I am not free to attend SXSW but listening to this helps a lot. A lot. Cheers!
AMAZING. The Punch Brothers play Rye Whiskey live at the Paste Magazine/Sennheiser party at SXSW 2012. These guys are the best musicians at their respective instruments and they are so fun to watch. Be jealous Hannah, be jealous.
I’ll have a bowl.
(Source: tsunderrorist)
Whiskey, You’re the Devil - Trad.
Whiskey, you’re the devil, you’re leadin’ me astray
Over hills and mountains and to Americae
You’re sweeter, stronger, decenter, you’re spunkier than tae
O whiskey, you’re my darlin’ drunk or sober
Oh, now, brave boys, we’re on the march and off to Portugal and Spain
The drums are beating, banners flying, the devil ahome will come tonight
Love, fare thee well, with me tithery eye the doodelum the da
Me tithery eye the doodelum the da, Me rikes fall tour a laddie oh
There’s whiskey in the jar. Hey!
Whiskey, you’re the devil, you’re leadin’ me astray
Over hills and mountains and to Americae
You’re sweeter, stronger, decenter, you’re spunkier than tae
O whiskey, you’re my darlin’ drunk or sober
Said the mother: “Do not wrong me, don’t take my daughter from me
For if you do I will torment you, and after death a ghost will haunt you
Love, fare thee well, with me tithery eye the doodelum the da
Me tithery eye the doodelum the da, Me rikes fall tour a laddie oh
There’s whiskey in the jar. Hey!
Whiskey, you’re the devil, you’re leadin’ me astray
Over hills and mountains and to Americae
You’re sweeter, stronger, decenter, you’re spunkier than tae
O whiskey, you’re my darlin’ drunk or sober
The French are fighting boldly, men dying hot and coldly
Gives ev’ry man his flask of powder, his farlock on his shoulder
Love, fare thee well, with me tithery eye the doodelum the da
Me tithery eye the doodelum the da, Me rikes fall tour a laddie oh
There’s whiskey in the jar. Hey!
Whiskey, you’re the devil, you’re leadin’ me astray
Over hills and mountains and to Americae
You’re sweeter, stronger, decenter, you’re spunkier than tae
O whiskey, you’re my darlin’ drunk or sober
(Source: whateverthegoodlife, via bluebloodandbourbon)
Well I am in the business of reblogging art. That’s art.
Cornelius Pass French Alambic Charentais pot still.
American Drink: Taste with your brain, not with your pen.
Overpriced barware and flavored vodkas aside, there aren’t many drinking topics I find more off-putting than the far-flung and flowery language of tasting.
Whether it’s Bourbon or Bordeaux, nothing turns my curiosity into contempt like having to trudge through some gasbag’s highbrow appraisal of a spirit’s “initially buttery palate, transitioning into a smooth, fresh body of crisp hazelnut wafer, kissed with Oolong and wild lavender.” Hey, Robert Frost. You gonna drink that thing or fuck it?
And what do you play on the other day of the week? :D
I always listen to this song when I am thinking it will be a whiskey night.
(Source: scattered-polaroids)
Regrets? Nah. Well, maybe.
A CD-release party/fundraiser. Lots of whiskey and beer. Should have been more beer. Ah well. The noise of the band drowned out the chatter and small-talk, which was forced. People leaning in close to yell in my ear. I can’t pick out the voices from the music. I think there was a tongue that actually touched my ear. Can’t be sure.
And there was drunken dancing. If I have to regret anything, I guess that would be it. That’s never a pretty sight. But I was grabbed and whirled and not allowed to retreat. I eventually escaped.
The hammer-head. A greasy breakfast dispels some of it. Closing the eyes brings on a rush of disorientation. This too shall pass. This too shall pass.
—
Moonshiner by Uncle Tupelo
This is a traditional song. This is Kentucky. This is Ireland. This is anywhere that anyone has ever made their own to make their life more bearable. There is lament in here. There is angst and misery and misogyny (just a little). I can’t put myself in those shoes. I just listen. And drink a little more. There is hope though, you know. Listen for it. It’s there.
The whole world is a bottle
And life is but a dram
When the bottle gets empty
Lord, it sure ain’t worth a damn
(Source: chickpeas)