Category: Books

| Beer, Beer and Music, Beer Books, Beer Festivals, Beer tasting, CAMRA, Tasting Notes, Writing

Say hello to “Tasting Notes: The Art and Science of Pairing Beer and Music.”

I’ve got a new book coming out. Oh, come on, don’t be like that. It’s been three long years since the last one.

If you’re writing a book, the best possible reason to write it it that no one else has written anything like it yet. Now, one possible reason no one has written it yet is that no one wants to read it. Writing a book that no one else has written, that people feel they need to read – well, that’s what gets me up in the morning, and tears me away from playing Warhammer: Total War in the afternoon.

My new book, Tasting Notes, will be published by CAMRA publishing in May, possibly June.

It certainly ticks the first box. I’m not the only person exploring the relationship between beer and music these days. But I’ve been doing it in regular live events for fifteen years now. It started off as a joke. Then I met an Oxford Professor who told me it was actually serious. When I got the joke side and the serious side in the right balance, the events became really popular. Every year for the past decade, it has packed out the 1000-seat spoken word tent at the Green Man Festival in South Wales.

When I’m doing signings afterwards, people queue up to ask me when the book is coming out. Well, now we know!

It splits into two parts – two sides of a record, if you will – the theory and the practice.

Side One – the theory – covers:

  • How we really taste and perceive flavour, why that’s a lot more complicated and mysterious than perhaps you thought it was, and why it’s so important to us. Starting with why its Aristotle’s fault that when most people try to describe the flavour of beer, the best thing can so is, “It tastes like beer.”
  • How we really hear and perceive music, and why that’s a lot more complicated and mysterious than perhaps you thought it was, and why it’s so important to us. I give a definitive, simple answer to the great philosophical question: “If a tree falls in a forest, and there’s no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?” I introduce you to the EXTERNAL AUDITORY MEATUS, wait patiently whole you make a joke about having seen them support Nine Inch Nails back in the day, and then go on to show how scientists understand less about how we hear music than they do about the birth of the universe.
  • How context, culture, occasion, mood, memory, glassware, that person you had a crush on when you were fourteen and what you had for breakfast all impact what you think you can taste and hear. Specifically, why that beer you loved on holiday tasted so shit when you brought some back home.
  • Introducing the sexy field of crossmodal correspondence. Yeah! No, come back – this is the most fascinating bit. It’s a look at recent research that proves – yes, proves – that on top of all the contextual stuff, our brains have formed deep-seated relationships between what we taste and what we hear, and how changing background music can alter the flavour of your beer. Why low, deep bass sounds pair with malty flavours, and high, melodic, harmonious instruments go with the grassy, citrus and tropical flavours of hops. Because they do, don’t they? You already knew that they did, now you think about it.
  • Why beer and music have always enjoyed an intimate relationship, and how they mean and perform similar functions for us if we like them both. Includes a timeline which shows that post-punk/alternative/indie music is EXACTLY THE SAME AS CRAFT BEER. But goes way beyond both indie and craft.

Side Two – the practice – starts with an overview of the different ways you can pair beers and songs/pieces of music, based on what we’ve learned on Side One. Then, it has forty to fifty pairings (tbc) that I’ve put together. Half of these have worked at events over the years, half are new for the book, based on the extra research I’ve done for it. When I started this, I was selfishly basing it on my own musical tastes. At one event a few years ago, someone asked, “Pete, have you ever heard any music from the 21st century?” Since then I’ve since expanded significantly. It’s not (just) about what I like. It’s about what demonstrates the effect of a good pairing. I haven’t used any songs I don’t actually like (sorry, fans of Queen, Abba, Ed Sheeran) but I’ve incorporated folk, jazz, country, classical, blues, R&B, classic pop, rock ‘n’ roll, ambient, one song that Wikipedia claims belongs to ` genre knowns as “sophistipop,” and music that defies having a label attached to it beyond a basic definition of “organised noise.” The playlist starts with Sugababes – longtime favourites from previous books such as Shakespeare’s Local – and ends with Underworld. From Claude Debussy to Miles Davis, Hendrix to Hawley, the Shadows to The The, Gaga to the Grimethorpe Colliery Band, every track is matched with a beer that means something, that has its own story to tell. We explore the importance of the beer, the importance of the song, and then explain why they were made for each other and how they work together.

I’ll post more details and give a few sneak previews once I’ve actually finished writing the bastard. The deadline has been and gone. I’m also doing loads of events to promote it. starting next week at CAMRA’s winter ales festival in Rotherham. I’m on at 6pm on Friday 14th February. Nothing special happening that night is there?

Much more to come…

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| Advertising, Beer, Beer Marketing, Marketing, Media bollocks, Miracle Brew, Pie Fidelity

Who benefits from the total confusion in the beer market?

Drinkers can’t tell craft from macro and feel deceived when they find out. They think that Spanish beer is great and that Britain can’t brew beer, and they drink brands they believe are Spanish which are really brewed in Britain. Is there any product more confusing than beer?

I took this picture in Tesco. Tesco sell more beer than pretty much any other UK retailer. And yet they advertise “beer and lager” as if they are two different things. Like many people I know, they don’t understand that lager is beer.

Last week, as part of the launch of their new “indie beer” seal, SIBA, the Society of Independent Brewers and Associates, revealed that more people believe that Beavertown (owned by Heineken) and Camden Town (AB-InBev) are independently owned than believe that genuine indies such as Five Points, Vocation and Fyne Ales are independent. When told the truth, 75% said they felt they had been misled.

And now, research carried out on behalf of Scottish Brewer Innis & Gunn reveals that only 8% of respondents know that Madri, owned by Molson Coors, is brewed in the UK. That wouldn’t be so bad, except 38% of them believe Spain is the country that makes the best beer, the same number are prepared to pay more for “continental” beer than British beer (rising to 56% among 25-34 year-olds) and only 27% think Britain is any good at making beer.

Why do we think Spain brews better beer than Britain, even though almost all the “Span-ish” beer we drink in Britain is brewed here anyway? Apparently, because continental beer has unique or exotic flavours (34%), better ingredients (32%), traditional brewing methods (28%), stronger heritage (27%), and more care is taken in the brewing process (20%).

I have absolutely nothing against Spanish beer. I’d rather drink Cruzcampo, Mahou or Estrella Galicia than Carling or John Smith’s. But it’s simply not true that Spain has a better brewing tradition, better ingredients or a stronger brewing heritage than Britain.

There are several things going on here. One is that we’re simply weird in the UK about supporting our own makers. 46% of Innis & Gunn’s respondents said we made good cheese; 42% say we’re good at whisky; and 41% say we’re good at making film and TV. There’s nothing that over 50% of respondents think we’re good at, and 15% said Britain wasn’t good at making anything at all. When I wrote Pie Fidelity: In Defence of British Food in 2018, I was given a very cool reception by the food writing world. Word later reached me that people were surprised I had “gone Brexity.” If they’d bothered to read even a few pages of the book before arriving at this conclusion, they’d have realised it was the opposite of Brexity. But defend anything British, and suddenly you’re Nigel Farage.

Following on from this, and linked to the fact that none of the biggest brewers in Britain are now British-owned and therefore don’t give a damn about British brewing heritage, most beer drinkers are completely unaware that Britain actually has one of the greatest brewing traditions in the world. If you think the Canadian brand Carling is the best that “British” brewing has to offer, of course you’re going to think Spanish beer is better.

Then there’s the fact that we simply don’t know very much about beer at all, and don’t seem interested in learning more. I wrote Miracle Brew after another survey showed that only 22% of beer drinkers can correctly name the four main ingredients of beer. Campaign groups and industry bodies seeking to turn around the fortunes of cask ale constantly talk about the need to “educate the consumer.” But the last thing someone wants in the pub at 5.30pm is a lecture on secondary fermentation. When I worked in beer advertising, even my clients working for breweries could not have told you the difference between ale and lager or how hops contribute to the character of beer.

And finally or course, there’s the marketing from those brewers. It’s a curious truth in beer that whatever country you’re in, imports from another country are considered more premium. You don’t just buy the beer from that country, you buy a bit of its attitude or character as well, and foreign destinations are always more glamorous than our familiar, mundane surroundings.

The endless cycle of “premiumisation” means we must always be offered something new and exotic. The entire economy depends on us being less content with what we already have, so we need to buy something newer and preferably more expensive. Any lager used to be more premium than any ale. Then Australian lager (brewed in Reading) was superior to European lager. Stella Artois put “continental” lager (that had been rewed in Salmesbury and Magor) back on top, and then Peroni solved the problem that Italy had no brewing heritage at all by selling itself as a fashion brand instead of a beer, and suddenly Italy had a brewing heritage that has now moved to Spain (via Burton on Trent).

And what of craft beer? Small independent craft brewers upset the cycle by creating something new and interesting (and premium) without the permission of the global corporations that control the market. So those global corporations deliberately set out to render the term “craft” meaningless.

If this upsets or depresses you, what can you do about it?

Well, the funny thing is that in all the market research those big brewers do, when they ask people what source of information they trust most, the top answer is always “word of mouth.” They spend millions trying to replicate the kinds of conversations that happen in pubs up and down the country every day. Not all these conversations go the right way. I’ve yet to see an opening gambit along the lines of “You shouldn’t be drinking that beer, that beer’s shit,” lead to a response of “Hey, you have a point! Tell me more!” But everyone has a mate who knows a bit more about beer than they do, and defers to them on occasion. I have friends who aren’t really that into beer who say “I’ll have whatever Pete’s having.” None of them want to know about decoction or terpenes, but they engage when I tell them that lager can taste amazing and why don’t you try this one, or that IPA was originally British, not American, or that Madri is an invented brand that’s brewed in Burton-on-Trent and Tadcaster.

People don’t like feeling deceived or ripped off. They do like having little tidbits of trivia that are worth repeating to the people who know slightly less about beer than them.

Word-of-mouth works. That’s why large corporations, who spend millions deceiving and misleading drinkers, are so scared of it. I hear rumours that certain brewers have advised that “now is not the time” for the indie beer seal and “we should all be sticking together.” That’s the best evidence I’ve heard that it is a good thing to be doing.

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| Clubland, Working men's clubs

Harry Belafonte’s near miss with Barnsley Clubland

Just saw the news that the legendary Harry Belafonte has died. He was the subject of one of my favourite stories I was told while researching my last book. It’s fucking hilarious. It also reveals the extent to which he was a progressive activist as well as a gifted singer. I shall be eternally in Ian Clayton’s debt after he shared with me not only the story, but also the means of verifying it.

From Clubland:

American singer Harry Belafonte wrote to Arthur Scargill to say that he was coming to England and would like to meet up. Arthur invited Harry and his wife to come and stay with him and Ann Scargill. Before he arrived, Arthur went to the Swaithe Working Men’s Club in Monkspring, near Barnsley, to ask if the Concert Secretary would like to have Harry Belafonte sing a few songs. The Concert Secretary thought for a bit and said, “Ooh! I’m not sure about that Arthur. I’ve got plenty of top turns booked up well in advance. I can’t just make exceptions at the drop of a hat. Arrabella who, did tha say?” 

*

There’s only one question in my mind the first time Ian Clayton tells me this story. I think you can guess what it is. How the hell did Harry Belafonte know Arthur Scargill, and why did he want to come and stay with him? 

“The Scargills were guests of Fidel Castro at the 11th World Festival of Youth and Students in Cuba in 1978, explains Ian. “While they were there Arthur sat with the dignitaries; Joshua Nkomo, Yasser Arafat, who was carrying a silver pistol, and Harry Belafonte, who was there as some sort of cultural ambassador. Ann went swimming with Belafonte and his wife every morning. Arthur tells a brilliant story about how at the closing ceremony they were all sat close together on a podium. He leaned over to Belafonte and said ‘It’s to be hoped if any snipers are thinking of having a pot at Fidel today, that they’re a good shot!’”

The paperback of Clubland is published on 8th June.

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| Books, Pubs

New Book: ‘The London Pub’ – out today!

Hoxton Mini-Press collects beautiful old photos thematically. I was delighted to be asked to write the intro for a gorgeous new collection on London Pubs, published today.

What’s better than reading about pubs? Looking at gorgeous, evocative photos of pubs (while also reading about them.)

Hoxton Mini Press is an independent publisher based in East London. They make collectable photography books, based mainly, but not exclusively, on the people and geography of East London. I find they make phenomenal last-minute Christmas presents for people you want to impress.

From their website:

“In an age when everything is virtual, the book 
as an object is more important than ever. But all too often 
big art books are aloof and expensive. We want to 
make books that both the collector and the non-
specialist can enjoy – and that everyone can afford.”

This new book is a collection of photographs of pubs from about 1910 to some time in the early 1970s. I was delighted when they asked me to write the introduction – about 1200 words commenting on the importance of pubs in London life – and some of the captions. Here’s an extract from the intro:

“London has always been a diverse city brimming with strong characters. It breeds people with a thirst for life, and acts as a magnet for thirsty people born elsewhere. Throughout the twentieth century, they made the city’s pubs blaze with light and life. 

“Everyone is here: Pearly Kings and Queens revelling in the spontaneous subculture they have created; sailors home on leave; courting couples stealing kisses over tables full of empty glasses; sharp-suited men from the Caribbean introducing their music and dance moves to their new neighbours; old ladies holding court, staring down the myth that pubs were male-only spaces. Mick Jagger and Keith Richards prop up the bar like two blokes at the end of a hard day at the office. Suzi Quatro takes time out from being the Queen of Rock and Roll to play a game of snooker. Teddy Boys hog the juke box while men old enough to remember the Boer War play pool. Meanwhile, dogs wait stoically at the bar, and children hover somewhat less patiently just outside the door. “

And here’s a selection of photos.

You can order the book direct from Hoxton Mini Press.

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| Books, Clubland, Working men's clubs

Why we should all be raising a glass to the 160th birthday of the working men’s club movement – even if they aren’t.

Like one of those aged celebrities who hits the news on their birthday when you thought they’d died a long time ago, the working men’s club may be frail and half-forgotten, but we need it now as much as we ever did.

T’pies have come.

Today, the Working Men’s Club and Institute Union (CIU) celebrates its 160th anniversary. Or rather, it should be doing. There’s a statement on the CIU website, a piece in their member’s magazine The Journal, and that’s about it. As far as I can tell, there’s no coverage at all in mainstream media. You can’t really blame them though – the CIU has no press office or bespoke media contact, and only seems interested in talking to its dwindling band of member clubs. It probably never occurred to anyone to issue a press release to celebrate the occasion.

Should we be bothered?

It’s twenty years now since clubs troubled mainstream media. Peter Kay’s Phoenix Nights ran for two series from 2001 to 2003, and has remained the reference point for any scattered mentions working men’s clubs have had I local newspapers since then. Kay brought his trademark mix of fondness and ridicule to clubland, and while there was some genuine warmth there, the humour derived from working men’s clubs being presented as an anachronism in the newly-minted 21st century.

This cheesy public image of the club is rooted in the 1970s, because that’s when clubland provided a significant chunk of the talent on TV and in the charts. More than one in ten British adults was a member of at least one club. When trends in entertainment and culture changed, the club disappeared from public view. Like someone you last saw as a kid ten or twenty years ago, in the public imagination, they still look like that.

But this was never a complete picture of what clubs did.

Philanthro-pissed

On 14th June 1862, Unitarian Minister Henry Solly convened a meeting which founded the Working Men’s Club and Institute Union. At the time, philanthropists and reformers of all stripes were desperately trying to ‘improve’ the working man – some out of genuine concern for his plight, others because millions of men were about to get the vote for the first time and therefore needed to be ‘civilised,’ so they voted for the ‘right’ people. (This is a big part of why women were initially excluded from membership. Those who worked in service were already being ‘civilised’ by being exposed to their social superiors, and anyway, the vote for women was still decades away, so they mattered less in the thinking of reformers.)

Solly recognised that if he wanted to attract working-class men after a gruelling, monotonous, ten- or twelve-hour shift, they needed a place where they could relax as well as being lectured to. A club, rather than an austere institute, was his model. In the long run, he wanted these men to be able to run there clubs themselves. So the Union was an umbrella organisation that helped clubs set up and thrive. It created model rules and articles of association. It introduced a pass card, meaning a member of one club could drink in any other club in the Union. If one club fell foul of, say, licensing laws or contract law, the Union represented them, and shared any new learnings with all member clubs.

When – against Solly’s wishes – the clubs started selling beer, profits were invested back into clubs, improving their facilities, adding billiards rooms, concert halls, and much more.

Pints and empowerment

By the 1890s, clubs were being run by working men as well as for them. Middle-class patrons who believed that, without their enlightened input, the clubs would just descend into drinking dens were proved wrong. Working men did want a chance to improve themselves. But they wanted to do so on their own terms rather than those of people who thought they knew better.

Working men’s clubs gave uneducated working class men another chance to do something more than the jobs they had been prepared for. Those who joined the committees that ran clubs got a taste for politics and public service, with thousands going on to become local councillors, magistrates and MPs. Concerts allowed people to sing, dance, tell jokes, or design and build scenery and props.

As the money flowed in, the clubs widened their vision. They provided services such as baths and showers for people living in slums with no bathrooms, summer seaside trips for kids, scholarships for members who had had no choice other than to leave school at 12 or 14, welfare schemes for those who couldn’t work due to accident or illness, and convalescent homes when members could no longer live by themselves. Working men’s clubs provided a welfare state for those who needed it decades before the real thing came into being.

Writing about the CIU in 1987, George Tremlett remarked that most of these services were no longer needed, now the actual welfare state provided them. 35 years later, with 14 million people in the UK living in poverty, that’s no longer the case.

Join the club

After more than a decade of austerity, community assets are disappearing across the board. Libraries, youth clubs and community centres are all closing. So are many working men’s clubs. Those that remain open are often anonymous – you wouldn’t know they there there if you weren’t already a member.

Inside anonymous-looking buildings like this all across the country are bars, concert rooms and meeting rooms that would be perfect for coffee mornings, jumble sales, record fairs, dance classes, yogas classes, mother and toddler groups, slimming meetings, youth clubs, book events, WI meetings, band practices and such more. On a more prosaic level, as the price of a pint soars, they’re good places to get cheap drinks without giving your money to Tim fucking Martin. Yet for much of the week, they stand empty. The community often has no idea they’re there. And the committees who run these places – often now well into their seventies – have no idea how to market themselves. The CIU should be helping them, but it’s just as clueless about the modern world as they are. No one in the organisation seems aware that communities today live online.

Working men’s clubs could once again be vital and multi-faceted community assets. They have now mostly dealt with the problems of sexism that once blighted them – most successful clubs have women on their committees these days. Many are rebranding as social clubs. But not enough have benefitted from the injection of energy that younger people bring.

A significant anniversary such as your 160th is the perfect time to raise awareness of clubs, the roles they once played and could play again. Sadly, no one seems to be making that case.

This is a big reason why I wrote Clubland, and why we published it last week. The final chapter outlines what both the CIU and individual clubs could be doing to thrive once more. There’s a lot of humour in the book, but this is one of the serious bits. If you have a fondness for clubs, see if there’s one local to you and see if you can join. They need you – whether they know it or not – and we need them.

Clubland: How The Working Men’s Club Shaped Britain, is published by Harper North as a hardback, kindle and audiobook (which I read myself!) It’s available for pre-order at Amazon or, if you prefer buying from an independent bookshop, bookshop.org. 

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| Books, Clubland, Working men's clubs

Clubland: my new book drops on Thursday 9th June

Can I have order all around the room? Thank you, please. The book I’ve been wanting to write for eighteen years is finally here.

Another brilliant book cover by www.neilgower.com

What does the phrase ‘working men’s club’ evoke for you? 

Anything at all?

If you’re under fifty, I’m guessing the first place it will take you is Peter Kay’s Phoenix Nights. Looking back at that series twenty years later, it’s obvious there’s a deep fondness for clubs at its heart, but even back then, some of its humour came from the fact that clubs seemed anachronistic in the 21st century, a humorous throwback to a previous age that had outlived its relevance.    

If you’re a bit older, you might remember the Wheeltappers & Shunters Social Club. Shot in 1974, when clubland was at its peak, it’s already taking the piss (Colin Crompton, who plays the clubs concert secretary, was later overheard describing club-goers as ‘peasants.’)

It is – obviously – very easy to laugh at working men’s clubs. They’re old-fashioned and northern (except that’s not quite accurate), and that’s enough. Dig a little deeper, and they are also weighed down by accusations of sexism (the clue is in the name) and racism (subtly poking its head into the programme below at least once).  

Next Tuesday, 14th June, marks the 160th anniversary of the Club & Institute Union, an umbrella organisation that was founded to help clubs work together to support each other and thrive. The clubs themselves were designed to provide working-class men with an alternative to the pub or music hall, where they come could come together and relax without being pressured into drinking to excess – something which temperance campaigners at the time saw as the cause for men stumbling home and beating their wives and families (the welfare of women has always been at the heart of the working men’s club movement in one way or another – which is not to excuse the inarguable sexism that did colour much of its history.)

I first became aware of this broader, deeper history of clubs when I was researching Man Walks into a Pub, my first book. Clubs obviously exist as an alternative, a rival to pubs, and some establishments blur between the two. But I soon realised that clubs were much more than, as George Orwell described them in The Road to Wigan Pier, “glorified cooperative pubs.” Owned and run by their members, there was no need for them to make a commercial profit. Beer could be sold more cheaply than pubs, which meant they were busy, and still made money.

That money was invested back into the clubs, building concert rooms, snooker and billiards rooms, and then, as their scale and ambition grew, services such as baths and showers for people living in slums with no bathrooms, summer seaside trips for kids, scholarships for members who had had no choice other than to leave school at 12 or 14, welfare schemes for those who couldn’t work due to accident or illness, and convalescent homes when members could no longer live by themselves. Working men’s clubs provided a welfare state for those who needed it decades before the real thing came into being. As the welfare state is dismantled, there’s an argument that clubs are needed once again.     

Later, as those concert halls grew and club members got a bit more money in their pockets, the biggest stars of stage and screen were brought to the doorsteps of miners and steel-workers. When clubs weren’t booking major celebrities, they were creating their own – from the 1960s to the 1980s, pretty much any comedian, gameshow host or presenter on TV had come up through the clubs. Singers and musicians from Very Lynn and Tom Jones to The Jam and The Fall all played their clubland dues.

The important role that working men’s clubs played in shaping 19th- and 20th-century culture and society has been erased from history books – there’s just one other book in print on the subject apart from this one. Clubs are ignored in any history of working class leisure or British light entertainment. This project was a working of thrilling discovery, stretching way deeper and broader than I ever thought when I started it. 

In the book, I speak to snooker legend Steve Davis, who credits clubs not only with the start of his career, but the survival of the entire sport.  I talk to Les Dennis and Bernie Clifton, who went from club stages to being household names, and to the campaigners who fought for equality for women in the club movement and eventually won it – decades later than you might expect. 

So, please buy my new book. It overlaps with writing about beer and pubs but covers so much more. It’s political, social and cultural, and at times, deeply personal too. In writing it, I think I finally resolved my conflicted feelings around being born into a traditional working class community and deciding to leave it as soon as I could – a decision that, it turns out, was shaped significantly by my own interactions with working men’s clubs.

Clubland: How The Working Men’s Club Shaped Britain, is published on Thursday, 9th June by Harper North as a hardback, kindle and audiobook (which I read myself!) It’s available for pre-order at Amazon or, if you prefer buying from an independent bookshop, bookshop.org.    

I’ll be hosting an online launch party for the book tomorrow, Wednesday 8th June, via Zoom. Tickets are free but places are limited – book yours here. 

Advance praise for Clubland:

‘Pete Brown is a brilliant master of ceremonies as he brings the history of these fine institutions to life and demonstrates their importance in working class communities across the country.’ Alan Johnson, author of This Boy

‘A compelling mixture of social history, vivid reportage and candid autobiography, Clubland makes a crucial contribution to our understanding of Britain in the last century and a half.’ David Kynaston, author of Austerity Britain

‘Leave any flat-capped clichés at the door: Brown offers an earnest exploration of this crucially formative area of British social history.’ John Warland, author of Liquid History

‘Pete Brown writes poetically and with great authority on a slice of culture that has been ignored or derided for many years. He illuminates these arts centres, debating halls and palaces of carefree delight with love and care.’ Ian McMillan, author of Neither Nowt Nor Summat

‘At last the working men’s club gets its turn in the cultural spotlight. Pete Brown has written an important history and a heartfelt tribute to the friendship, organisation, humour and community to be found in these remarkable institutions.’ Ian Clayton, author of It’s The Beer Talking: Adventures in Public Houses

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| Books, Clubland, Writing

Announcing my next book project: “Clubland”

Sixteen years ago I developed an idea for a social history of the Working Men’s Club movement. Last year, a publisher finally bought it. Here’s why I have an eternal fascination with an overlooked aspect of British social history.

The Mildmay Club, Newington Green, getting ready for Liz’s significant birthday.

One of my earliest memories is of being held in someone’s arms in a space that glowed.

I know the memory is genuine because it’s disjointed; a sequence of random impressions that only make sense in retrospect, now I understand things I didn’t at the time.

It was Christmas, and in a community like Barnsley, you don’t do Christmas by halves. Every wall, every inch of ceiling, was covered by hanging decorations made from shining metallic paper. Tinsel adorned every corner and ledge. And behind it, the brass bar tops and beer fonts gleamed a fiery, welcoming glow. Perhaps it was fairy lights, possibly candles, but everywhere there was light, and the surfaces in the pub caught this light, refracted and amplified it, until it seemed that the very air shone. I had no understanding of alcohol, no concept of why we were here, but it was a magical place.

And this wonderland transformed the people within it. Faces that were normally grey and drawn were now shiny and red, adding to the colour. They looked each other in the eye as they laughed. They were ostentatious in their generosity. The women were gorgeous, all long frocks, dangly earrings and blue eye shadow, and the men were open and expansive, generous and warm, somehow thawed out in the midst of the winter chill. 

For a long time, I used to associate this memory with the pub. But my parents hardly ever went to the pub. My dad, when he drank at all, was a club man. 

Pub versus Club

I first became interested in the story of working men’s clubs when I was researching Man Walks into a Pub in the early noughties. These establishments were first created for rather than by working men, essentially to keep them out of pubs and “improve” them in the eyes of well-meaning and progressive, but ultimately naive, clergymen and noblemen.

But clubs didn’t really take off until upper class people realised working men needed to determine their own destiny. A separate club licence had been introduced, which meant that politicians could introduce licensing laws forcing pubs to close, but still go to their gentlemen’s clubs and carry on drinking afterwards. Working men proved they had been underestimated when the realised they could get club licenses of their own, defying the hypocrisy of their supposed betters.

Working men’s clubs, when run by working men, were a form of emancipation. A man could work in a factory or mill during the week, and then go and be on a committee at his club, responsible for a turnover that rivalled the company he worked for. Many committee members went on to be mayors or even MPs. Or he might go onstage and be a comedian, a ventriloquist or singer. Clubs provided libraries, financial support, clothing banks and washing or showering facilities decades before the welfare state began helping people who didn’t have enough.

In terms of entertainment, as variety theatres disappeared, clubs became the launchpad for what TV execs would later call ‘light entertainment’. Everyone from Tom Jones and Shirley Bassey to comedians like Les Dawson, Little & Large and Cannon & Ball got their first breaks on the club circuit. Talents as diverse as Paul Weller, Noddy Holder and Steve Davis all played in working men’s clubs before they played anywhere else – Davis getting his first break in a very different sense than the others.

There is of course the issue of women, especially given the name of these organisations. Some clubs were more progressive than others, and the story of how women gain equal rights in clubs is both shocking (it didn’t happen until 2007) and inspiring, beginning with a woman being banned from playing snooker and going on to form a campaign called “A woman’s right to cues”, and essentially breaking new ground for female representation in sports more widely. It’s one of the best stories in the book. Many clubs have dropped the “working men’s” bit from their names, and women now play a key role at every level of club organisation.

A long and winding road… to the north

I started discussing an idea that captured this remarkable, hidden story with editors around 2005. I pitched the idea seriously in 2012 and again in 2016. It got nowhere. People in London publishing houses would see it as no more than a nostalgia fest for people who went to clubs in the 1970s, or would get that it was more than that, buut say, “Well I’d read it avidly, but I don’t think enough other people would.”

Then, in July 2020, I got an e-mail from an editor at Harper North, a new, Manchester-based subsidiary of Harper Collins. Did I have a book idea that would suit a list that had a northern tilt to it?

Yes I did.

“Clubland” will be published by Harper North in June 2022, to coincide with the 160th anniversary of the Club and Institute Union (CIU). It probably won’t be called “Clubland” by then. It will be my twelfth full-length published book and I am enjoying researching it enormously.

Tell me your story

Some of the stories in this book have already exceeded my wildest hopes when I began researching it. The many different ways in which clubs have influenced people, communities and society as a whole are mind-boggling, sometimes very moving, often utterly hilarious.

In early July I’m going to be visiting clubs around the country and talking to people who run them and use them. If you think there’s a club that has particular historical or contemporary interest, one that has a remarkable story to tell, please let me know. And if you have your own stories that deserve to be told, tell me now!

(For information: I’ve already had at least three people tell me the tale of Shirley Bassey and the backstage sink and claim it was them.)

Have you checked out my Patreon? Among other benefits, all Patrons at £3 or above receive 25% off any tickets I sell via Eventbrite. Subscription starts from just £1. Sign up here.


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| Beer, Craft Beer, Hops & Glory, IPA

IPA: the chameleon of beers

The case of beers I put together with mail order company Best of British Beer to accompany my next book club event is designed to reflect the mercurial, elusive character of the craft beer world’s favourite beer style.

Six completely different beers. All of them are, in some way, IPAs.

 

IPA is the most popular – and most argued over – beer style in craft beer. Everything about it, from its hazy origins to its colour, character and (increasingly murky) appearance, is debated passionately across social media and print publications. Its story has been mythologised, misunderstood, and endlessly redefined. Like the broader concept of craft beer itself, I’m not just fascinated by it, I’m fascinated by the fascination around it, by the varying degrees of passion, agitation and disdain it inspires.

This is why, for my third book, I undertook the frankly stupid endeavour of recreating its legendary journey by sea from Burton-on-Trent to Calcutta. This project almost broke me, in many ways, but hey – I got a great book out of it, and we’re discussing that book, and the story behind it, at my third Beer Book Club on Wednesday, 12th May.

For each of these book clubs, I’m attempting to put together a themed case of beers (or ciders, where relevant) that people attending may choose to order to drink along to the chat. Best of British Beer volunteered to help me out with a case for this one, and sent me a bottle of every beer they had in stock with “IPA” on the label. From that, I chose six beers that tell a potted history of the beer that used to be known as India Pale Ale – all quite different from each other, each excellent in its own way.  

IPA was never ‘invented’ as such – it evolved from strong beers meant for keeping, and it has continued to evolve ever since. According to contemporary reports, in the 1780s it was quite dark, murky, and very bitter. In nineteenth century India, it was bright and sparkling, compared to champagne more than anything else. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, changes in taxation and drinking habits saw a steep drop in its alcoholic strength. A few years ago, beer geeks would rage that a beer such as Greene King IPA was not a “proper” IPA because it was only 3.6% ABV. Those critics should know that a few years ago, the original 1928 recipe for GK IPA was discovered, and it’s hardly changed in the almost century since. If you could go back to the mid-twentieth century, any British brewer would have told you that it was typical of what “IPA” was at that time. And anyway, the rise of “session IPAs” means that the strength argument can no longer be coherently made by craft beer scenesters.

The American reinvention of IPA only really took off in the UK a little over a decade ago, and since then the pace of evolution has sped up dramatically. What we now think of as ‘West Coast IPA’ is referred to by some as ‘Old School IPA’. If a beer style that can only be traced back in any meaningful sense to the 1990s is now ‘old school’, what does that make IPA’s 200-year-odd history up to that point?

In a very meaningful sense, the dominant style of the moment – New England IPA – is the opposite of what IPA was before it came along. India Pale Ale became the definitive beer style of the nineteenth century, and cast its shadow over the next, because it was designed to be stored and/or to survive a long sea journey in which it was subject to massive fluctuations in temperature, which contributed to its unique character, in which hop bitterness was assertive.

Now, IPAs have next to no bitterness at all, and we’re told that we must keep them cold from packaging to consumption and drink them fresh, because their delicate character disappears after a few weeks.

The British soldiers and clerks drinking IPA in Calcutta in the 1860s would have spat out a NEIPA claiming that it was too green, that it hadn’t ‘ripened’. The modern NEIPA fan would (and often does) dismiss traditional IPA as not being IPA at all, because it is not pale enough, not juicy enough.

The Beer Judge Certification Program (BJCP), commonly regarded in the craft beer world as the arbiter of beer styles, goes so far as to state: “The term ‘IPA’ is intentionally not spelled out as ‘India Pale Ale’ since none of these beers historically went to India, and many aren’t pale.” 

So there we have it: IPA isn’t actually India Pale Ale at all, but an acronym without a home, or even a new word in its own right, a word commonly pronounced “eepa” by beer drinkers who’s first language isn’t English.

In 2014, Canadian beer writer Stephen Beaumont threw his hands up and said, “Fine, let’s face it, every beer is now an IPA.” With that in mind, here are the six beers I’ve chosen that all stake a claim to the title of IPA. I like them all – otherwise I wouldn’t have chosen them – but because of my age and experience, my heart will always be in the Old School.

Wold Top – Scarborough Fair – true to the traditional British style – crisp, bitter and balanced 

Hafod – Freestyle – A great take on what we now call West Coast IPA, resiny and piney with a firm malt backbone

Mor – Ish – Mid-twentieth century-style IPA, gently bitter and clean, lower ABV.

Windsor & Eton – Conqueror – The tautology that is a Black India Pale Ale – a blend of fresh hoppy aromas and deep, chocolatey malt.

Loch Lomond – Zoom Time – Hazy, juicy and with low bitterness, a perfect example of the New England IPA style.

Stonehouse – Vanilla Milkshake – Brewed with vanilla and lactose for an even smoother, creamier body – is this the future of IPA?

The Hops & Glory six-pack is available to buy at £21.95 from Best of British Beer. Ticket-holders for my Hops & Glory book club event on Wednesday 12th May can claim a 10% discount code. Sadly the beers are for UK delivery only, but the event is on Zoom so you can come along wherever in the world you are, and bring your own IPAs, whatever colour, clarity, strength and character they happen to have.

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| Beer By Design, Book Club, Books, Craft - An Argument, Hops & Glory, Man Walks into a Pub, Miracle Brew, Pie Fidelity, Shakespeare’s Local, The Apple Orchard, The Pub: A Cultural Institution, Three Sheets to the Wind

Introducing the Pete Brown Online Beer Book Club!

Most people who follow me online do so because they enjoy my books. So I thought I’d organise a beer book club on Zoom to revisit my backlist.

I’ve largely enjoyed Zoom events – I’m lucky, I haven’t had to do too many during the day at work, so they’ve remained a bit of a treat. I’ve also spoken to people at online beer events who actually prefer these chats to meeting up in real life – either because they can get to them more easily and cheaply, or because they feel more comfortable attending from the safe space of their home. I can’t wait to do physical events again, but even when we’re back at pub gigs and festivals, I still plan to both attend and run events online in addition to IRL.

Last week, I pushed an idea out on social media – what if I do a Zoom book club?  Each session, we focus on one book from my backlist. I do a talk or presentation about it, then open it up to a Q&A. After we get to the end of the formal bit, if anyone wants to stay on and chat longer, we can. It got a great response, so here we go.

I’ll be going through the books in chronological order, starting with Man Walks into a Pub on 28th April. I’m charging a small ticket price of £3.50, and tickets are on sale now.

Obviously, we thought it might be nice idea to do this with a drink in hand. You don’t have to drink through the talk, but you may well want to.

My intention is to link up with an online retailer and try to come up with some kind of offer for event attendees. I want to try to make these, in an idea world, bespoke cases that fit with the theme of the book. 

For Man Walks into a Pub, I have the perfect case ready to go, with a special offer for event attendees that’s a bit complicated, but very good. I’ve done a series of cases with Beer52 for a Master Beer Taster qualification. There are four cases in total, covering the classic beer styles associated with four great brewing powerhouses: the UK and Ireland, Germany, Belgium, and the USA. Each case comes with a short book covering the history, beer styles, quirks and trivia of brewing in that country. The UK case makes the perfect accompaniment to Man Walks into a Pub and is available here.

Beer52 would like to support this project but are not set up to give a discount on this case specifically. However, if you buy a ticket for any Book Club event, you’ll be given codes for some great discounts on other Beer52 stuff.

Here’s my provisional schedule for all the events. I’ll update details on this blog post as we go, and also post them on the events page of this website. In case you’re not familiar with my full backlist, the links on the book titles below take you to more information on each of my books.

Man Walks into a Pub – Wednesday 28th April, 7pm. Beers in association with Beer52. Tickets on sale now.

Three Sheets to the Wind – Wednesday 5th May, 7pm. Beers in association with Hop Hideout. Tickets on sale now.

Hops & Glory – Wednesday 12th May, 7pm. Specially curated range of IPAs available from Best of British Beer, available to everyone, but with a discount for ticket holders. Tickets on sale now.

Shakespeare’s Local – Wednesday 19th May, 8pm. (later start tome due to another event.) The story of the George Inn, Southwark. Ticket holders can claim 10% off a specially curated range of London craft beers, put together in association with Best of British Beer. Event tickets on sale now.

World’s Best Cider – Wednesday 26th May, 7pm. With special guest, my co-author and ace cider photographer Bill Bradshaw. We’ve put together a range of ciders to accompany the event with Hop Hideout. Event tickets on sale now.

The Pub – A Cultural Institution – Wednesday 2nd June, 7pm. 250 pubs lovingly reviewed, chiefly in terms of their atmosphere. For this, we’ve put together a range that evoke a typical (but good) pub bar, with Best of British Beer. Tickets on sale now.

The Apple Orchard – Wednesday 9th June, 7pm. My celebration of this overlooks, magical fruit.

Miracle Brew – Wednesday 16th June, 7pm. The natural history astonishing stories behind the four main ingredients of beer. There’s a range of beers put together with Bath Road Beers. Tickets on sale now.

Pie Fidelity – Wednesday 23rd June, 7pm. My exploration of nine different classic British dishes, and why they deserve two be celebrated. Tickets on sale now. Accompanying range of beers put together by Bath Rd Beers, with a 10% discount for ticket-holders.

Craft: An Argument – Wednesday 30th June, 7pm. My lockdown book about why the term ‘craft beer’ is completely undefinable, hopelessly misunderstood, and absolutely essential. Tickets on sale now. Accompanying range of beers put together by Bath Rd Beers, with a 10% discount for ticket-holders.

Beer By Design – Wednesday 6th July, details TBC. My visual celebration of the evolution of and recent revolution in how beer is sold to us on the shelf. Drinks offer still being finalised. Tickets on sale now.

I’ll probably play around with the format, maybe invite guests, and will always intend to have some kind of special offer on a beer or cider tie-up. Hope to see you there!

Have you checked out my Patreon? Among other benefits, all Patrons at £3 or above receive 25% off any tickets I sell via Eventbrite. Subscription starts from just £1. Sign up here.

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