Island of dreams

Can Scottish single malt meet the commercial demands of the marketing men but still be true to its traditions? Dominic Roskrow asks Islay’s whisky makers what they think

Scene one: We’re in a smart jewellers’ shop in Mayfair, London. There are about 40 of us all smartly dressed and drinking champagne – not whisky – and we’re admiring a single bottle of Islay whisky which is suspended in a glass floodlit cabinet. 

It’s all a little uncomfortable. These aren’t the normal motley crew of the drinks media but cool and confident dudes from men’s lifestyle magazines or from slick public relations companies in south west London. The men all speak loudly, the PRs all have double-barrelled surnames and are called Sam.

The bottle is on display because it’s on a whirlwind tour from New York to Shanghai via London, Paris and Berlin. It will eventually return to New York where it is hoped to fetch for tens of thousands of pounds at auction. It’s for charity, but even so. And later in the evening a 5cl sample of the whisky will be the subject of a Dutch auction where my £39.99 will not be successful. A bid just under £1000 is. 

Scene two: We’re sitting on the seawall outside Bowmore Distillery, sipping Bowmore and looking out towards Bruichladdich across Loch Indaal. It’s sunny but windy, and sunlight is flitting off the waves in the choppy loch. It’s hard to imagine feeling more vital. 

Earlier we’d walked down to the sea at Ardbeg to the south of the island and watched sea birds above the rocky crags offshore. There’s nothing to spoil the view here – no telegraph poles, no wind farms, no industry, just the unspoilt view that would have greeted the Lords of the Isles when they called this home, or the Vikings when they arrived on one of their many forays.

“It all seems a long way from London,” my companion says. And I think of that night in Mayfair and chuckle. It most surely is, I think. It most surely is.

Amused and bemused

There is something amusing and bemusing about the fact that the two worlds outlined above can ever meet or are intrinsically linked to each other. And certainly the hardy and hard-working folk of what is dubbed ‘the whisky isle’ see the funny side of the glamour and gloss that now dominates the world of scotch whisky.

But there’s a less funny side, too. Whisper it quietly, but people are starting to question whether the soul of scotch whisky is being lost among all the packaging. And, with the tide well and truly in for scotch and demand greater than ever, whether at least some players are cutting corners to cash in. 

They point to the proliferation of whiskies which no longer carry an age statement, some of which are clearly too young, too bland, and/or too expensive.

They point to the new wave of marketers who seem to be winning the argument that whisky must evolve and innovate and in so doing are risking  turning it into a commodity. 

They ask themselves, does any of this really have anything to do with a sun-flecked loch next to Bowmore distillery?

And that raises the bigger question: can scotch whisky marry innovation and evolution with provenance and tradition?

You’d struggle to find anywhere that defines the word ‘traditional’ more clearly than Islay. Pronounced  Eye-la, it lies off the west coast of Scotland and is an expanse of flat rugged beauty, craggy grassland and open, empty beaches. It’s also home to eight working whisky distilleries, with more on the way, and it’s famous for the big peaty, smoky, phenolic malts.

Islay actively plays up to its traditions, with Gaelic-sounding distilleries such as Laphroaig, Caol Ila and Bunnahabhain, and visitor centres and tours which reinforce the sense that whisky has been made here the same way for generations. 

But the demands for, and on, the scotch whisky industry are as intense on Islay as anywhere else, and you don’t have to look very far to see how commerce is impacting on the island. 

All of the island’s distilleries are operating at, or close to, full capacity, and many of them have benefited from substantial investment by their mainly foreign ownership. 

Bowmore has a glittering and stylish new visitor centre, for instance, while a couple of years ago Diageo completed a £3.5m investment in expanding and upgrading Caol Ila distillery, seeing its production capacity increase by 700,000 litres per year from 5.7 million litres per annum (mla) to 6.4 million litres. 

Ardbeg, too, has upped production. 

“Basically, we are pulling out all the stops to produce as much spirit as possible,” says Bill Lumsden, who is director of distilling and whisky making for Glenmorangie and who oversaw the rebirth of Ardbeg on the island.

“The distillery is going absolutely flat out. Of course, we continue to ensure that every drop distilled is of the desired, high quality. In terms of new releases, we had Auriverdes, and have just launched Kildalton, which is released in conjunction with the Prince of Wales-inspired North Highland Initiative for charity and is only available from the distillery itself.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, there have been two other effects from the surge in demand for Scottish single malts: one, the island has attracted more attention from the major international drinks companies, who have sought to buy up anything valuable. Most recently Bruichladdich has been bought by French giant Rémy Cointreau and Laphroaig has joined Bowmore in the Suntory stable. And two, new and smaller distillers have sought to establish themselves on the island.

Neither of these facts need be a negative. The investment guarantees a healthy future for whisky and the people who make it, and the new distillers may further enhance the island’s reputation. The issue is whether the changes will damage the island’s reputation. 

Nicholas Morgan, head of whisky outreach for Diageo, which owns Lagavulin and Caol Ila on the island, thinks not.

“Provided the environmental impact can be properly managed in regard to traffic movements, water usage, effluent disposal and so on, it must be good for the island if it creates employment and attracts more visitors,” he says.

“There is no reason it would harm existing distilleries. Quite the contrary – it helps to promote Islay as a whisky island and it’s probably safe to assume that Islay’s fame in this respect helps to promote any whisky made there.”

Lumsden agrees. “I can only see this as a good thing for the island,” he says. “Most of the established brands are struggling to keep up with demand, so as long as the new distilleries are going to make good, well-matured whisky, and not simply charge high prices for three to four-year-old juice, then it will be positive all round.”

Growing concern

But while Lumsden strikes a positive note overall, his final comment reflects a growing concern both from Scotland and elsewhere that some scotch whisky is meeting the increased demand by turning to younger whiskies, many of them without an age statement. And some of them, frankly, are ordinary. 

Rachel Barrie is the master blender at Morrison Bowmore and has a long relationship with Islay, having worked with the heavy hitting peaty whiskies of Ardbeg in her previous job with Glenmorangie. She was concerned enough to set about addressing the matter officially.

“I think there is a real risk that some of these non-age statement whiskies will damage the scotch whisky category because they are not ready,” she says. “But that’s why I brought up the idea of a tasting panel at the Scotch Whisky Association. They were talking about how to get the most whisky, and increase yield from the barley, but what about the taste of scotch whisky? It’s a hard thing to assess though. How do you decide?” 

So is it possible to find a path that stays true to tradition but allows for innovation and change at the same time? Perhaps it’s as simple as ensuring that the whisky in the bottle remains outstanding but the bottle reflects progress and modern commercial realities. 

This is the route Bruichladdich, Bowmore and Bunahabhain have taken. But actually, there is no reason why, in the right hands, the spirit can’t change, too, provided – and all the major whisky makers agree on this point – the high standards of Islay are maintained.

“I am working on experiments for possible Bowmore bottlings in 2014 as we speak,” says Barrie. “By selecting interesting casks it’s possible to take the whisky into new places by staying true to the distillery’s character but exploring the whisky’s complexities.

“For me making great whisky is all about collisions of nature, and Islay is as good a place as any to explore that. It is one of the ironies of whisky that the biggest collisions of nature happen on Scotland’s smallest islands.”

You don’t have to look very far to see – or rather taste – where change is taking place. A series of Tempest and Devil’s Cask bottlings from Bowmore are two examples, Ardbeg’s Galileo and Corryvreckan are others. Diageo has even launched its big peated and sherried Lagavulin as an unpeaty and sweet 12-year-old – with great success.

But the biggest  change – undoubtedly for the better – came a while back at Bunnahabhain. Previously known as the gentle malt of Islay, it was changed radically when its owners decided they wanted it to be non-chill filtered. Chill filtering removes the fats and congeners that cause whisky at 40% to go cloudy when chilled. But the process also removes flavour and is increasingly frowned upon.

Alcoholic strength

To solve the problem you can up the alcoholic strength of the whisky to a level where clouding no longer takes place. 

That’s what happened to Bunnahabhain, and now the combination of more flavour from non-chill filtering and the higher 46.3% abv has resulted on a weightier, meatier and certainly more Islay-like malt.

Change and tradition can be wedded then, but the general feeling is that the new whiskies and whisky distillers need to be policed carefully. Certainly Lumsden has his concerns.

“There has been more diversity to a certain extent, yes,” he says. “Although some of the so-called diversity is not necessarily a positive thing, in my view.”

Only time will tell.