On the nose lots of green vegetal notes and a little smoke kissing the black cherry. If it weren’t for the stemmy, green notes the nose would be pleasant but they hit you over the head, demanding attention, refusing to be ignored. The palate is thin and flat with little flavor up front and absolutely no structure. The tannins don’t fade but scurry like cockroaches afraid of the light, leaving plenty of exposed acidity on the finish, not because the wine has backbone but because what little fruit there is followed the cockroaches. This is just pathetic.
The crime is not that people drink this stuff. Some people have bad taste or just don’t know any better, yet we survive. The crime is that someone makes money selling this—people who do know better.
I can’t imagine any music making this taste better but if you grab some thin, querulous folk punk from Wingnut Dishwashers Union, out of tune and out of rhythm but mercilessly ending in less than 2 minutes, the metaphorical associations may get you through a glass.