Honesty should be the best policy for wine critics
Wine critics should feel compelled, obliged even, to publish the bad as well as the good.
'You have to go looking for negative wine reviews'
Tool’s 2001 album Lateralus is, in my opinion, among the most ambitious, accomplished metal records of all time.
That famously scathing publication may be an outlier – its critics relishing the chance to lambast – but you see it with reviews of films, books and restaurants, too. Just look at the recent media response to Wuthering Heights.
You have to go looking for negative wine reviews.
Trawl through the hundreds of thousands of entries on specialist sites such as Robert Parker Wine Advocate or jancisrobinson.com and you will find some damning notes and scores; you won’t find so many in print.
And out in the wild, you’re unlikely to see a retailer or producer shouting about an 82-point score. Why would they?
A conscientious critic may think better of rubbishing Domaine X’s new vintage when they could use the same (limited) column inches to celebrate the quality at Domaine Y.
Some producers have the financial muscle to absorb bad press, but many don’t.
The industry is full of small, often family-run firms; it’s tough enough ekeing out a living without the spectre of a bad review.
And while self-confidence is a required trait in a critic, most will admit that they’re not infallible; what if they’ve got it wrong? Better to say nothing at all, sometimes.
Walking the line
Omission is tricky, though. Let’s say that a critic feels a wine isn’t good enough to comment on, so they say nothing. A reader might then infer that what isn’t written about isn’t worth buying.
Tool frontman Maynard James Keenan makes wine in Arizona at Caduceus Cellars. I can find reviews from just one major critic (a wide spectrum, from 86 points up to ‘The greatest wine made in Arizona in modern times!’).
Have other critics not tasted these wines or have they done so but opted to say nothing? In not publishing the bad, the picture is incomplete and potentially obscured.
We’re not talking about investigative journalism here, but there can still be an element of speaking truth to power.
Bordeaux first growths are powerful, but so too are the major Italian cooperatives and bulk producers in California.
Critics should be calling out bad wine, especially if it’s being made by a big producer. But can they?
Jamie Goode (wineanorak.com) has proposed that some wines are ‘beyond criticism’ – so legendary, so firmly established as excellent that no self-respecting critic would dare claim otherwise.
Take a stand against a heavyweight and you risk losing access to the sort of tastings on which your work depends. The story goes that Robert Parker himself had a dog set on him after giving a château a bad review.
Critics today wield a fraction of Parker’s influence; how much bargaining power do they really have? Wine criticism depends on support from the wine industry. Critics can’t afford to self-fund their travels and tastings.
Legacy media is struggling, and though advertisers can help plug the gap, they’re often the very producers whose wines are in the market for review.
Critical compulsion
There’s a fine balance, and if critics have a problem with any of it, tough: it’s a competitive field and there’s a small army of experts who would take their job in a heartbeat. Presuming, of course, that the job exists at all.
I’m not suggesting that critics are working for wineries, but they’re not exactly working against them.
Critics should feel compelled, obliged even, to publish the bad as well as the good.
There’s lots of great wine out there, and they should shout about it; but the good isn’t always as good as it could or should be, and a healthy dialogue keeps everybody sharp.
Thoughtful reviews get people talking and wine needs more of that.
That Lateralus review remains one of Pitchfork’s most talked about, 25 years later.
Some say the critic was trolling; others say it was just Pitchfork doing what it does; still others point to the many positive reviews for the album elsewhere, and the reverence in which it’s held by its fans.
Crucially, they’re talking. It’s a reminder that when critics have teeth, criticism – positive or negative – remains relevant.
In my glass this month
I’ve always filed Marsanne away somewhere as a Rhône-adjacent supporting character. In Tahbilk’s Museum Release Marsanne 2019 (£13.95 The Wine Society), it’s the star of the show.
There is a lot going on here, with all sorts of complex little nods to the wine’s extended bottle age.
There’s hay, honey and nutty notes and a pleasantly savoury edge to it all, but there’s also a tangy apple-and-citrus side.
This has weight and substance without fatness, and it’s surprisingly bright and refreshing.
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