The Macallan is easily one of the richest, most refined flavors in the scotch universe—let alone alcohol. Its reputation precedes its name, and it needs no introduction. The same goes for The Velvet Underground. One of rock n’ roll’s most beloved pioneers. They are experimental, gritty, and monumentally influential. The juxtaposition of these two is what interested me in pairing them together. And I was surprised to find so many complimentary aspects. Like worlds apart coming together for the first time.
As the first guitar strums of “Candy Says” fade in, the notes of alcohol roll over my tongue. It leaves a soft sting just like the opening lyrics: “Candy says…I’ve come to hate to my body.” Together, the rich alcohol and dreamy sound remind me there’s something else at play. I’m not drinking Coca Cola nor am I listening to mindless pop. There is a point—a purpose—and thinking about it only enhances the experience with the scotch. Together, driving me to sit back and bask in the wonderful scotch taste and lazy tune. They strike an emotion that both relaxes and stimulates my mind.
The warm linger of the alcohol is like the sleepy “Doo Doo Wah’s” echoing behind Doug Yule’s sedated vocals. I imagine them leading me through a hazy, smoke-filled party, glass in my hand, to the room emitting this beautiful music. Down a crowded staircase to a foggy basement, the music becomes clearer as well as the scotch’s honey and caramel flavors. Finally, through a room filled with strangers, who seem to know each other, I see them. Lou, Doug, Sterling, and Maureen. And they’re playing this song on the dusty sofa from the album’s cover.
Like the song, the scotch has a taste worth mining. Its complexity is hidden behind a smooth, refined flavor, but the more you sip—and listen—the more they both reveal. Like a dimly lit room your eyes adjust to after stepping inside from a sunny day.
Next, the upbeat melody and high pitch sound of “What Goes On” strike, and my mood immediately changes to match the tone of the song. I notice more aspects within the characterful scotch. Like the whisper of sherry smoke at the end of every sip, and an oaky-spiced butterscotch that compliments the easy-going, yet gritty tune. And as the song progresses, the subtle burning sensation on my tongue from the alcohol matches the screechy guitar and the continuous pang of the organ running through the track.
Now, I feel a little bit of the alcohol seeping into my head. “Baby be good, do what you should, you know it will work alright” conjures an outer body experience you typically get at a bar or party. The kind where it seems everyone is smiling and having a good time. Suddenly, the sense to “cheers” someone is unbearable. I hold my glass up to the record, and regret doing this review alone.
The good-timey feeling continues through “Some Kind of Love.” I find myself singing along—muttering the lyrics out loud. Music and alcohol truly are soul mates.
With the bluesy guitar sound, I begin to notice the richness of the scotch—the sherry shining through, and coating my tongue as the song opens up into its swanky, warm vibe.
The smell of the scotch—buttery leather—is now rising to my nose. And the combined senses with the song make me think of the sickly sweet smell of an old wooden bar. One soaked with countless nights, and good times. If it were a perfume, it’d be called: “Eau de Why Not?”
I still have no idea what “Put jelly on your shoulder” means, but that doesn’t stop me from sipping and mmm mm mmm-ing with Lou and his twangy licks as the sexual song runs plays out.
With “Pale Blue Eyes,” my emotions are immediately guided into a nostalgic slow dance with the melancholic song. The sentimental strings and soft tambourine paired with the 10-year-old Macallan continue to reveal more mature flavors, smells and sights.
The song's deeply yearning lyricism makes me notice the thinness of the scotch. A fleeting richness that comes on strong and departs too early. The reflective guitar solo infuses itself with the straw colored scotch. Together, they feel like the end of an afternoon when it’s still bright, but the romantic, golden end is imminent. And the lyrics, “Down for you is up…Linger on” transport me back to my years growing up in Virginia. There in the Summer, trees overhang the country roads like a canopy. And when the sun shines through it creates a strobe of warm light through the lush green leaves. With every sip, and chord, I feel just as I did driving those roads—filled with a bittersweet feeling as I wish it would last forever, but knowing it won’t.
As “Jesus”—the heaviest song on the record begins, I start to feel the alcohol in my head more, and sink deeper. With the scotch, the song induces a more contemplative state than I was in during the previous tracks. It’s a darker, more questioning self-existence type of contemplation. The high notes of the guitar seem to bend in a vulnerable way, juxtaposing with a newly discovered vanilla flavor of the scotch. It’s an interesting contrast—but not the vibe you’d want at a party. I feel like the guy who unconvincingly acts happy, unable to hide an inner sadness. However, the two match each other in a way I can only compare to a great drunken conversation with someone equally as drunk. The kind where you can compare Batman to banana bread in the most hilarious and profound way. But when you attempt to retell this to someone the next day, they say something like: “Yeah…that’s funny…” then take a slow sip of their coffee, trying to think of a way to change the subject. Unfortunately, Reader, that’s you right now. And I apologize.
As the song finishes, the ghostly: “Jeeeesuuus, Jeeeeesus,” is like the warmth of the Macallan. It lingers like an unsatisfied sigh. The record stops. The needle finds its way back to its resting station, and puts a period on my thoughts. I get up to turn the record over, and pour myself another glass.
It’s a new side of the record, and again, I’m jolted into a fast paced rock n’ roll state of mind with “Beginning To See The Light.” The cobwebs spun by “Jesus” have cleared, and new parts of the scotch appear. Light citrus, and a hint of grapey-ness poke out like the popping of the record and the high notes of the guitar in the song.
My sips have become noticeably bigger, and the driving rhythm keeps me sipping. The smell of the Scotch wakes my nose and I feel as if I’m having a moment of clarity. That can’t be a coincidence, right?
At the end of the song, the repetition of the lyrics: “How does it feel to be loved” get me going, while the citrus notes of the scotch intermingle with its peaty smoke. And Lou’s voice matches with a sardonic tone of having experienced life’s worst, and best moments.
“I’m Set Free” begins and knocks the energetic wind of “Beginning To See The Light” out of me to build a feeling that’s both nostalgic and revelatory. The alcohol amplifies the ups and downs of this record to great effect.
The feeling of being down and up, then down again come with the building of the guitar strings, drums, and the lyrics: “I’ve been set free/I’ve been bound/to the memories of yesterday’s clouds/I’ve been set free/I’ve been bound/and now I’m set free/ I’m set free/I’m set free to find a new illusion.”
During the solo, the nuttiness, and figs of the scotch appear. I’m intoxicated, and drift off into the ether of my thoughts. But the song quits too soon, and leaves me with a burning ache for a less complicated life.
Then, miraculously, the light, hop along sound of “Story Of My Life” appeases me. The bright color and flavors of the scotch once again become apparent. And my theory that our mouths and ears are connected like the nose and mouth is all but written in stone. At least in my mind.
The sunny notes of the scotch match the high notes of the bouncing guitar. And it's overall folksy sound makes me imagine myself rocking back and forth on a porch, watching the sun sink beneath the horizon with every sip.
That’s when “The Murder Mystery” begins. And frankly, I wish I had had more to drink. I want to feel the way Lou looks on the back of the album. Drugged out, mid-phrase, and frozen in frenetic thought.
At first, the song seems to be the one that matches the scotch and the drunk the least. But the more I sip, listen and think about it—the more they have in common. Or the more I convince myself they do.
The complicated mix of flavors in the scotch—peaty smoke and vanilla, smooth, sherry, and the nose-burning back end of the swallow, the light citrus, and the matured leathery flavor—they all blend together like the staggered voices of the track. Yes, it’s hard work to separate each aspect of the scotch, and vocals, but once you extract each of them, you can piece together the whole story of both.
The drunk of the scotch seems to dull the jarring aspects of the song (for good or worse—I don’t know). With the haze of several glasses setting in, my ears stick to the twinkling xylophone of the song, and it’s hard to keep my mind from wandering.
Together, the scotch and the song remind me of the moment you know you’ve had too much to drink at a crowded, loud bar. The crazy, fast paced faces of everyone around you, the music and theatrics of others. You want it all to black out, but the second everything stops, you’re fucked. It’s the collective energy that keeps you from spinning out of control.
Finally, the dizzying murder mystery ends, and gives way to “After Hours”—my personal favorite on the record. It’s the perfect transition from the delirium that is “The Murder Mystery.” The madness and schizophrenic voices have stopped, and the first childlike lyrics voiced by Maureen Tucker instantly subdue the confusion.
“If you close the door, the night could last forever” simply captures the yearning everyone (or maybe just me) feels at the end of a great night.
As my scotch dwindles, the ice cubes clink, complimenting this feeling. It’s the song I think of at every night’s close. And sitting here now, with a glass of this scotch, I want go out, and find my friends somehow gathered at a familiar place.
Of course that’s just a dream, but knowing I can create it anytime with this pairing is rewarding and comforting enough.