I spent the early parts of my day toiling around the garden, pruning my plants, and cutting far too many leaves off of my bonsai. (If anyone knows anything about plants, please send help. All is ok right now, but I suspect that my attempt at green-thumb-ery will result in all my plants, spontaneously and collectively combusting.) Nonetheless, I found myself sitting on my couch, the faint murmur of my girlfriend chatting away in an online meeting, and a clingy spaniel stomping circles into my groin. Mind you, he was getting particularly frustrated with my “oohs” and “aahs” until he found a comfy spot to rest his weary head. Once I had been treated to that assault, and he was happily snoring on my left thigh, I picked up my phone to catch up on some articles and reviews I had sent myself for a moment just like this.
I started off with a chapter synopsis of a Nabokov classic: An invitation to a beheading. The chapter proved too dense for me to swallow the night before but was quickly clarified in the light of day. Naturally, I have been contributing to my own cognitive fatigue in trying to truly understand the crime of gnostical turpetude. After that, there was my regular onslaught of car, watch, and lifestyle op eds. All filled with brightly coloured copy, painting review spaces with language that entertained with both positive and negative reviews. Then came the wine reviews; and in a seemingly triumphant moment for South African wine, not a single wine I read about was receiving a negative review. I thought: “That's a testament to how good South African wine is”. But I also know that I don’t find all local wine to be great, and personal preference aside, not all local wine is made well, which is the greater talking point.
So why, as wine writers, do we not inform consumers why we think certain wines are “bad”? Everyone is a critic, and around a dinner table, even the most lacking of criticism is fleshed out into an hour long lecture about cellar hygiene, the horse-manure-y tang of Brettanomyces, and the importance of sulphuring wines and modest oak usage. But it seems that in written media, the hat worn by most wine writers resembles the blonde pigtails of a high school musical cheerleader rather than the crowning spectacles of a hardened critic. All review is positive, and “bad” wines simply don’t get the air time.
Spit it out!
I spoke in my previous piece Why we should be thinking about wine differently about how I insist on tasting “bad” wine. Because avoiding “bad” wine leaves us ignorant as to what is “bad” in “bad” wine. As someone in a privileged position in this industry, I have access to a lot of wine from all sorts of producers, so my curiosity is always satiated. As a consumer, it is difficult to outlay your hard earned Madiba’s on a potentially bad bottle for the sake of educating your palate, instead of a bottle that received a high score from a wine critic that you know will be neck-able at the very least.
And this I understand; Why take the risk? This point, I think, reinforces the need for negative review in the South African landscape. Not to discredit brands, nor cripple businesses (which it shouldn’t), but to give perspective. Better yet, maybe there is space for wine critics to produce commentary on other wine critics. A sort of check and balance of opinion. Yes Tim Atkin rated this 95 points, but I would argue otherwise, and this is why. Would that be so difficult? Would it be too controversial to disagree? I certainly hope not!
I think the main problem with the South African wine industry is how canabilstic it can be. It is too small and tightly woven to have any negativity publicised. I can only speak for Johannesburg, but sometimes it feels like the high school debate team could crumble any social standing in this industry through one bad review. I have personally heard more gossip than I’ve learnt about wine, and that is such a shame. From alleged bad business practices, to personal scandal, the sewing circle has it all. Ironically enough though, a negative wine review is still a faux pas. And why is that? Do I risk my seat at the next premium tasting because I didn’t like a lifestyle Sauvignon Blanc? Are winemakers and brand owners that precious? We all know taste is subjective, and we all know that mass produced wine will never meet the quality of a prized vineyard’s cuvee, but do consumers know why? Is knowing why, not integral in justifying the extreme price hikes between lifestyle ranges and super-premium single vineyard wines?
Am I just bored with writing positive reviews?
Maybe I am…
Yes, perhaps my gripe with positive reviews is because after hundreds of wine reviews posted, I have run out good ways to say “I like this wine”. However, “good wine” is often judged on a pretty rigid rubric. Balance, length, intensity and complexity. So once these criteria have been satisfied, there is nothing much left to say. Meeting the criteria doesn’t necessarily mean it meets subjective drinkability standards, it simply just means the wine can be considered objectively good. Whether I’d wax lyrical about how it tickles my bits is dependent on the I don’t know what (in a French accent) that makes a wine special to me.
I’ve toyed with the idea of “negative" reviews on good wines, and the idea was always to give balanced opinion: An appreciation of grapes, sites, winemaking practices, but also, a fair reason why the wine wont make it to my dinner table. Now, I have not done this, because I too enjoy being invited to super premium tastings, and that my 9 to 5 requires me to not unnecessarily upset producers with public lambastings of their wines. But if I was trying to be taken seriously as a critic, or even just an influencer, should negative review be a part of what I contribute to the industry?
I do believe that wine writers seeking credibility should have the grapes to express the preference of their palates. If every wine review published compares the given wine to the nectar of the gods, then praise from a critic loses its value. And maybe wine writing has a curious relationship with criticism because as soon as a wine writer says something like “this wine is rather unpleasant”, the conversation gets uncomfortable. All of a Sunday, the conversation moves from quality of the wines, to peoples livelihoods and commercial interests and the notion that we aren’t allowed to turn our noses up to anything someone has spent years producing.
I must stress that Independence is worth protecting, but wine writers are largely dependent on the favour of producers to have access to samples and tastings. So taking a controversial stance and potentially upsetting a wine maker might limit ones access to the product itself. This eventuality is detrimental to independent opinion as the review space moves from subjective wine criticism to carefully curated PR. But what is wrong with saying that the emperor is wearing a slightly overbearing oak barrel?
Has subjectivity been ruled out in our industry?
You hear it time and time again; “taste is subjective”. A wine I find jammy and flabby might be someone's favourite fridge filler for a juicy night in, so a personal preference should never be a universal standard. Having said this, the statements “I don’t like this” and “this is badly made”, have a very different flavours to them. And maybe this is where the distinction needs to be made.
What we don’t want, is for negative review from big publications to ruin small businesses. A writers review on a boutique brand can have far reaching consequence beyond the tasting room, and project an unfair picture of what a winery is all about. Opinion should never turn to public execution, but constructive criticism could benefit small brands in finding their feet in this small yet hugely competitive industry. Ideally, as wine writers, we don’t want to discourage experimentation in winemaking, as it is a beautiful privilege bestowed on the South African wine industry. But it would be beneficial for producers to know when it hasn’t worked.
Maybe the issue with independent writing/critique extends beyond the wine industry. Personally, I have lamented the proverbial participation-prize culture that society has fallen into, and smaller barriers to entry (in any industry), whilst encouraging a space for new ideas, has not necessarily brought more good wine onto our shelves. Sure, whilst allowing all ideas to be entered into a market might breed more opportunities for success, without proper criticism, we leave the door open to the lukewarm pong of mediocrity. And maybe the question critics need to ask themselves is whether their writing is aimed at improving an industry, or maintaining personal relationships.
The wine is not the problem. The lack of opinion is.
I am not a wine critic. I don’t have the experience, education, nor the industry clout of a Fridjhon or an Atkin to qualify my critique. But as an independent writer, my opinion should not be governed by PR initiatives. And as a reader, I shouldn’t be starved of honest opinion either. Where do we draw the line between public flogging and constructive criticism will always be judged by the scorched nerve of public opinion. Anyone who produces anything is subject to that jury. From winemakers to writers, to sommeliers. Our talents, services, and products will always be on display and vulnerable to consumer judgment. Would it not be valuable, as “educated palates”, to provide our colleagues in this industry with useful critique?
And in the same breath, educate the consumer base on why their Bandol sometimes smells like a day old bandage stuck to the bottom of a dogs foot. I'm not suggesting we write negatively for the sake of negativity. We don’t have to describe wine as simply “undrinkable”. We can distinguish between personal style preferences and technical faults. We can consider price versus the value we’re getting in the bottle. I’m saying we can give the producers and consumers the benefit of fair assessment, instead of automatic applause. Perhaps I’m not asking whether or not wine writers should write negative reviews, but whether our opinions can honestly be independent, when negative reviews are seen as professional betrayal. Or was Nabokov correct? Are our opinions being sentenced to death for the crime of simply existing?