used to linger endlessly before one of the cages at the zoo; I judged vast encyclopedias by the splendour of their tigers. (I still remember those illustrations: I who cannot rightly recall the brow or the smile of a woman.) Childhood passed away, and the tigers and my passion for them grew old, but still they are in my dreams. At that submerged or chaotic level they keep prevailing. And so, as I sleep, some dream beguiles me, and suddenly I know I am dreaming. Then I think: This is a dream, a pure diversion of my will; and now that I have unlimited power, I am going to cause a tiger.

Oh, incompentence! Never can my dreams engender the wild beast I long for. The tiger indeed appears, but stuffed or flimsy, or with impure variations of shape, or of an implausible size, or all too fleeting, or with a touch of the dog or bird."

Jorge Luis Borges, Dreamtigers

Bloody Good Red 2005, Santa Cruz, USA 13.5% alcohol £8.99 a bottle (Oddbins)

I am born in the Chinese Year of the Tiger, so I couldn't go past a label featuring a tiger holding a glass of red wine in its paw and licking his chops. There's even a knocked over bottle behind it (see there - the similiarities between me and tigers are endless).



Like Borges, as a child I judged National Geographic on the quality of their tiger photography. For this reason, the label alone, passes my test. Turn it over, and the label is either written by the label's drunk tiger or a drunk copywriter. The idea of either writing a wine label was enough to make me laugh....


But apart from the label, the wine is powerful and the blend is certainly courageous. I haven't had the opportunity to try much Californian wine; and, when I have it's been of the ubiquitous Gallo family range, which is so bright I feel like I should put on sunglasses.

They don't mention the varieties on the label but every part of the palate is tickled, and all at once: Carignan, Petite Syrah, Cabernet Franc, Sangiovese, Zinfandel (of course), Barbera and Shiraz.

Randall Grahm, the winemaker at Bonny Doon, notes:

'Though we are working in a Mediterranean climate, there is an aspect of a cooler-climate Loire Cabernet Franc that manifests: floral, spicy with dusty rose, cherry, and cola notes balanced by finely integrated tannin and buoyed by the strong raspeberriosity for which Bonny Doon has long been known and distrusted.'

It's full-bodied, but not sickly sweet (which, unfortunately, is the stereotypical Californian wine) and has a savoury, almost flat finish. If democracy was a wine, then this is how it would taste; every variety takes an equal and fair part in the overall taste to create a harmonious, even finish.

But that's not how I imagine a Tiger, mine is closer to William Blake's "Tyger! Tyger! burning bright in the forest of the night". But how do you put a real tiger in a bottle? Or a dreamtiger, for that matter.

Blake's Tyger from "Songs of Experience"
(written in London in 1794, having never seen a real tiger)

At least, I wasn't mauled by high alcohol and sugar... No, as a "tiger" myself, it was the tiger on the label, drinking a glass of red, that got me in; and, once there, I was happy to stay for a lazy afternoon on the savannah and drink a glass or two of bloody good red.

Vetiver (1961) by Guerlain

"When all of the flower ladies want back what they have lent you
And the smell of their roses does not remain...
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?"

--Bob Dylan, "Queen Jane Approximately"

I don't care, take the flowers back. I'm not in flowery mood anyway. I am wearing Guerlain's Vetiver today. No flowers here.

When I first heard it was a man's perfume, I was slightly shocked, until I thought of a huntsman (or huntswoman, like in those period-piece French films) riding through the forest after a rain shower, the rich and warm smell of the earth and a moment's pause by a stream for tobacco, the smoke curling through the mist. It smells like the freedom of luxury, and its sudden relief.

Spit or swallow?

Marie Antoinette and her endless bottles of champagne

Getting drunk is a bad look - pudgy cheeks, broken heels, mascara smudged from crying, fights on the pavement with boyfriend...

So let's get back our dignity. From the realistic to the ridiculous, here are a just a few little tricks from Wine Woman & Song.

Wine Tastings
Spit or swallow? Always spit. It can be intimidating enough without looking like an amateur. Anyway, you generally get a glass (or two or three) at the end.

Sparkling Mineral Water
For every glass of alcohol, drink one glass of sparkling mineral water in between. Not tap water; it must be San Pellegrino or one of those Italian sparkling mineral waters - San Pellegrino has more calcium in it than milk (a tip from Vicki Vasarelli, winemaker in McLaren Vale).

Where there are trays of drinks
Be careful when drinking from a waiter's tray at large events. A friend and I were doped this way and it WAS NOT FUN. Always watch the drink be poured if someone buys you a drink.

Only drink Champagne
Drink quality, not quantity. I know, I know this is an ideal situation.

Vodka
Vodka is the cleanest drink you can buy at the bar. Your head will thank you the next day.

Beer before Wine, makes you feel fine...
For the least tragedy the order goes: beer, champagne/champagne cocktails, white wine, red wine, spirits/cocktails, shots...er, if you must.

Shots
Personally, as soon as the sambuca is lined up on the bar, I know it's time to call a cab. One too many bad experiences. Anyway, it's pretty tacky. Who still gets excited by that? Ugh. But I do love my tequila...

Martini
One - you are life of the party; two - you are under the table; three - you're under the host. Four - you are under the weather: you won't be seeing much of the next day except the toilet bowl, Im fraid.

Play your own cards

Remember these tips. Then do it again!

BTW - for anyone who thought I was going to give BJ tips from the title of this blog, sorry. They are top secret :)