The whisky world has paid tribute to one of its biggest supporters – Michael Jackson–long time Whisky Magazinecontributor,author,journalist and towering authority on whisky and beer. Here is a selection from the forum and received directly by the Editor
The first memory of Michael? On the (then new) Channel 4. AYorkshireman presenting a series on beer?! It was captivating, not just because of the subject matter, but of how he avoided the pretentiousness which is still the default setting for drinks broadcasting. He couldn’t have done pretentious if...
By Rob Allanson
from Issue 66 published on 25/09/2007
In his final column before his death,Michael looks back at his time in India and the rise of a nation of whisky drinkers
Loyal to his saffron shorts, our globe-trotting columnist issues a challenge to the Boy from Bangalore. My onetime sparring partner Vijay Mallya. How better to toast half a century of independent India than with a whisky of a similar vintage, and where better to find one than W and M? I reached deep...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 66 published on 25/09/2007
Michael looks back at the early days of his education in Edinburgh’s finest
Had I discovered The Canny Man’s so quickly by the employment of my own nose, that would have been a precocious feat. I was a teenager, and had been living in Edinburgh for only a few months.
I was introduced to the pub by my friend Wullie, a colleague on the newspaper where I worked. He had also e...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 65 published on 20/07/2007
Michael is invited for a special afternoon in Poland
The ambassador was spoiling us, as he does. No tailcoated waiters with mountains of chocolates on silver salvers. Or munroes of Scotch eggs, which I understand will be preferred should lunch follow independence.
This particular ambassador has a Scots name, Charles Crawford, but he also represents E...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 64 published on 01/06/2007
Michael talks about the joys of Irish whiskey and the dangers of method acting
“Quiet, please. Quiet on the set. Thank you.” The set represents the exterior of The Bleeding Horse. It is a pub. Or is it a grave? Or a horse? The text is not clear.
I should have been paying more attention, reading more carefully. When I read J.P. Donleavy, I feel that I have fallen drunkenly int...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 63 published on 20/04/2007
Michael issues a wake up call before the whole of Scotland vanishes...or is re-branded
If I have a date with a plane, here’s how my day starts. I wake up to the sound of prepositions colliding. More of a shunt than a crash. WHACK!!! UP-TO!! UP-to! Upto....SHSHSH
I would transcribe it thus: a hard rim-shot by Buddy Rich, a run of stick work by Elvin Jones, and tinkling cymbals from K...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 62 published on 01/03/2007
When Michael Jackson left The Streets of Sinners, what happened to his drinking?
In much the way that some people wear a monogrammed handkerchief in their top pocket to remind themselves who they are, some magazines carry under their title a slogan that sounds like a job description.
If this magazine had such a device, I dare say it would be: ‘For the civilised enjoyment of whi...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 61 published on 19/01/2007
As Michael is away we have decided to select some of the best bits from his columns spanning 60 editions of Whisky Magazine
Marketing men’s stock-in-trade is the self-fulfilling prophesy. They constantly tell us that, in all areas of food and drink, we want even paler, lighter-bodied, blander products. Many people do, but the industry appeases them at its peril. Make Scotches lighter and blander and the message is clear:...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 60 published on 10/11/2006
Michael Jackson on recurring dreams of the circus coming to town
Wake up. Better try again. A sentence that ends in a preposition is not a propitious way to begin a new day.
Don't know where I am. Never do until the day's first downfall of coffee. "Bad for your blood pressure," warns my doctor. "The decaf was killing me," I protest. She smothers a laugh. The jok...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 59 published on 11/10/2006
Michael Jacksonponders the age old question of what’s your favourite
What was the best dram you ever enjoyed? I am not turning on you the question I most often dismiss.
When people ask, as they constantly do, what is my favourite malt, I tell them there is no such creature.
There is the right malt for the time and place – the mood and moment. They cannot always be ...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 58 published on 30/08/2006
In Old Manhattan,Michael Jackson,and cousin Tessa,too…have fun with books,and booze
Tessa should have told me herself. All she had to say (quietly, in my ear) was: “Michael, your fly is open.” Would that have been so embarrassing for her?
Tessa, sweet, embarrassable you. We are cousins, but sufficiently removed to have fun together.
“You don’t look alike,” observed a suspicious s...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 57 published on 21/07/2006
Michael Jackson contemplates not so old age
Will you still love me when I’m 64? By the time you read this, I will be. In fact, since I wrote those two sentences, I am.
At the beginning of the year, I noted in my diary, alongside a certain date in March: “Will you still love me? Etc.” Most writers of regular columns keep diaries of future top...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 56 published on 01/06/2006
An invite to speak at a prestigious club sends Michael Jackson in search of a literary giant
Did the letter really say: “Our club’s past speakers have included Mark Twain.” Yes it did. Would I now accept their invitation to speak? I can imagine no request less resistible.
Before I had reached the end of the sentence, I was saying yes. I was talking to myself. My assent fell from my lips an...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 55 published on 14/04/2006
On the Queen’s yacht,Michael Jackson is back in Leith and heading for Islay
An invitation to dinner on the Royal Yacht. That’s what it says. I wonder, is she still royal? The yacht, I mean, not the Queen Even if the Queen were not the world’s most experienced practitioner of the position, she would still be royal; that goes with the territory. In fact, no one is more regal....
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 54 published on 03/03/2006
What happens when you have a Mass at the mash-tun?
Saints alive! A classic beer vaporises... and now there’s a Samichlaus spirit.
The priest had a glint in his eye, and was warming to his theme: the role of St Nicholas as the patron saint of bakers, brewers and distillers.
My German does not stretch much beyond Maischpfanne, Lauterböttich or Sudha...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 53 published on 12/01/2006
A kiss is just a kiss. Or does it count as sexual harassment?
The taxi home swerved just slightly, to avoid an approaching car that was being driven too liberally, probably by someone who had been taking his drink the same way.
In the back of the cab, our bodies were thrown together, and I kissed the Minister of Health. Snatched a snog, so to speak.
Except t...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 52 published on 30/11/2005
The death of New Orleans has been exaggerated
The elegaic song American Pie spoke of the day the music died. People were drinking whiskey (bourbon, presumably) and rye. The lyrics invited interpretation, most of it a trifle earnest.
Afriend of mine took a more frivolous tack, claiming that the song was about his car-repair shop. My friend’s na...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 51 published on 07/10/2005
Michael Jackson on the importance of standing your round
Afirst impression, or a sole encounter, can linger indelibly. The only time I met Ted Heath (the recently departed former British prime minister) was at a conference on marketing. There was an informal gathering of speakers and press. Heath's handlers had managed to procure him some whisky, but ther...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 50 published on 09/09/2005
But make sure it’s genuine, warns Michael Jackson
When politicians say things so breathtakingly naïve and stupid as to suggest they are completely out of touch with the people they are supposed to represent, it is possible to sympathise. The loftiness of their job has itself caused their isolation.
When I was 12 or 13, a fellow called Pierre Mendé...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 49 published on 15/07/2005
Michael Jackson on the campaign trail
If it was a contest between two Scots and a Welshman, we might have expected more eloquence in the recent election. Are British party leaders Celts in denial?
Despite his Scottish surname, New Labour leader Tony Blair has always seemed unsure of his nationality; Liberal- Democratic Charles Kennedy ...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 48 published on 10/06/2005
In California, Michael Jackson takes a stand
My name has been in the papers every other day since you and I last met. Not so much ‘in’ as ‘all over’. Allegations of ever weirder behaviour.
Serious crimes against children. I used to laugh it off, but that is more difficult now that alcohol is in the picture.
In the land of conspicuous consump...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 47 published on 05/04/2005
Michael Jackson goes a few rounds by taxi
At dinner with Suntory recently, I was pleased to be seated next to John McLaren, who is always good for an entertaining story. I was keen to hear about his more recent career as a novelist.
His first novel, Black Cabs, was published in 1999. It hinges on the notion that some passengers in cabs are...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 46 published on 10/3/2005
Michael Jackson continues the saga of his appointment with Prince Charles
Our anti-hero has been instructed to meet the Prince of Wales on the roof of the former Fiat car factory in Turin, but things have gone badly wrong. Jackson seems to have been kidnapped on arriving at Turin airport. He has been dumped, with his baggage, on the wrong side of a police security barrier...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 45 published on 21/1/2005
Michael Jackson crosses paths with HRH Charles
Prince Charles was heading in my direction. It was, indeed, envisaged that we should meet. His People had spoken to My People, in the way that these matters are arranged. The Prince and I would talk about beer and whisky. We were to meet in Turin, on the roof of a building that had once been the Fia...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 44 published on 25/11/2004
Michael Jackson goes Babbity
It is hard to believe that anyone would feel sorry for politicians, but I do. Spending as much time on the road as any party hack, I know how easy it is to become disoriented: to say how happy you are to be in Inverurie when you are actually in Inveraray.
Half the time, the reporters traveling with...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 43 published on 23/10/2004
Michael Jackson brainstorming on behalf of Scotch Whisky.
The American business magazine Fortune calls for a chat on the future of Scotch whisky. Among the reporter’s questions, a particularly pertinent one: some consumers have spurned the big blended brands as lacking in individuality, in favour of single malts. There had emerged a handful of dominant bra...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 42 published on 3/9/2004
Michael Jackson recalls his part in Ron’s downfall
Fulsome though they were, the tributes to President Reagan omitted one of his greatest services to humanity. He was a Keeper of the Quaich. Not many people know that.
I played a small part in this but am not sure what, how or why. I suspect my contribution was comparable to that of Spike Milligan i...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 41 published on 16/7/2004
Michael Jackson has a few drinks with Buffalo Bill
So long as red-haired women walk the earth and John Jameson distils whiskey, I can be sure of staying in trouble. Only if those normalities ceased would I consider advertising for a girlfriend.
I would regard such an advertisement not as a matter of shame, but perhaps of discretion. I would probab...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 40 published on 4/6/2004
Michael Jackson continues the saga of a tasting at Philip Pullman’s house
Despairing of my constant travels on various whisky trails, my partner Freckles occasionally retaliates in kind. She packs her goods with the
intention of absenting herself permanently.
“I have never left you for another man,” she asserts (that verb fits her like a glove), “but don’t take me for g...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 39 published on 1/5/2004
Michael Jackson journeys to the heart of darkness
Acounterblast to J.K. Rowling? Philip Pullman has taken off like a runaway train, and the engineer is still stoking. The firebox is an inferno.
Pullman writes about daemons. “Shameless blasphemy,” snarls the Association of ChristianTeachers.
Pullman’s trilogy His Dark Materials, adapted for the Na...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 38 published on 7/4/2004
Michael Jackson hunts for duck soup - of a sort
Over Sylvester, I had hoped finally to taste Czernina. It was not to be. Next year in Lvov? We are all looking for Lvov, and we all begin a new
year with fresh hopes. I have travelled to Warsaw and Cracow; I have visited Poznan and Lublin, but never found Lvov. It’s a tricky place to locate, having ...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 37 published on 23/2/2004
Michael Jackson survives ot wonder about Jonnie Walker
Have you ever been sentenced to death? I have. I am happy to say the sentence was some time ago, though I do not know whether it was ever commuted. Recent events have made me wonder.
I was only a few days old when the sentence was passed. I would die before the week was out, they told my mother. I ...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 36 published on 28/12/2003
Michael Jackson’s summer season, boosted by Bell’s
The first place I recall drinking beer that had been finished in a whiskey cask was Goose Island, the pioneering brewpub in Chicago. Now I can buy Innis and Gunn Oak Aged Beer, from Scotland, in my local Safeway in London. I hope you remember where your heard these things first.
I was in Goose Isla...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 35 published on 17/11/2003
Michael Jackson has a vision, and learns why the Japanese sit on the floor to eat dinner
Through the windows of the cab, the neons of Tokyo flashingly light Jimmy Russell’s face. I keep expecting him to say; “I couldda been a contender,” but why would he? Jimmy Russell is a champ.
He has just flown in from Cincinnati, and I think he looks tired as his head turns away and rests on the ...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 34 published on 5/10/2003
Wherever I go, I am reminded of the islands and the glens…but they exist only in my
mind, confesses Michael Jackson
Alaska appears to be attached to the wrong country, even in normal circumstances. The last time I was there, it contrived to have slipped even further out of register.
It seemed to have turned into Scotland, albeit 20 times as big and with a tenth of the population.
I was there for a beer festiv...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 33 published on 25/9/2003
Now expose your palms and check for salt, romance or poetry, says Michael Jackson
In one of my several lives, I was briefly acquainted with Clive Barnes, who was at the time senior drama critic of The New York Times. As the only ‘serious’ broadsheet in New York, The Times thrust upon Clive a mantle of power about which he was ambivalent.
If he praised a production, it would have...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 32 published on 13/7/2003
Michael Jackson tangles with the border guards at the lands of the lost
Picking up a yellow cab in Detroit seemed a good idea. As my photographer colleague Ian loaded hisequipment into the trunk, the cabbie recalled the time a passenger left an expensive camera on the back seat.
He had just dropped the passenger at a pedestrianised mall. Grabbing the camera, the driver...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 31 published on 9/6/2003
Michael Jackson explains why he’s being toasted in Wellington
The good news, from the viewpoint of my infantile, absurd ego (The Psychotherapist Who Claims To Love Me™) is that I am to be the subject of a statue. Or is it a relief? For the psychotherapist, perhaps.
The artist identifies himself as a sculptor, especially known for portraits in toast. Yes, brea...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 30 published on 7/4/2003
Michael Jackson fulfils a fantasy
Like most small boys, I wanted to be a big man. Specifically, I wanted to be a big man called Dave Valentine. Why didn’t they pick him for England? “Because he is Scottish,” explained my Dad.
At eight, I was just beginning to learn about international sport, and geography. We lived in England, but ...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 29 published on 24/3/2003
Michael Jackson is under the gun with Booker Noe
The shotgun on the dinner table made it a memorable evening. The dinner ended with a bang, too. That cannot be denied.
It was so memorable that I keep recalling it, turning it over in my mind. I think I have it figured now. It helps that I have known Booker Noe for nearly 20 years. How well acquain...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 28 published on 16/1/2003
Michael Jackson reports from the centre of the universe
Jumping Joe Danno’s last voicemail contained four worrying words: “Retirement home” and “Las Vegas”. He sounded uncharacteristically anxious, and that seemed to have made the machine nervous. It chewed up most of the message, but spat out a mystifying question, “Can you handle the stuff?”
What stuf...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 27 published on 16/11/2002
Michal Jackson fights the cold with Rod Steiger
The last time I drank liquor out of a bottle was with Rod Steiger. The drinks cabinet in our stretch limo contained a fifth of Wild Turkey. I would have made a tasting note, but I was distracted by our chauffeur.
“That’ll kill you,” he warned, taking his eyes off the road to harangue us. ALondon bu...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 26 published on 16/10/2002
Michael Jackson faces the legacy of Beano and Dandy
The cigar appeared to be travelling under its own power as it entered the bar. It was a cigare volant as long as a freight train. I remembered waiting half an hour at a crossing in Billings, Montana, before the rear locomotive came into view. The power behind the cigar seemed to take even longer in ...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 25 published on 16/8/2002
Michael Jackson on his own whisky trail, re-orients himself
Harry’s Bar? No, Horie’s. Yes, really. I’ll figure out in a minute why it’s called Horie’s. It was that time, after a long day and a few drinks, when the waking hours start downloading into the memory …
We arrived 10 minutes ago to a battery of smiles, and clinched our presence with handshakes. On ...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 21 published on 16/2/2002
Michael Jackson enthuses, but finds it hard to finish
Is there no end to finishes? I keep asking myself. I had a Finnish finish back in the spring. This happened in a pub in a country town called Lahti, 60 or 70 miles north of Helsinki. I know this sounds unlikely, but believe me. Some rock groups are really famous in small countries far from home. I a...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 20 published on 16/12/2001
Michael Jackson enjoys a Glenkinchie or two and celebrates the unbuttoning of Edinburgh
The King leaned back and stroked Lucille until her growls of pleasure could be heard from the highest parapet of Edinburgh Castle.
B.B. King, his guitar Lucille, and the brassiest of blues bands, were performing in Princes Street Gardens at the invitation of Glenkinchie, the Edinburgh Malt. I raise...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 19 published on 16/11/2001
Michael Jackson, friend of malt, learns the British way
One of my favourite restaurants is owned by a chef called Greg Higgins. When he decided to start his own place, he agonised over names, as any of us would. “Why don’t you call it Higgins?” his wife eventually suggested. So he did. An unpretentious name for a gastronomically serious restaurant. Higgi...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 17 published on 16/7/2001
Michael Jackson has a glass of Glenn Hoddle with John Diamond
Did I ever tell you about the young guy who introduced me to whisky? I was 18 and working as a journalist on a newspaper in Edinburgh. One day, I was in the office pub with my best buddy, a Scot, when he began spoiling for a fight with me. Scots sometimes do this after a drink or ten. The punch-up ...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 16 published on 16/6/2001
Lithuanian mead put Michael Jackson on the malt laden road. Here he talks about some friends he met along the way
In a fashionable and allegedly southwestern-style restaurant called the Roaring Fork, in Scottsdale, Arizona, I was recently offered The Quintessential Martini. What’s a racey drink like a martini doing in a God-fearing column like this? Come to that, what was I doing in the Roaring Fork? I was cons...
By Michael Jackson
from Issue 8 published on 16/2/2000
