Today would have been the kickoff of Gravity Head at the New Albanian Brewing Company, which has quietly let it be known that the festival of strong beers is no more.
R.I.P. Gravity Head (1999 – 2022).
The period of Gravity Head’s mightiest cultural hegemony coincided with my period of co-ownership at NABC; the buyout was official in 2018, and I take credit for my share of the intellectual property, but hasten to acknowledge that Gravity Head always was a team effort.
My former business partners and co-workers have their reasons for retiring Gravity Head, and to me, their rationale makes perfect sense. Promoting a weeks-long event of any sort strains business as usual in an era of thin staffing, and is tantamount to walking a tight rope without a net in terms of placing emphasis on the consumption of highly alcoholic drinks.
Of course, strong beers remain an attraction in craft beer circles, such that an establishment like Pearl Street Taphouse in Jeffersonville essentially offers Gravity Head on a daily basis all year round—which is to say, little in the way of novelty remains to be celebrated at a time when better beer is ubiquitous.
And, I’m told that the outdoor walk-in used for cellaring kegs failed during high summer during 2020, and the contents essentially were baked. This suffices for the creation of Madeira wine, but not beer.
Following is a rumination compiled over time at the now defunct NA Confidential blog and other forums for commentary: “I’d stop drinking, but I’m no quitter.” I’m retaining the format, which includes thoughts about Gravity Head.
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Before the drinking starts, let’s consider a ship leaving the dock and making for open water. We experienced this first-hand in 2016 aboard an oversized Baltic ferry, leaving Tallinn for Helsinki in the morning and returning at dusk the same day.
In darkness of night the specific sensation might be described as lights fading, but by daylight it is the gradual disappearance of land as the ship moves away from shore. Depending on the weather and the strength of one’s eyesight, there comes a split second when land no longer is visible. It’s a melancholy feeling, like the place itself has ceased to exist apart from a lingering imagination of it.
From this point forward, until the next port of call begins slowly to materialize past the bow, the journey becomes synonymous with the undulating rhythm of the sea.
Similarly, most aspects of business...Read more
