James Watt may not be a very nice man and his beer isn’t that great either, but at least Brewdog proved that pubs didn’t have to die, writes Benedict Spence
I don’t particularly like Brewdog’s beer. There’s something about it that leans too far from what a beer should be. I’ve given enough of them a go, but they’re never quite right. A pint of beer should refresh and/or relax, but all Brewdog has ever done for me is raise questions. Why is this so fizzy? How hoppy is too hoppy, and at what point did we cross that line? Why is there a guava beer? What even is a guava? How did a guava reach Scotland? And so forth.
Admittedly, Brewdog’s Black Heart stout is decent, but one wonders if that’s because it was released to have a laugh at Guinness, and the quality of Guinness in London was a joke to begin with.
But then, I know I’m not Brewdog’s target audience. No fan am I of modern music, exposed industrial aesthetics or spicy chicken wings instead of pork scratchings. I was brought up in rural East Anglia, not trendy London or Manchester, so I drink Adnams. I’m old before my time. The flat caps back home are worn unironically. The babble of English spoken in strange accents is just people from Lowestoft. The pub to me is sitting by the fire with the smell of wet dog wafting up the nostrils, looking out at Southwold’s grey sea. The beer must be almost chewable.
If it sounds a bit forlorn and bygone, that’s because it is. You don’t need me to tell you the harrowing stats about how many pubs close in England every year. Yet amidst the collapse of this iconic and oh-so-distinctly British institution, in just 17 years, two men from Scotland have been able to fight the tide, turning a fledgling Scottish craft outfit into a business of over 100 venues that sells enough beer every year to refill the Aral Sea, and which is considering an IPO that could value it at £1.8bn.
Today one of those founders, CEO James Watt, has announced he is stepping down. Watt, along with business partner Martin Dickie, have battered through the industry like fat blokes pushing to the bar, with both success and controversy following in their wake.
Everyone knows about Brewdog’s stunts to garner attention. The company went to war with a German rival to see who could brew the world’s strongest beer — with one of their attempts diplomatically called “Sink the Bismarck.” Another was served in taxidermied squirrels. Watt rode on a tank through central London to publicise his products, and among a whole host of other ideas, the company even floated that of building a pub straddling the US/Mexico border. Of course, much of it was just japes, but as marketing goes, you’d be hard-pressed to find many companies that have done a better job than Brewdog.
With this success has come scandal. Watt has been accused of overseeing a “toxic” work environment, which seems both fair in that they sell alcohol, but also unfair as no one has died. They have come to blows with other industry players, both large and, sadly, small. Brewdog have often been the first to acknowledge when they have messed up, but the company was also the subject of a BBC documentary titled The Truth About Brewdog, which painted the enterprise and those at the top of it in a less than flattering light.
It is easy to make mistakes when you’re feeling your way to the top of an industry that many say is dying. It’s also easy to take potshots at those who dare to do — who refuse to accept mediocrity. Maybe James Watt is not a nice person. Maybe he is who just gets things wrong from time to time. But what you cannot deny is that he, Dickie and their team have created that rare thing today: a British brand with a wildly popular product.
Yes, I don’t like their beer, but who cares? You can be sure as hell James Watt doesn’t. The figures speak for themselves: there are teeming hordes of people out there who, 17 years ago, never knew they needed what Brewdog had. Many helped fund it in the early days — the so-called “equity punks” who staked their hard cash on its success, and won. What exists now is a monster of a company that has shown the pub and beer industry it need not fail; that evolution is possible.
Later today I’ll go to the Market Porter in London Bridge, and grab myself a glass of something that isn’t Brewdog. But I will dedicate my downing of it to James Watt, a man who has spent 17 years dicking about brewing beer, and has proved wildly successful at it. You cannot help but respect it. So cheers, James.
Your stout wasn’t bad.
Benedict Spence is a freelance writer