The guy next to me kept screaming “White Rabbit!” at the top of his lungs for the better part of two hours. It was a Jefferson Airplane concert in 1971 and the band, despite a change of personnel could not escape their hits. No matter how well they played that guy would only be happy if they played White Rabbit.

Last week, while attending a performance of the Dave Brubeck Quartet, a true jazz legend and creator of West Coast Jazz, the guy in front of me screamed “Take Five!”. It seems no matter how many decades pass that fans are more interested in hearing your hits instead of your music. In Brubeck’s case he has progressed far beyond his Take Five days and created am amazingly diverse body of work. Yet, even with all he’s done since Take Five was recorded in 1959 I’m willing to bet that the majority of concert goers were there to hear Take Five, which is probably the only jazz composition most could name from memory. Of course, I’m sure few of them knew that the piece they were screaming to hear was not written by Brubeck, but by the late, great Paul Desmond, who played saxophone for The Dave Brubeck Quartet when they recorded Take Five.

Winemakers face the a similar dilemma. Once you get a big score, your big hit, you can feel locked into that style. It takes great courage to evolve your style in a way you believe in instead of just playing the same old hit over and over again. What most consumers don’t understand is that a winemaker can be relatively unhappy with a wine even though it gets a high score. As difficult as it is to believe, behind closed doors winemakers are often amazed at a high score they’ve received. What happens if you get a 93 from Robert Parker on a wine you’re not particularly pleased with? Do you keep making that wine or follow your own vision?

Brubeck seems to have resolved this dilemma perfectly as when he did finally play Take Five for the crowd, it was not the Take Five of 1959, but a piece that reflected the talents of the current Dave Brubeck Quartet. While it started with the famous chords and catchy quintuple time, it soon evolved, in the great tradition of jazz, into a distinctive exciting performance with a personality all its own.

Great winemaking should take its cue from the improvisational spirit of jazz as each vintage is a singular performance that deserves its own riffs.

Technorati Tags: wine, jazz, Brubeck, Take Five

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I would like to thank Earl, who posted comments and the following question on my recent Tempranillo in the Americas post: ?Why was there such a long interval between introduction of the vine into Argentina and exportation of varietal labeled wine??

Here are some important factors to consider:

It?s important to recognize the fact that culturally, there is a stark contrast between the way in which wine has been regarded in Argentina versus our very international, varietal-minded, label-aware atmosphere where getting to know the world?s wines is something many people have expressed interest in doing. Fine wine production for the gentry, in terms of seeing wine as a prestige cultural/material good simply wasn?t priority for Argentines until fairly recently. While it is true that many progressive vintners have been dabbling in exciting varieties in the past few decades (after the familiar 19^th century French varieties arrived), the very first vines in the 16th century were planted by monks and priests near their newly built monasteries and church compounds in order to provide wine for masses and other celebrations. In some of the official correspondence that Spanish monks had to regularly exchange with royal authorities in the 1550?s to justify expenditures and building projects, the planting of vines was mentioned briefly and only in passing?the degree of pomp we would show in describing how we installed a light bulb today. Certainly, my modern concerns would be: Which varieties were planted? Surely this mattered to the priests, right? Not really, since in the letters they mention the generic Latin term for all wine-producing grape varieties, ?vitis vinifera.?

Records of colonial correspondence available at the Archivo General de Indias (Seville) indicate that a certain priest named Juan Cedrón (late 1550?s) first wrote of planting various types of Spanish vitis vitifera needed to carry on with life in the Argentine Northwest. The correspondence indicates that Cedrón was in charge of settling to the south of Santiago del Estero, Spanish settlers? first outpost after leaving their stronghold at Cuzco. As settlers made their way in a southwesterly direction, they encountered the dry, elevated Andean foothills of today?s provinces, the first of which is interestingly named La Rioja, then San Juan, and then Mendoza.

In terms of answering the above question about which varieties were planted, there are some interesting parallels we can draw between Northern and Southern hemisphere Spanish colonization patterns and viticultural practices. Since Valdepeñas from La Mancha was considered to be one of the finest expressions of Tempranillo by 16^th century Spaniards, this is precisely the name used in correspondence to introduce the variety into Nuevo León (México) and the area that encompasses California and parts of the American southwest. In the 16^th century, Spaniards didn?t refer to prestige wines by variety but as Italians did at the time, according to their region or commune of origin. On a whole and as is evidenced in classics such as Don Quixote (1605), Spaniards enjoyed drinking ?Valdepeñas? and not ?a really nice Tempranillo,? as we would say in the U.S. today.

If we take these considerations into account, it is a very well-sustained assumption that Tempranillo made its way across the Americas alongside Spanish settlers given that it was the red variety of choice. Other varieties planted for other styles of wines (acidic and sweet whites, etc.) in colonial times were Criolla Chica (also known as Criolla Sanjuanina) , Pedro Ximénez, Cereza, Muscat, Ugni Blanc (Trebbiano) and ?mónica? as it was known in Sardinia, Sicily and Spain (the famous ?Mission? grape introduced by Spanish Jesuits in 16^th century California).

Tempranillo (then referred to as ?Valdepeñas?), alongside the abovementioned varieties was cultivated at the Andean foothills for home consumption since the 16^th century. Much trial and error ensued, and areas with relatively higher elevation and dry weather (La Rioja, San Juan, Mendoza) and select areas in Mexico (including present-day California) became prime for producing these wines for settlers? purposes.

Here are a couple of additional ideas to support the hypothesis that Tempranillo was one of the original vines planted in the Americas. Ethnographically speaking, a great deal of Spanish settlers in the early conquest of the Americas included an overwhelmingly large number of natives of the following Spanish regions where Tempranillo was the most important red variety?the provinces encompassing Castille and La Mancha such as Avila, Ciudad Real, Albacete, Badajoz, Guadalajara, Cuenca, Toledo, Salamanca and Madrid. It?s also important to keep in mind that in terms of actual planting area, Tempranillo vines are of relatively low incidence on a worldwide scale, with Argentina being second only after Spain, of course.

Earl, I?m afraid that your question still hasn?t been fully answered: Why is it that Tempranillo has been around in Argentina since the 16^th century yet the world hasn?t seen any exports of ?fine wine? versions until the early 1990?s?

Wine globalization and the consumer trends that underlie it have shown the potential to create some sink-or-swim imperatives for wine producers to expand production of different varieties and innovate in the vineyard. In fact, given many recent trends, it is likely that this projected consumer has developed tastes and accumulated enough disposable income to not want to consume the kinds of table wines that Argentines don?t mind. How does the Argentine producer see this consumer, who needs an ?international? style of their table wines? Well, the customer is someone who most likely lives abroad, and because he does not likely come from a culture were wine is a major part of his cultural identity, he is perhaps well educated and would like to learn more about wines and adopt other interests that can be considered, pardon the term, a bit bourgeois. While I don?t entirely see it the way Argentines see it because I grew up between both cultures and thus, can see each point of view, this is more or less the situation.

To answer your question, let?s think of timing and marketing. Who do many Argentine and Chilean producers wish to please? Why do the ?Wines of Argentina Awards? even exist? Spanish wines in the U.S. market at least, have really become fashionable in the past four or five years. Americans have been very receptive to various styles of Tempranillo-based Spanish reds and South American producers have realized that for the first time, the North American market is genuinely thirsty for different expressions of Tempranillo (this relic left by Spanish settlers, as far as Argentines are concerned).

What do I make of this all? The ambiguity created by the correspondence of priests such as Juan Cedrón in the 1550?s regarding vitis vinifera has unfortunately opened the gates to opportunists. One such example of opportunism can easily be seen by an article I came across in a major Spanish daily?s wine section (El Mundo Vino). In the article titled ?Argentine Wine is Not Only Malbec,? by Harold Heckle, Juan Carlos Rodriguez Villa of the venerable Finca Flichman in Barrancas (Mendoza), claims that Tempranillo vines are a relatively new phenomenon in Argentina and that it was precisely his grandfather who visited Spain and subsequently introduced the variety to the Argentine wine industry in 1940. Although the Familia Zuccardi website does not make claims this sensational, they still care very much that today?s North American grape-variety-hopping, cosmopolitan Gen. Y-wine consumer regard them as pioneers in the Argentine industry when it comes to traditionally European varieties that exclude the Bordeaux and northern Italian varieties that pan-European immigration brought to Argentina, Chile and Uruguay in the 19^th and early 20^th centuries.

And so, I walk down the aisles of many American retailers and see bottles of Argentine Tempranillo from producers I?ve never heard of, from the conventional Mendoza winery all the way through La Rioja, San Juan and down into Neuquén and even a general Patagonia appellation. The same question comes the mind for a native Argentine like myself?under which rock have all of these wines/producers been and why are they suddenly available now on shelves dominated by oaked Catena Chardonnays and endless rows of Malbec? Makes one think?

I have always loved the packaging on Xanadu wines. That ambiguous golden dragon that looks like a knarly old vine really appeals to me. This is a blend of 73% Margaret River and 27% Frankland River shiraz. Dragon is a recent addition to the Xanadu range. It sits above the Secession and below the Estate in the portfolio.

Aromas of crushed boysenberry, cherry jam, spice, meat, pepper and toasty vanilla oak. On the palate medium bodied with fresh fruits of the forest, pepper, spice and meaty toasty oak. Dry quite assertive tannins and very fresh acidity. Good flavours but suffers from some hardness.