I have a confession to make; I love modern Ardbeg. This is not a stance shared by my blogging counterparts, for whom every one of the Islay distillery’s limited editions is a bitter, 1,200-word disappointment. But I’m okay with being the black sheep – or should that be Blaaack sheep? – on this one.
My admiration for the brand is only partially based on its whiskies. Ardbeg, to an extent and degree not seen elsewhere in Scotch whisky, are content creators, their marketeers bent on stoking Reddit and the Malt Reviews of this world. Their central belief is that a following, brand recognition, even brand equity, should all serve brand engagement.
You can look at the brand in a similar way to Star Wars. Ardbeg under Allied Distillers was a bit like the first trilogy from Lucas Film – a cast of characters and a universe are introduced which become hugely meaningful to a passionate (and niche) group. Then Disney/LVMH take over and production gradually goes into overdrive; the universe expands, and schisms emerge. Some old fans stay with the ship while others mutiny; meanwhile, plenty of new disciples join the crew. Crucially, everyone has an opinion on what’s happening, and they want to share it.
A Long Time Ago, On An Island Not So Far Away…
What began as Ardbeg’s coterie of aficionados quickly grew. After the revival in 1997 and the creation of the Committee in 2000, the Ten was re-released and Uigeadail won Jim Murray’s Whisky of the Year. Ardbeg was pulling itself up by its bootstraps. Once the distillery began selling new expressions exclusively to Committee members first, there was a crush of people wanting to be in the club. Every website crash confirmed that the cult was reaching critical mass, the race to acquire bottles becoming another means of radicalisation. For a long time, it didn’t matter what Ardbeg released – if you were really part of the Committee, you had to have it.
One Underwhelming Spin-Off Too Many
This state of frantic FOMO endured until around 2012. I noticed that Galileo had a mixed response. Personally, after Ardbog in 2013 and Auriverdes in 2014, I was beginning to question matters too. A pun as an excuse for a new whisky? An Islay single malt for the football World Cup in Brazil? The liquids failed to convince, too – NAS, with modest cask variation dressed up as something compelling and essential. The hype was as heady as ever, but whisky nerds began to suspect that they were being hoodwinked – and said so.
The brand team could have swithered, but instead they doubled down. After sending ‘whisky’ into space, the marketeers continue to widen the conversation beyond a pair of stills on Islay’s south coast, conscious that there is a whole universe to explore.
Brave New World
Ardbeg are now prolific authors of liquid texts, seizing upon the boldness fostered by the distillery’s resurrection. Weird and wacky are all fine, so long as they stimulate (or provoke) conversation.
Compare the content created for Alligator from 2011 with Scorch in 2021 – it’s effectively the same whisky, only the amphibious reptile of the former has become a fully-fledged, fire-breathing mythical beast in the latter. It is telling that ‘Alligator’ drew on whisky geek arcana (the nickname for a no. 4 char in barrel coopering), while Scorch went full Game of Thrones instead.
Another fascinating pairing would be Lord of the Isles and Arrrrrrrdbeg!. We swivel from a medieval ocean-going fiefdom at 25 years of age, to former manager Mickey Heads dressed up as Long John Silver. Ardbeg have gone from the prim nod of Airigh Nam Beist (2006-08) to the arch wink of Wee Beastie (2020). Tongues are firmly in cheeks now – Ardbeg doesn’t want to be taken too seriously.
The Dark Side?
LVMH understands today’s attention economy and nothing spawns headlines quite like money. In 2022, Ardbeg eschewed whisky-making messaging altogether in favour of cold-eyed commercialism.
From £16m for a cask of Ardbeg 1975 to 1ETH for something called Fon Fhòid, Ardbeg could have malted a lot of barley with the hot air generated by these two stories. What was at stake – and what got whisky nerds particularly cross – was the way in which the value (and values) of Ardbeg could be so comprehensively rationalised.
If you know about gas fees, you can ‘own’ a piece of Ardbeg in a way that has never been possible before. The NFT that accompanied Fon Fhòid represented the brand as a transubstantiated entity – incorruptible, non-perishable, tradeable with zero friction in cyberspace. The gates of the Ardbeg distillery could close again tomorrow, but the brand can live forever on the blockchain (supposedly, if you believe Elon Musk et al).
The Next Phase
Ardbeg want to be part of modern conversations, the brand reflecting life in a bloated, pathologically distracted, and inane 21st century consumer society. We should all remember that content comes first – Ardbeg know this better than the rest, a Youtuber cosplaying as a Scotch malt whisky distillery. Its frivolous, occasionally venal, but great fun.
Some questions do remain.
- How expensive will the Ten become if the new wave of Scotch distillers has demonstrated you can charge £45 for a 5YO?
- What are Thomas Moradpour’s views on imminent ecological collapse?
- Can I make a request for the next limited release, Dr Bill? Lardbeg: 18YO Ardbeg fat-washed with discarded dripping from the Glasgow Central Blue Lagoon. Comes with a free macaroni pie and a Peloton subscription.
However ambitious and fanciful the liquid texts may become, though, their origins will always be bottles from and bricks on Islay. Ardbeg have only got to where they are by understanding who they were, and where their prestige and allure sprang from. As Ardbeg say in their own graphic novel: “The City of Desires isn’t just clever marketing… this town is built on powerful magic” [emphasis mine].