The Year of Jazz & Wine: 1959

BY NEAL MARTIN | NOVEMBER 17, 2020

Never liked jazz. Does little for my eardrums. I’m Emily Stone in La La Land before Ryan Gosling corrupted her musical taste. Don’t get me wrong - I appreciate the technical wizardry. Its contribution to contemporary music cannot be overstated. The cover artwork and typography is timeless. Jazz musicians themselves, their backstories, the way they dressed, the way they lived, how they broke racial barriers – path-breakers cooler the cool.

Despite all this I am unable to form an emotional bond with the music.

It sounds like a blizzard of random notes ricocheting around mathematically impossible time signatures and dissonant key changes designed to appease goatee-stroking jazz-nerds and alienate everyone else. Where’s the melody? The aleatoric nature of jazz, zigzagging like a fly trapped in a jar, keeps me at arms length. I completely understand why others are fanatical, obsessive about this musical form, but I must accept that just like single malt whiskey and golf, jazz ain’t for me.

Yet, I know enough that the watershed year for jazz is 1959. Those 12 months witnessed not only the release of an album that even this jazz heretic owns, Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, but also Shape of Jazz To Come by Ornette Coleman, Moanin’ by Art Blakey and Time Out by the Dave Brubeck Quartet, whilst Coltrane was busy recording the monumental Giant Steps. At this pre-Beatles juncture, when rock ‘n roll was dismissed as a fad, it must have seemed like jazz would dominate the mainstream for decades.

Nineteen fifty-nine was also fecund in terms of wine, not just in terms of the intrinsic and hedonic quality itself, but how the vintage was a pivotal stepping-stone between prescientific and modern winemaking. For the first time since the 1920s, winemakers were blessed with a crop that combined quality and quantity. The latter was a Godsend and perfectly timed. The Great Depression, Second World War and post-war austerity had eviscerated markets in turn, so that even the most illustrious deep-pocketed estates barely turned a profit by the late 1950s and this consequently stymied investment and progress. You might argue that the class of 1961 marked a more significant turning point, at least in Bordeaux, yet those revered wines came about after a late spring frost diminished yields. So, whilst their quality is undeniable, it was less beneficial to bank balances. It was not until 1982 that the magical combination of quality and quantity was enjoyed in tandem once again.

When was the last time you read a report on the 1959 vintage? I see 1961 occasionally covered, albeit with increasing infrequency, but rarely its slightly older sibling. This is partly because even the grandest cellar-worthy wines were approachable in their youth. Thirsty and inquisitive oenophiles could not resist temptation, especially when the 1961s were born tannic and less malleable. Therefore, treasure this piece because apart from this constellation of bottles being unrepeatable, they corroborate 1959s legendary status, not only for classic French wine regions, but elsewhere. 

The tasting notes are a blend from two dinners at the tail end of last year. Given the parlous state of the world, deprived our natural urge to gather and socialize, reflecting on these soirées feels like warming cold hands on a log fire. The first was an annual dinner in Burgundy, guests from both sides of the Atlantic, a follow-up to the previous year’s 1958-themed dinner at L’Hôtel de Beaune. The second was held in Bordeaux to mark a friend’s significant birthday. As expected, the lion’s share of bottles originate from those regions, but the vinous representations from the Mosel, Loire, Ribera del Duero and Southern Rhône enhanced both occasions, pertinent reminders that quality was passim. 

This article does not run into dozens of tasting notes. However inter alia it does contain all five present-day First Growths (note my careful wording before raising your hand about Mouton-Rothschild), a trio from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, two bottles directly from the cellar of Egon Müller, plus a three-way comparison of consanguineous Pessac-Léognans. Provenance of a majority of the bottles should be noted since most Clarets were ex-château and many of the Burgundy wines either came from the Domaine or meticulously maintained cellars. Eagle-eyed readers will spy one of two 1969s instead of 1959s, simply because those respective Domaines have nary a ’59 left in their cellars. 

The Growing Season