As a chin-stroking ale-drinker of many years' standing, I was intrigued by a recent article in the Guardian decrying the branding of proper beer. The writer complained that many beer names and pumpclips are hideous, contributing to an image problem that apparently reflects on all ale fans.
There was also a selection of pumpclips that showcased the worst offenders. Admittedly, some of these were objectionable and those displaying brazen smut and/or sexism are indefensible. However, these are hardly representative – in my 15 years of ale drinking I don't recall ever seeing anything comparable in real life.
I will concede that many ale pumpclips are badly-designed and amateurish from an aesthetic perspective, but I've always found this rather endearing. Personally, I don't want the slick marketing campaigns of the major lager brewers to be emulated in the real ale world – the calculatedly-bland for-mass-appeal themes of the Carling/Fosters branding is reflected in the calculatedly-bland for-mass-appeal taste of their fizz, and I want no part of it.
Indeed, there's an innate satisfaction to drinking an artisan ale from a micro-brewer which requires skill to make, knowing that the brewer is an passionate enthusiast rather than a marketeer adhering to a business model. The proof really is in the tasting and I'm happy not to share pub space with someone who needs a TV campaign and glossy branding to entice them to part with their money.
However, it is of course maddening that so many reject these artisan ales in favour of the carbonated urine that is commercial lager, particularly when said ales are accessible, readily available and often cheaper than mass-produced pish to boot.
It's a shame that such people will never know the regional variation of ale as they move from county to county, or notice one landlord's skill in keeping a particular beer just so. A shame indeed that said Carling/Fosters fans continue to drink a gaseous libation that is demonstrably and irrefutably inferior to a fine quart of golden ale or nutty brown.
Is this a question of taste? I would argue that someone who plumps for Carling Black Label has not actually developed taste – they've merely selected the first, heavily-promoted product that they recognise and stuck with it because, due to its very homogeneity, it'll taste the same everywhere they go, just like McDonalds. One could extend this argument to music, TV and literature, but there are too many potential tangents and not enough hair follicles left on my head to withstand a trawl through every mentionable grotesquerie of popular culture, so I'll stick to beer for now.
As such, who cares for image? Or pumpclips? I'm content to let the Heat-reading masses fret over image, adrift in their sea of frothing superficiality as I kick back with a foaming flagon of Winkle Warmer Porter. Best foot forward, fellow casketeers.
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