Spring 2013
Wine Review
Wine Review
By Callum Darvitch, Music Correspondent
13 March, 2013
13 March, 2013
With the August release of "A Kipper in the Alley: The Legendary Tale of the Little Blue Men" lazily approaching, and being an enormous LBM fan, I took it upon myself to request the expense funds from my editor-in-chief to travel across the pond for an exclusive interview with the production.
"Absolutely not," he replied.
The "Kipper" production had temporarily shifted its base of operations to a state called Michigan for some reason, and I finally convinced the Chief to pay for me to head that way on the strict condition that I review the famous Western Michigan vineyards. What follows is a fascinating look at a seemingly cursed film production, the turbulent relationship between its star and director, and the subtle-yet-vibrant finish of the 2007 St. Julian Pinot Noir.
I landed at Kalamazoo Airport and was warmly greeted by both Production Assistant, Chelsea Bottombrush, and the soft scent of Catawba vines. Ms. Bottombrush explained that "Kipper" was moving along as smoothly as a chilled Peterson & Sons White Zinfendel. I asked about the rumours of discord between the Little Blue Men and the filmmakers who were trying to tell their story. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but everyone's been getting on fine," she said. "It's like we're a big, loving family here. It's lovely."
We pulled up on set to find Burt MacInnis throwing a chair at the film's director, flikk.
"Sod off, you wanker!" shouted MacInnis, and I could tell he really needed to unwind a bit with a nice glass of Tabor Hill's 2011 Merlot. By all accounts, including my own, flikk and MacInnis look strikingly alike. But I found out quickly that one mustn't mention this to the musician.
"He's a twat," MacInnis informed me. "Do I look like a twat to you?"
I assured him that he did not, and that, standing there in his tight-fitting "Harry & the Hendersons" t-shirt, the guitarist looked as robust as Lawton Ridge's latest Cabernet offering.
Turning my attention to the director, I asked why he had decided to shoot on-location in Western Michigan.
"Well, to save money, frankly," he told me. "Our budget is very small, so we're trying to cut corners wherever we can. Narge (Silvers, LBM founder and frontman) and Burt let us know that they were going to be playing a gig in Grand Rapids, so we figured we could get some pick-ups here while they were Stateside, instead of having to fly the whole production back to England. Plus, have you ever checked out the Kalamazoo Air Zoo? It's a killer museum!"
"No, I haven't," I replied. "Have you ever checked out the black-skin hybrid Chambourcin grapes?" Looking very confused, flikk started to walk away, but I rushed after him, wanting to learn more about the production.
"We're about halfway done," he told me. "Actually, that's a trick my dad always taught me to get a boss off your back about a project. Tell 'em it's halfway done. It means nothing and it makes it seem like you've been busy. Which we have been, I guess. But it feels like we're never going to finish this damn thing. I hate to sound like an ass, but Burt's horrible car wreck was the best thing that could've happened to this production -- it bought us a little more time."
The director, whose humour is as dry as Robinette Cellars' 2006 Chardonnay, was crassly referring to MacInnis' near-fatal automobile accident on Germany's Autobahn last summer. The guitarist has worked so closely with the filmmakers on the "Kipper" project, that the production was forced on hiatus as he recuperated. And now that work has picked up again, it is clear that this closeness has turned into tension.
"It's just that... He just doesn't know what the shite he's doing," MacInnis said of flikk. "On anything. He's pretty much worthless. A chimpanzee could direct our life story and it would turn out amazing. That's just how great a band we've been. But this bloody idiot is finding every way he can to muck it all up, love. Did I tell you he LOST the ONLY copy of the film at one point?! I mean, Sweet Jesus!
"But it's not just the film," MacInnis continued, his words flowing like Riesling from a freshly-uncorked bottle. "It's everything. Everything he does and everything about him. He's just a miserable, pathetic person who smells bad and rightly can't stand one single thing about himself.
"But we're dear, dear friends."
I watched as Burt was interviewed for the film by Lionel Pepperidge of the BBC. The guitarist was candid; his answers bright, crisp, and bold -- like a Gewürztraminer paired with grilled salmon and muenster. He did, however seem to want to shy away from the topic of last December's MBE ceremony disaster. I asked flikk for the story on that.
"Narge and Burt are having a tough time with that," the director informed me in a whisper. As he leaned in, I thought I could smell a Wyncroft Chianti. "They don't want it in the film. We have full rights to their story, so ultimately it's my call. But I think if we put it in, Burt might never forgive me. Sometimes I get the feeling he doesn't really like me that much. Has he said anything to you?"
I quickly took a long drink of Karma Vista's delightful 2005 Shiraz and avoided the question. By the time I had finished, flikk had turned his attention to his nose ring, struggling to adjust it to a more comfortable position in his nostril. I wondered, with that monstrosity in the way, how could he ever properly appreciate the nuanced bouquet of a Round Barn Rosé or a Lake Effect Sauvignon Blanc.
My time in Michigan had nearly come to an end, but before Ms. Bottombrush whisked me back to the airport, I had the thrill of watching Silvers and MacInnis run through a few numbers for the crew. "This one's not for the cameras, mates," announced Silvers, who was ironically not facing them anyway. With that, the masterful duo launched into "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" with MacInnis on ukulele and Silvers on his Les Paul. A few more covers (one by Supertramp, if memory serves -- hard to tell, I had already gone through two bottles of that excellent St. Julian Pinot Noir I mentioned previously) a couple of LBM classics, and finally, unbelievably, a new original! They never told us the title, but judging from the chorus and the gist of the lyrics, it must be "Poker All Night," or something similar.
I waved a fond farewell, then headed on my way. But not before stopping off at Old Shore Vineyards for the finest Pinot Gris a music reviewer can buy.
"Absolutely not," he replied.
The "Kipper" production had temporarily shifted its base of operations to a state called Michigan for some reason, and I finally convinced the Chief to pay for me to head that way on the strict condition that I review the famous Western Michigan vineyards. What follows is a fascinating look at a seemingly cursed film production, the turbulent relationship between its star and director, and the subtle-yet-vibrant finish of the 2007 St. Julian Pinot Noir.
I landed at Kalamazoo Airport and was warmly greeted by both Production Assistant, Chelsea Bottombrush, and the soft scent of Catawba vines. Ms. Bottombrush explained that "Kipper" was moving along as smoothly as a chilled Peterson & Sons White Zinfendel. I asked about the rumours of discord between the Little Blue Men and the filmmakers who were trying to tell their story. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but everyone's been getting on fine," she said. "It's like we're a big, loving family here. It's lovely."
We pulled up on set to find Burt MacInnis throwing a chair at the film's director, flikk.
"Sod off, you wanker!" shouted MacInnis, and I could tell he really needed to unwind a bit with a nice glass of Tabor Hill's 2011 Merlot. By all accounts, including my own, flikk and MacInnis look strikingly alike. But I found out quickly that one mustn't mention this to the musician.
"He's a twat," MacInnis informed me. "Do I look like a twat to you?"
I assured him that he did not, and that, standing there in his tight-fitting "Harry & the Hendersons" t-shirt, the guitarist looked as robust as Lawton Ridge's latest Cabernet offering.
Turning my attention to the director, I asked why he had decided to shoot on-location in Western Michigan.
"Well, to save money, frankly," he told me. "Our budget is very small, so we're trying to cut corners wherever we can. Narge (Silvers, LBM founder and frontman) and Burt let us know that they were going to be playing a gig in Grand Rapids, so we figured we could get some pick-ups here while they were Stateside, instead of having to fly the whole production back to England. Plus, have you ever checked out the Kalamazoo Air Zoo? It's a killer museum!"
"No, I haven't," I replied. "Have you ever checked out the black-skin hybrid Chambourcin grapes?" Looking very confused, flikk started to walk away, but I rushed after him, wanting to learn more about the production.
"We're about halfway done," he told me. "Actually, that's a trick my dad always taught me to get a boss off your back about a project. Tell 'em it's halfway done. It means nothing and it makes it seem like you've been busy. Which we have been, I guess. But it feels like we're never going to finish this damn thing. I hate to sound like an ass, but Burt's horrible car wreck was the best thing that could've happened to this production -- it bought us a little more time."
The director, whose humour is as dry as Robinette Cellars' 2006 Chardonnay, was crassly referring to MacInnis' near-fatal automobile accident on Germany's Autobahn last summer. The guitarist has worked so closely with the filmmakers on the "Kipper" project, that the production was forced on hiatus as he recuperated. And now that work has picked up again, it is clear that this closeness has turned into tension.
"It's just that... He just doesn't know what the shite he's doing," MacInnis said of flikk. "On anything. He's pretty much worthless. A chimpanzee could direct our life story and it would turn out amazing. That's just how great a band we've been. But this bloody idiot is finding every way he can to muck it all up, love. Did I tell you he LOST the ONLY copy of the film at one point?! I mean, Sweet Jesus!
"But it's not just the film," MacInnis continued, his words flowing like Riesling from a freshly-uncorked bottle. "It's everything. Everything he does and everything about him. He's just a miserable, pathetic person who smells bad and rightly can't stand one single thing about himself.
"But we're dear, dear friends."
I watched as Burt was interviewed for the film by Lionel Pepperidge of the BBC. The guitarist was candid; his answers bright, crisp, and bold -- like a Gewürztraminer paired with grilled salmon and muenster. He did, however seem to want to shy away from the topic of last December's MBE ceremony disaster. I asked flikk for the story on that.
"Narge and Burt are having a tough time with that," the director informed me in a whisper. As he leaned in, I thought I could smell a Wyncroft Chianti. "They don't want it in the film. We have full rights to their story, so ultimately it's my call. But I think if we put it in, Burt might never forgive me. Sometimes I get the feeling he doesn't really like me that much. Has he said anything to you?"
I quickly took a long drink of Karma Vista's delightful 2005 Shiraz and avoided the question. By the time I had finished, flikk had turned his attention to his nose ring, struggling to adjust it to a more comfortable position in his nostril. I wondered, with that monstrosity in the way, how could he ever properly appreciate the nuanced bouquet of a Round Barn Rosé or a Lake Effect Sauvignon Blanc.
My time in Michigan had nearly come to an end, but before Ms. Bottombrush whisked me back to the airport, I had the thrill of watching Silvers and MacInnis run through a few numbers for the crew. "This one's not for the cameras, mates," announced Silvers, who was ironically not facing them anyway. With that, the masterful duo launched into "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" with MacInnis on ukulele and Silvers on his Les Paul. A few more covers (one by Supertramp, if memory serves -- hard to tell, I had already gone through two bottles of that excellent St. Julian Pinot Noir I mentioned previously) a couple of LBM classics, and finally, unbelievably, a new original! They never told us the title, but judging from the chorus and the gist of the lyrics, it must be "Poker All Night," or something similar.
I waved a fond farewell, then headed on my way. But not before stopping off at Old Shore Vineyards for the finest Pinot Gris a music reviewer can buy.
Copyright 2013, The London Underground