This is a rocker’s whiskey. A bottle slides down the gullet and leaves a sweet caramel coating that won’t be there in the morning when you wake up wondering what the fuck happened to you. It’ll come back slowly. You’ll remember how this whiskey had just a touch of peppery bite, and little else. It would make a marvelous breakfast slug, your body won’t rebel, no convulsion in the stomach or throat. Soothing with a coffee chaser. Back to the night before, when you didn’t need a glass or ice. You were on, all night, and it never hit hard. Everyone was digging it, the part that you remember. The music was perfect; the interplay brilliant, everything pulled together as if you’d actually been practicing. Jim Beam Rye, easy going for those who go all night.