Happy Friday!

Hope your week went well, but that you're still happy to reach the end of it!

I'm getting ready to go into the studio next week, which doesn't mean I'm not still having fun, as you'll read (I am making an EP of songs about wine, after all...)

Juice

I once heard that charisma is the co-existence of two opposing traits in one person. I'm not sure about people, but I do know my favorite wines (and music) always have contradictions and oppositions that challenge and complement one another, which make them irresistible.

In France’s Southwest, Jurançon is known for it’s sweet wines — but it’s the dry ones that have my heart. I’ve never met one I didn’t like, and usually end up looking at real estate listings in the area -- people move for love, don't they?

Anyway, Domaine Coustarret’s “Renaissance” Jurançon Sec 2020 has charisma to spare: the lushly fruited palate of kiwi, kumquat, apricot and lime is at once generous and restrained; subtle almond cookie and nougat notes give way to a mouthwatering salinity. I’m in the tropics and eating saltwater taffy in Cape Cod all at the same time.

Petit Manseng is the dominant grape here, and can offer some of this intrigue in other areas of the world. But if you can, take a walk on the drier side of Jurançon; I’d hazard to say any producer. Take a sip, pull up google maps: and let me know if you find any cute places.;)

Jazz

During Jazz at Lincoln Center’s last set of concerts featuring the music of Duke Ellington, it was remarked that there was once a debate as to whether jazz should be ‘hot’ (more rhythmic, improvisatory and rooted in the New Orleans tradition) or ‘sweet’ (melodic, society-styled music that was easy on the dance floor and the ears.)

The answer to this debate was found in Duke’s music — when faced with what seemed like a decision to make between the two, he chose both.

“Black and Tan Fantasy” is an Ellingtonian essential, and this recording from the Jazz at Lincoln Center’s “Live in Swing City: Swingin’ with the Duke” (1999) embodies the contrasts of the composition sublimely.

Listen for the New Orleans funereal intro giving way to that unforgettable melody; Ted Nash’s honeyed first solo and Wynton’s last one, which feels like someone came in and flipped over the white-clothed table so we could all get down.