Sam Calagione, the founder of Dogfish Head Craft Brewery, is passionate about beer — and music. In the section titled “Rhythm” in his book Brewing Up a Business: Adventures In Beer, he writes, “I have always loved music — I remember waving my magic Wiffle ball bat and chanting hexes on my parents’ radio in an effort to get it to spit forth Laura Branigan’s ‘Gloria’ . . . As I got older my tastes developed, diversified, and intensified, but my love of music goes back to my earliest childhood memories.”
In 2010, Sam combined his love of beer and music with Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew, an imperial stout [which is now a recurring release] commemorating the 40th anniversary of the trumpeter’s milestone disc. Hellhound On My Ale [an imperial IPA] followed in 2011, marking the 100th birthday of storied bluesman Robert Johnson. Dogfish’s Music Series has also spawned a series of one-time [for now] offerings: Faithfull [2011], a Belgian Golden Ale, in honor of the 20th anniversary of Pearl Jam’s Ten; Positive Contact [2012], an herb/spice beer, with Dan the Automator; and American Beauty [an imperial pale ale], a 2013 partnership with the Grateful Dead. [A few other hook-ups: in 2013, Bonnie “Prince” Billy recorded a two-song limited edition disc for the release of Sixty-One, an IPA brewed with Syrah grape must; and in June, Dogfish celebrated the completion of their brewery expansion with Rosabi, an imperial pale ale brewed with wasabi done in collaboration with musician Julianna Barwick. And the label of 75 Minute IPA has an illustration by Jon Langford of the Mekons of Johnny Cash — aka Johnny Cask, who sports a Groucho Marx disguise due to legal reasons.]
The newest entry in the Music Series is Beer Thousand, a tribute to the 20th anniversary of Guided By Voices’ Bee Thousand. It’s perhaps the most fitting release to date, since the idiosyncratic [and prolific] indie-rock band is renowned for pounding a prodigious amount of brew onstage. Dogfish founder Sam told Esquire.com, “When I was writing the business plan for Dogfish in 1994, I listened to [Bee Thousand] a lot, and in 1995 when we opened it was in heavy rotation in the brewery. To me it’s a great sort of underdog, classic record, and has this sound like what I wanted our beers to taste like. Sort of rustic, unrefined, but amplified and memorable.”
Beer Thousand is an imperial lager, made with 10 grains, 10 hops, and weighs in at a hefty 10% ABV [10x10x10 = Beer Thousand]. When Esquire asked high-kicking frontman/songwriter Robert Pollard about his vision for the collaboration, he said, “I have little experience with brewing. I have great experience with drinking. It should be light, crisp with high drinkability for many, many hours.” We think Bob might be sticking with the lighter brands that he cites in the interview [though he does say that “I really like” it]. Beer Thousand is much fruitier and complex than a typical lager [there’s even a slight burn on the finish] — which is no surprise, given the overload of ingredients, staying true to Dogfish’s usual MO [their motto is “off-centered ales for off-centered people”] — and it doesn’t invite the quick consumption that GBV usually engaged in.
Beer Thousand might also serve as a farewell tribute to GBV, since they announced their breakup on October 25 [though they may be back; they called it “quits” in 2004 and reunited in 2010]. The four-packs [$11 or so] are in stores now; there are about 330 in the state. Dogfish also issued 1000 cases of six 750ml bottles which include a 10-inch vinyl disc — with 10 songs, natch — of a 1994 GBV show. We don’t know if any of those are in our market; ask your very best friend at the very best beer stores about availability.
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To further celebrate the splendor of the band and the record that inspired the Dogfishers, we asked Paige Van Antwerp, our bestest GBV enthusiast, to wax rhapsodic about ’em [and go to Spotify to listen to the disc]:
Guided by Voices were guys with day jobs. They had no time to be virtuosic and they didn’t have the gear to be slick. But their beloved Bee Thousand isn’t an important album because it rises above its limitations. It is transcendent because it embraces them.
Melancholy and joyous, psychedelic and desperately down-to-earth, Bee Thousand was the record that finally got GBV out of a basement in Dayton, Ohio, and brought their stubborn vision to the wider world. A gathering of years of material gleaned from the restless, relentless songwriting brain of Robert Pollard, it stripped down power pop history like it was a Rust Belt relic and recast it into a jagged manifesto.
Because all those sharp edges — both sonic and lyric — made for a raw honesty that is, after all, rock music’s most important asset. Funny, how often we forget.
That was the crux of this record’s fractured wisdom — the music and especially those words upended everything that was expected. Songs aren’t supposed to end like someone pulled the plug less than a minute in. Guitar tracks aren’t supposed to disappear on the way to the big build-up. And for god’s sake, who names a song “Kicker of Elves”?
At the outset it all seems careless and obtuse. But Pollard’s voice could scale mountains with the ease of a satyr; his words were ineffable, but they made perfect sense — like all good (dare we say it) poetry.
With the obstinate, jaw-jutting pride of the underdogs they were, GBV ignored all the things that paved the way to rock stardom, and kept all the things that mattered. Bee Thousand helped rock find its heart again . . . and shit yeah, it’s cool.
Bottles & Cans & Just Clap Your Hands 