Official Bottling| 50% ABV

An Islay Whisky That Isn’t An Islay Whisky?

Scotch whisky, as a subject, is not an easy thing to understand, and for a newcomer, it’s easy to get overwhelmed with so much information on tap. It’s up to the individual to decide how far they want to dig into it and I guess in a way scotch whisky could be viewed, abstractly, like the cutaway of our planet.  For example, the generally accepted fact is that most of the whisky buying population are the surface dwellers; indiscriminately meandering around, cooing at the nice landscapes and looking at lions through binoculars. Their whisky involvement extends to what’s available, and usually on offer, in the surface-based supermarkets, in order to keep the throat oiled; a shovel is about as far from their conscious thoughts as the concept of smell and taste exploration.

From there, the levels of whisky involvement go downwards through the various densities of historical soil and rock, passing a few fossils along the way and arriving, finally, at the gloopy amber core. I already know a few people at various points on this earthly analogy - right now I’ve probably just entered the Mantle - the big thick bit that makes up most of earth’s substance. Our man Wally would be tickling the arse of the mantle as he approaches the core, for he’s at depth enough to know first names of master distillers and who owns what distillery, when and how. Ask him anything about scotch whisky and he’d no doubt have some historical tidbit about it. Others are deeper still - Dallas would be the molten core, representing the elemental knowledge that, when released unexpectedly, causes towns to evacuate and geeks dressed in tinfoil suits to appear excitedly beside the flowing river, waving cups on sticks, at the chance of grabbing even a small sample of it. 

When I entered this pictorial chart of whisky involvement I was flying in the stratosphere; 40,000ft high and drinking improvised cocktails of tropical magnificence, spending my time reading about niche bitters and wondering if nettles would make a good garnish; lip-sting could be part of the experience. The whiskyland below me was but a cloud-obscured no-go zone, but my flight of ignorance was about to terminate abruptly with a tire squeal and a puff of smoke; I had landed at the sunlit uplands of Dumgoyne. Leaving the bustling arrivals suite, my blinkered eyes were suddenly uncovered, revealing a tantalising vista of smell and taste experience. It wasn’t long until I had a shovel in my hand.

It’s a bit of a task, albeit an enjoyable one, to dig through the layers, because they’re all really quite deep and full of rich nuggets. From the rudiments, like finding out that there’s regions in Scotch whisky and the differences between blends and single malts, you uncover cask types, distilling processes, malt preparations, cask finishes and what all those things actually mean. The deeper you go, the more there is to learn and before you know it, you’re asking questions about what the still shape does to the characteristic of a new-make spirit. As each thud of the spade hits the soil, you are sure in your mind that you’ll soon hit more nuggets, because there’s just so much rich whisky history to discover. For a long time I managed to dig around the peaty layer, because I foolishly thought it would be awful; tearing the fragile grip I finally had on whisky after all these years of wanting to love it. I also thought drinking smoke sounded shite.

So, I was content to burrow around Speyside for a while, then Highlands, down to Campbeltown and island hop from Skye to Mull and over to Arran. Yet that other little island off the west coast of Campbeltown was avoided, because that island was peat with a capital P; Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Ardbeg. All names that made me shiver and quickly dig in the other direction. As far as reputations go, Islay has a magnificent one, being regarded as one of the capitals of Scotch whisky - each year the highly anticipated Fèis Ìle festival kicks off and attendees all have a jolly good time blowing fire out their arses and luxuriating in the mythical prowess of it all. My pal (the Lagavulin 16 lover) positively glows when the words Islay and Festival are uttered. 

I’ve spoken of my journey through the dirty world of peat already, but my investigation into the peaty layer began with a few unexpected twists, the biggest of all being that not every distillery on Islay is just producing peated whisky. In fact, a number of the distilleries offer un-peated whiskies, from Caol Ila to Bunnahabhain, there’s diversity available from all houses. How bloody marvellous, I thought - it’s amazing just how wrong your assumptions can be and how quickly they go from reluctance to reverence. However there’s one place I discovered that are doing things on their own terms, attracting me towards them like flies to the blue-light, and it’s the aquamarine ripper of tradition, Bruichladdich.

Re-emerging from slumber in 2001, the western Islay distillery soon appeared back-lit on the distant clifftop with uber-cool branding and a clear motivation - to produce the very finest Islay whisky in the most transparent, environmentally sensitive way, by being what everyone at the time was not - trailblazers, shirkers of “the way it’s done”, and above all, modern in philosophy. The more I dig, the more I find attractive, relatable and admirable - the distillery mindset might be modern but their equipment is the polar opposite, without any computerisation of any kind. It’s all Victorian era mechanical engineering and expertise handed down through hands-on experience and verbal baton passing. Progressive yet strangely antique, too. They even offer Bruichladdich branded cycling gear on their website! Transparency in Bruichladdich’s whisky is at the forefront of what they do, and typing in a code found on any bottle of Bruichladdich, via the corresponding section of their website, reveals the cask makeup of that particular batch; it’s deep-dive, fascinating stuff. They put environmental awareness high on their agenda and, in this era of eco-awareness, it’s great that you can now opt-out of having the whisky bottle delivered in a metal tin. Small steps, big statements.

The flagship of their core range and the one from which all their branding is based, is the Classic Laddie. Weighing in at a whopping 50% ABV, delivered in a non-chill filtered, naturally coloured and non-age-stated spirit. I naturally gravitate towards the folk who do things on their own terms and I’m a massive fan of those going against grains to deliver surprising results. If they are also focused on their impact on the planet and doing things to minimise their contribution to the issues, so much the better. So, Bruichladdich is very much firmly in my wheelhouse. Surprisingly, the folk who resurrected the distillery in 2001 sold their industry-defying brand to behemoth Remy Cointreau in 2012, after a decade of development for £58million. A lot of whisky folk expected the distillery to fall prey to the typical streamlining, cost-cutting and compromising resulting from a take-over; counter to the spirit of the spirit, in Bruichladdich’s case. However it seems like the drinks giant has kept what the OG crew had manifested, relatively intact. 

Bruichladdich have other offerings available, from travel retail specials to the hugely expensive Dark Arts range or Rare Cask bottlings. However the distillery also offers other “brands” within the Bruichladdich umbrella (also available in their shop, FYI) - Port Charlotte is the peated side of the business and features a number of different expressions in the range, from the respected PS10 through to their MC, OLC and PAC acronymed, uniquely casked alternatives. Octomore is their insanely peated range of whisky, currently the most peaty of all peaty whiskies in the world, and has a sliding scale of peat perspiration to choose from. The slogan is ”Explore or Expire”, which should give you enough insight into the Octomore’s position in the whisky experience - have your wits about you. 

So then, to this flagship mainlining whisky - the Classic Laddie.

Review

Core range. Scottish Barley, 50% ABV
£55, everywhere, plentiful, always.

It’s an interesting choice, for a distillery borne from transparency, to make this bottle completely opaque. A style choice, of that there’s no doubt, but I would have liked to have seen the whisky, because… I like to see whisky. Bruichladdich uses clear bottles for other variants, like their Bere Barley, Islay Barley and travel special Laddie 8, but not this. Instead we are greeted with solid matte aquamarine glass, bold white printing and silvery foils. It’s really smart and I love the colour - it’s my favourite out of all the colours available in the visible spectrum. The whisky, once poured, is bright, white-wine-light and it’s an indication, or rather a statement of intent, of what this whisky is going to taste like. The presentation, as a whole then, feels fresh, bright and modern.

When I was working my way through the bottle I had of the Classic Laddie, it was always a surprise when I poured a dram how light in colour it was. Also surprising was how long the bottle seemed to last, because I couldn’t see how much was left in there. It felt like I was on the last dram forever, and as a result, when the final dribble left the bottle, it was quite the downer. This “mystery of it all” experience is a strange counterpoint to the sentiment of openness permeating through all of Bruichladdich’s stuff, and I do wonder if there’s a way for them to keep the overall aesthetic of the iconic aquamarine painted bottle but also reveal what's inside, to cater to us strangelings. Perhaps only dip half of it - the top half, if we’re choosing, then we could see the colour of the whisky, Bruichladdich could keep that pub-shelf-presence of the vivid blue-green, we could see how much we’ve got left in there and we could marvel at the continued modern excellence of Bruichladdich. If this does happen, by the way, then I’m taking all credit and I’ll have the lifetime's supply of Classic Laddie shipped to my Barbados holiday pad, please and thank you.

Nose

Malted bread. Vanilla sun cream, pencil shavings and a coastal hot-sand note. Bright apples and maybe even a pear lurking. It’s a powerful nosing experience and quite hard to separate out the individual flavour components, but the overall sentiment is that of fresh, sunny bright summer. There’s a little hint of agriculture here too, like the beach is a mile or so from a working farm and you catch that sharp scent on the wind. Or maybe even just a dot of creme fraiche in there - a zingy but creamy component. Quite evocative.

Palate

Fruit salad and caramel, with a malted biscuit underpinning. Bright and apple saucy, the coastal hot air lingers around if you look for it. Pepper and spice from the big ABV is exhilarating, the addition of water opens up the sweetness and soft spices, adding more of a sandy cinnamon bun to the picture. It’s delicious stuff without being overly complex or demanding.

The Dregs

If there ever was a dram to drink in summer, it’s this one. Bright, fresh, youthful, zingy and powerful, it brings all those hot summer vibes to the facehole. 50% is a great ABV to present this at, for it gives you the ability to taper it down, depending on if you want Marbella sizzle or North Berwick mizzle. The viscosity is oily, like that stuff your Mum used to use on holiday to make sure she was evenly fried by the sun, and the spray that’s blasting from the surf brings a tangy, coastal dapple to the whole experience. Sun cream vanilla smells intermingle with coastal hot air; it’s really enjoyable whisky and makes me long for those halcyon days where the only thing I had to worry about was where the ice-cream van was stationed, and how much endurance it would take to get there, trudging through the scorching sand. The fascination of a new world to explore within one usually associated with darkness, the Classic Laddie emits brightness; a vivid beacon within a land of smoke. I think this whisky is really great; it’s not that complex, it sits really nicely in the daily dramming section of summery sipping, and the bottle looks bangin’ on the whisky supershelf. What’s not to love?

Well, you could be forgiven for thinking that this all feels a bit gimmicky. The bottle design echos more of a flavoured vodka vibe than it does whisky, and the irreverent marketing style, now turned eco-serious, is sort of in the same vein as early Brew Dog, without the lawsuits and egotistic behavioural transgressions, obviously. It has a youthful exuberance and it’s difficult not to be swayed by it - we all want to feel (and look) younger, and being part of this “club” of trailblazing spirits is an easy way to achieve it. The Classic Laddie, even by name, has a cheeky chappie “come-on Grandad'' ambiance. “We Make Change. We Make Progress. We Also Make Whisky.” The slogan found on Bruichladdich’s slickly presented website is a call to arms for the eco-conscious amongst us. Yes whisky is important, but changing the trajectory of an industry entrenched in the old-ways is much more salient. I’m already aboard the sustainable lifestyle train and it resonates with the mindset of the current generation of globally-mindful people. Noble pursuit or no, it’s undeniably a hard task to beat the sustainability drum without alienation, especially in an industry that’s borne of auld dudders complaining of a world gone mad. It’s very easy to poo-poo Bruichladdich’s approach, B-Corp Certification be damned, and shout into a depleting pint of beer that they should “just stick to making whisky” or pick holes in their approach. Fuck that. Progress, not perfection.

Whisky might be an old-man’s legacy, but it’s a young-person world now and Bruichladdich, with their slickly edited videos, fluorescent branding and bold typefaced advertising campaigns, are sticking their neck above the parapet and forcing people to address the most pressing matters of our lifetime. It might be bold and brash, and it might estrange those of a more insecure disposition. It might not be the “quietly doing things properly” approach, like most new distilleries such as Raasay, Nc’Nean, Ardnamurchan or even older places like Arran are executing. But in a world of over-saturated marketing bumpf, you really need someone out there, leading the charge whilst others quietly follow up the rear. You need someone beating that drum, shouting across no-mans-land at all the reluctants: there’s a motivated army of new-age thinker-drinkers coming for you, and we’re all wearing turquoise mankinis, so you’d better lay down your arms and surrender or face the consequences. Or better still, accept that the direction of whisky is changing, take the bloody mankini and fall into rank. If Bruichladdich is the poster child for the era of sustainable whisky, I’m all for it - aye the Classic Laddie isn’t a whisky to analyse and ponder, but it’s a quality smell and taste experience with big motivation behind it. The only question for me now is, would a medium mankini do, or should I go smaller?

Score: 6/10

Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. DC

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