Karthauserhof: Live In Japan

If Burgundy is the place of gods, then Germany (specifically the Mosel-Saar-Ruwer) is the place of mythological mutants—satyrs, tree nymphs, and the occasional unicorn. It’s fantastical and deviant, and the wines are, in some instances, about as close to hallucinogens as alcohol can get. Don’t believe us? Let Karthauserhof’s Eitelsbacher Karthauserhofenberg Spatlese explain. It was the 5th wine out of 7 in a recent Riesling tasting, and it got us right between the eyes. It smelled like old Chinon—all dirt, metal, herbs, and that very particular (and often polarizing) bell pepper note that Cabernet Franc all but owns the rights to. But, of course, this was no Chinon. As a child, this wine was sweet, probably a bit chubby, unctuous, and fruit-forward, but also undoubtedly supported by that static-electric Riesling brand of acidity—the equivalent of getting shocked by clothes fresh out of the dryer, only in your mouth. You still with us? Great. Because this is where we cross over. The wine is no longer sweet. At 29 years out, the sugar compounds have broken apart, leaving its guts exposed. The acidity is vulnerable, broad, and oddly comforting. What we’re saying is: this Riesling has evolved into completely different creature: a peculiar, near-impossible-to-pinpoint mutation. No other varietal is quite as capable of this kind of shock-and-awe transformation. Drink old Barolo, Burgundy, or CA Cab, and you’ll encounter wines that are recognizable upgrades, progressions, but rarely will you find that they have morphed so radically that it bears no resemblance to its child self. Those of us familiar with drinking great vintage Riesling can identify with this experience to some degree, but it will never (or should never) cease to amaze. Once it does, you’re dead, or fine, maybe you’re not dead, but with our apologies, friend, let us say that you haven’t the slightest idea of how to live. Now, for those of you who are still wondering what the hell we’re so excited about, go find yourselves some vintage Riesling. Go to Crush, Moore Brothers, or Chambers and tell them you want to cross over. Tell them you want to have a picnic with unicorns and satyrs under a permanent rainbow in the Mosel-eum of your mind. Pair with: Wassily Kandinsky Munich-Schwabing with the Church of St. Ursula 1908 and Wassily Kandinsky Composition VIII 1923 Why: Not many artists go through as drastic a metamorphosis as Wassily Kandinsky did in 40 years. He experimented with Fauvism, Impressionism, Pointillism, Cubism, Bauhaus, etc. before synthesizing them all into his own abstract and magnificently sensorial style. In comparing this early work—clearly influenced by both Impressionism and Fauvism—and this later work—clearly drawn from a great fruit basket of artistic movements—each seems to have been painted by a different artist. The connection between the two is barely recognizable—at least to the naked eye—and it’s exactly this metamorphosis and severe progression that make both Wassily and Karthauserhof so fascinating. John Coltrane “My Favorite Things” Live In Japan 1966 Why: No one can dare utter the word jazz without mentioning his name. Most of his work from the mid 1950s will be forever immortalized, however, what most don’t stumble upon is the later, slightly over the edge version of Coltrane—the Coltrane that sought to tear apart and make confetti out of the standards that made him a legend in the first place. Here we have a majestic peek into a very different Coltrane (on alto sax, no less!) as he splits open one of the most beloved standards of all time. He takes a song that was originally around 15 minutes and stretches it to 58, twisting its melodic insides into something all together unrecognizable.

Tagged as: art, music, riesling, synesthesium