When I was back in Kentucky recently and looking to flesh out my collection of the worst bourbons ever made, my dad's college days proved to be a significantly valuable guiding light. Both he and my mother attended the University of Kentucky at the dawn of the 1970s, and apparently college students back then had a tendency to get blasted on cheap liquor when they should be studying and pressing their letterman cardigan sweaters. Thank God that bad habit had vanished from the collegiate life by the time I was on my way to the sedate, party-adverse University of Florida in 1990.

While my dad tagged Yellowstone as the absolute worst crap he ever drank, he said the bad stuff he drank most often was a little treat called Rebel Yell. It got him through many a "camping" trip to the Natural Bridge/Red River Gorge recreational area. And it turns out that, hundreds of miles and years apart, I encountered many other people who were greatly helped in their studies by the consumption of large quantities of this elixir known as Rebel Yell. What magical properties must it have to enhance memory and the ability to learn, I wondered, that made it so popular with college students? Had we in Florida, with our dedication to King Cobra malt liquor, missed out on improving our minds with whatever incredible properties were contained by Rebel Yell? There was only one way to find out.

As far as bad bourbons go, Rebel Yell isn't the worst. As far as bourbon in general goes, though, this is pretty dodgey stuff. The company to which the current version of Rebel Yell traces its roots was founded in 1849 by a guy named by W.L. Weller. Weller made his bourbon whiskey unique by substituting wheat for rye in the mash that eventually becomes bourbon. Wheat generally yields a smoother, mellower -- though not necessarily better -- flavor. Or so might have been the case in 1849, and so the distiller claims today. I suppose you'd have to -- no one but me and a few other drunks are going to flock to a liquor that refers to itself as "not the worst of the awful bourbons."

As to the history of Rebel Yell between 1849 and 1949, Rebel Yell itself remains somewhat mum. A little digging turned up an article by Al Forno that fills in the blanks. It turns out that Weller's "distillery" was really just a clearinghouse for other liquors, which they would purchase from various sources and release under their company label. In the early 1900s, Weller and Sons began purchasing the bulk of "their" bourbon from a Louisville distillery, eventually being bought by the same company that owned Pappy Van Winkle.

At some point, the newly named Stitzel-Weller distributor acquired a line of bourbons created by Charles R. Farnsley (a one-time mayor of Louisville and Congressman).Farnsley was trading on the wave of "Olde South" nostalgia that was slinking about the country at the time, and his Stitzel-Weller bourbons were marketed to invoke the romance of the old South. Among these was Rebel Yell. From there, the company changed hands so many times that it became almost impossible to track it, even being owned at one point by Guinness before passing into the hands of The David Sherman Corporation, eventually to become Luxco. Rebel Yell bourbon is currently made at the Bernhiem Distillery in Louisville, built in 1992 and operated by infamous rotgut purveyors Heaven Hill.

A far cry from the down-home tale spun by the bourbon's marketing department, but then, that's the point of marketing, right? They also employ a very unique definition of the word "smooth." Rebel Yell is smooth like being punched in the face by a pimp named Velvytte Sylke is smooth. Sure, Velvytte Sylke looks good in his platform shoes, flared sea foam green threads, and matching full-length fur coat and walking cane, but when he punches you in the face with a fist studded by countless oversized jeweled rings -- well, Rebel Yell isn't the pimp; it's the pimp's punch, and if you think being punched in the face by a pimp is smooth, then more power to ya. Rebel Yell claims hints of honey, butter, and raisins comprise its flavor, and while I will admit that there is a flavor, those hints are indeed hints at best, and are somewhat overpowered by the more prominent taste of burning embers and fiery volcanic ash. I don't mind a drink that burns, but I usually prefer the taste to be worth the burn. Fighting Cock isn't a good bourbon, but it's worth the effort, in my opinion. Rebel Yell slashes at you with razor-like harshness, but then rewards you with little more than a taste that can best be described as what would happen if bourbon could be left out to spoil and go sour. don't let the old timey prose of the bottle fool ya into thinking this is something refined and respectable -- this is college student rotgut, which is barely a step above something a hobo might distill inside his own shoe.

That said, my standards are incredibly low, and I have been able to plow through the bottle with few regrets, though I inevitably wash down a shot of it with something better. Luckily, being better than Rebel Yell is something that pretty much any bourbon short of Yellowstone or Kentucky Gentleman can probably accomplish. And as bad as Rebel Yell may be, I always make sure to have a bottle handy at home, to be trotted out during particularly rousing University of Florida or Kentucky football and basketball games. It's also been known to be consumed by me with considerable joy during some NASCAR events.

So my advertising proposal to Luxco: "Rebel Yell: It's the pimp's punch!"

Labels: Drink