#2: A toast to the apocalypse

November Has Come & English sparkling wine

From the Gorillaz’s apocalyptic album Demon Days, November Has Come is a euphonic toast to the end of the world. Written during a time of great global unrest and social change, from the “War on Terror” to the birth of Facebook, Damon Albarn’s cynicism and distrust shines through the darkness. 

The song opens with the sound of carefree hand-clapping and a bassline trying to find its feet, like children playing with a skipping rope in the playground. All the while, there is a whirring, siren-like synthesiser in the distance that reminds us that all is not as it seems. The glory days are over, so let us celebrate what little time we have left as the world around us burns to a crisp. What better occasion to crack open a bottle of sparkling wine?

English sparkling wine, in particular, with its stinging acidity and effervescent nature, matches perfectly with November Has Come. The track bursts into life with MF Doom’s signature close mic control, the hissing sibilance of his monosyllabic lyrics spat out with a popping candy-coated tongue. Rumour has it that the British-American rapper was challenged to see how many words he could squeeze into 30 seconds (a snip over 100 for those who don’t have time to count…) yet, each word is given equal space here, like the metronomic sound of the kick and the snare. 

There’s a liveliness and tension to English sparkling, a gooseberry tartness and saline tautness that, when paired with the crackling fizziness of Doom’s first verse, serves as a two-pronged attack on your parotid glands. England’s cool climate and chalk-based soils (particularly those found in Sussex and Hampshire) give the wines a crispness and purity of flavour, like biting into a cold green apple, which is mirrored in the precision of every beat. Add to that the sound of a snake-charmer’s cheeping pungi and you can almost taste the bubbles with each passing bar. 

We then move into another gear with the introduction of 2-D (AKA Albarn) and his melancholic refrain, a sense of nostalgia chaperoned by a pure-tone guitar riff. The wine and music hold our hands as they take us through an orchard, the familiar smell of fruit and blossom blooming from the depths of winter. Yet, the chorus has a certain richness to it, the fresh fruits giving way to something more savoury, as youth inevitably gives way to time. There’s the shuffling rhythm, the warm yet wailing backing vocals, and the modal mixture in the second chord, which shows a glimpse of the major equivalent with sentiment and song still firmly rooted in the minor. 

At the time of its release back in 2005, some commentators criticised Demon Days for being ranty and pretentious, yet, looking back, it is spookily prophetic. With climate change, England has seen improved growing conditions for grapes meaning better wines and more consistency, but, as Albarn alludes to throughout the course of the album, at what cost?

Here’s to the apocalypse and a future of Scottish sparkling wine.