“At the highest level, winemaking and music-making both aim for a kind of ecstatic communion, a shared experience that brings people closer to themselves and others.”
By
Harry Eyres delves into the profound connections between wine and music.
Music reflects an ideal world—a realm unhindered by borders, where love and harmony prevail over hatred and division. In even the direst of circumstances, music finds a way to rise above. A poignant example is the Leningrad premiere of Shostakovich’s 7th Symphony, performed by the dwindling members of the Leningrad Radio Symphony during the city’s siege. Many musicians were on the brink of collapse, with three tragically dying during rehearsals, yet the performance was broadcast to the German forces that surrounded them.
During the splendid summer classical music festival in London, known as the BBC Proms, I found myself reflecting on various performances. Among the standout moments was a captivating rendition of Beethoven’s Emperor piano concerto by emerging South Korean talent Yunchan Lim, and an exquisite version of the Catalan folk song “The Song of the Birds” by cellist Laura van der Heijden. Lim’s nuanced playing transformed Beethoven’s music into something reminiscent of Chopin, while van der Heijden captivated the audience, embodying the essence of the legendary Pau Casals, who famously performed and arranged this piece during his extended exile from Spain. Their remarkable artistry transcended the confines of nationality or gender.
Music often finds itself linked with wine. For instance, Krug creates “music pairings” to enrich the harmony between music and Champagne, aiming to awaken the senses. Regrettably, my own experience during one such event was quite the opposite, leaving me with an impression that felt akin to discomfort rather than enjoyment. It appears to me that these two forms of art exist at somewhat of a distance from each other. However, the fantastical realms that music and wine inhabit share notable similarities. The poem that inspires this column is inherently a song from the soul of wine directed towards its drinker, describing a melodic essence “full of light and brotherly love,” where music and wine intertwine seamlessly.
As I have observed, the domains of wine and music seem to be converging more than ever. Distinctions of nationality and cultural boundaries, which I have previously discussed, are gradually losing their significance. I recall interviewing the young Etienne Grivot back in the late 1980s and being intrigued to learn about his experience working in California prior to his return to the family estate in Vosne-Romanée. Such cross-border experiences would have been unthinkable in his father’s time. Nowadays, this international exchange is quite common, rendering terms like “Old World” and “New World” almost obsolete.
South Africa stands as a fascinating test case in the wine industry. Wine writer Christian Eedes remarks that “young winemakers in South Africa feel they haven’t reached a professional milestone without four to five international harvests on their résumés.” The connections within this world run even deeper. Esteemed winemaker Eben Sadie dedicated several years to a project in Priorat while also exploring and nurturing remarkable plots of old vines in Swartland.
After his time at Louise Hofmeyer’s Welgemeend estate in Paarl, Tom Lubbe—regarded as one of the most insightful winemakers of his generation—ventured to Roussillon to initiate his Matassa project, focusing on organic practices with ancient vines. The Krajewski family produces wine in both Bordeaux (St-Emilion and Pomerol) and South Africa. The most thrilling wines from South Africa—like the Syrahs from Porseleinberg and the Granite, Iron, and Schist Chenins by Chris and Andrea Mullineux—defy typical notions of New World wines. The Syrahs from Porseleinberg evoke the journey of certain Côte-Rôties, leaning towards floral notes and elegance, perhaps even surpassing previous efforts on the sun-heated slopes. Ultimately, the land or terroir that inspires these wines is neither newer nor older in Swartland compared to regions like Ampuis.
The international perspective of winemakers reflects the broader global destiny of wine itself. This, once more, mirrors the connection to music. While music may hold national or cultural significance—take Janáček’s distinctly Czech compositions or Vaughan Williams’s deeply English pieces—the ultimate aim of outstanding music is to overcome national confines. One of Janáček’s most profound interpreters was the Australian Charles Mackerras. After watching a performance of The Cunning Little Vixen at the English National Opera a few years back, I felt that the London audience appreciated the earthy, tragicomic brilliance of the work just as much as a Prague audience would. The same surely applies to wine, which, arguably even more than symphonies or operas, is deeply rooted in its geographical origins while seeking fans worldwide.
Returning to Baudelaire’s exploration, one can uncover even more profound links between wine and music. Both forms involve some element of sacrifice, which can be reinterpreted from its often negative connotations to its original meaning of “making sacred” through transcending the ego. On a practical note, both wine and music demand immense dedication—the countless hours of practice that allow Lim and van der Heijden to perform with such fluidity and emotional depth, alongside the grueling labor required in the hot, steep vineyards that Baudelaire so eloquently honors. However, at their finest, both winemaking and music-making aspire to achieve an ecstatic connection, facilitating shared experiences that bring individuals closer to themselves and others.