Johnnie Walker Green Label 15yo
Blended Malt Whisky | 43% ABV
Score: 2/10
Avoid.
TL;DR
a flat, tired, lifeless embarrassment to 15 year old whisky
Call the police, there’s been a murder.
Let me begin by saying that I realise Johnny Walker Green Label is not really aimed at me. I’m what our fearless leader Wally calls a “whisky botherer.” I’m an enthusiast who writes about whisky, reads about whisky, spends time on Youtube watching others sniff and drink whisky, and drags his extremely patient partner to distilleries, festivals, and shops to buy – and often simply look at - whisky.
I’m on the search for the latest peated 46% or cask strength release from That Trendy Distillery because the last batch of the same whisky that I bought was great but unpeated and a different cask and I’m curious about the difference in experience. And I spend way too much of my hard-earned dough on it. I love the stuff. Always in moderation, of course. I love the generous and kind community around it too.
I’m no longer looking for 40% single malts or blends. I’ve moved on, but grateful to what these malts offered me early on in accessibility and affordability.
But, there are some that I skipped back then, simply because of budget, time, or interest. I’ve occasionally been going back to these for the first time recently for a couple of reasons. First, my curiosity simply gets the better of me when I see something on offer at my local shop; a chardonnay cask-finished Glen Moray, a Highland Park 10yo (expect a review soon). But, second, I also occasionally like to see how my palate has changed. These malts offer a usually inexpensive way to do just this.
And so it was that I saw Johnny Walker Green Label 15 year old on offer at my local shop last year. As a whisky botherer, I knew it wasn’t really for me. Undoubtedly chill-filtered and coloured, and as the malt-only older brother of the Johnny Walker Red Label that I’d tried early on in my journey and, even then, did not connect with, I almost passed on it. But, at a very reasonable-sounding £30 on offer, a slightly higher ABV of 43%, a blend of single malts, not a blended scotch – and, importantly, a 15 year age statement – I bent down to grab one off the bottom shelf (which in hindsight I should have seen as the metaphor that it was) and put in my trolley.
I was hoping that the slightly higher 43% and especially the 15 years slumbering away would erase my earlier experience of younger brother Red Label, which I found rough and dull, and was promptly relegated to hot toddy fodder.
I got it home and looked over the bottle. I looked at the awards proudly displayed next to the 15 year age statement. Gold this, double gold that. I know that such “awards” – with their pay-to-play game – are, again, not aimed at me. And I couldn’t care less about them. That’s not the community whose opinions I’ve grown to trust. The passing buyer, looking for a mixer or maybe for something a bit nicer beyond the Johnny Walker Red that they usually mix might see these awards, and 15 year age statement, and very reasonably conclude that this is indeed a nice bottle. All fair enough.
I looked closely at the four single malts named on the bottle: Talisker, Linkwood, Cragganmore, and Caol Ila, among others unnamed that it indicates are included. I stopped to consider the fine experiences I’ve had with Talisker, from the bottle of the 10yo I very much enjoyed, to the occasional dram of the 18yo year old at a pub (I can’t afford it now after the cynical price hike last year, but…moving swiftly on). I have less experience with Linkwood, but reviewers I know and respect (including fellow Dramfacers) speak highly of it. I had a 20cl bottle of Cragganmore early in my journey and don’t remember much about it, other than it being pleasant.
But I linger on the name Caol Ila, named fourth and last in the four-malt line-up, thinking that that’s right on: save the best for last. My beloved Caol Ila: bringer of many of my richest whisky experiences so far. My Caol Ila of seemingly infinite indie variety, although rumours of recent moves by its owners causes concern. I wondered with increasing anticipation what Caol Ila carefully brought together with Talisker and these other malts would bring, and realised it is actually very hard to imagine, which made me reflect on what a job master blenders have in crafting something special.
A blend, any blend, should bring together its different components to create something that is more than the sum of its parts. This is the very purpose of a blend. In the case of Johnny Walker Green Label, the parts themselves are indeed formidable and often wonderful. I was realistic too, though. This wasn’t cask strength indie belter Caol Ila and can’t-afford-but-would-love-to-try cask strength Talisker special release stock.
This was chill-filtered, 43% literally bottom-shelf supermarket stuff. But, it was 15 years old, I said to myself. And, with Caol Ila and Talisker proudly displayed as key ingredients, how bad could it possibly be?
Review
Johnnie Walker Green Label, 15yo, Blended Malt, 43% ABV
£45 typically, £30 paid.
Nose
I tear off the top of the label, pop the cork, pour a dram, and let it set for about 15 minutes. I’ve found Ralfy’s rule here to usually be a good one, and I want to be fair to the whisky: “a minute in the glass for every year in the cask.” I nose, lower the glass, nose again, lower again, nose again. I set the glass down and stare at it. I’m not getting much of anything. I pick it up and nose again. The barest wisp of smoke. A hint of an orange peel that’s been stinking up my bin for the last two days. The memory of a stale coffee bean found behind the fridge. Alcohol, but even that smells tired. I’m picturing tired casks, casks that have been filled, emptied, and re-filled to the point where they’ve got nothing left to give, and then filled again.
Palate
Old oak, stale peppercorns, heavily diluted apple juice. A distant maltiness, maybe. No peat, no smoke on a normal swig. A harsh edge even at 15 years old and 43%. If I hold it on my palate for 10 seconds it feels like this harsh edge briefly reveals a wispy hint of peat. No depth, no layers, and no flitters of things that you would expect a 15 year old blended malt would have; what sensations there are come in one tired cacophonous thud.
A whisky-flavoured drink with none of the flavour hooks of the belter component malts. There has been little discernible development of smell or flavour in the almost eight months between when I first opened and tried this and now when I’m coming back to it. The fill level has been past the shoulder for all that time.
The Dregs
Well, that was a let-down. Hear me out and believe me when I say: I don’t want to give this score to this whisky. To any whisky. Especially a 15 year old whisky.
15 years old. Think about the 15 year old whiskies you love: maybe it’s Glenfarclas 15yo, Glen Scotia 15yo, Glenallachie 15yo, or maybe Balblair 15yo. Think about the flavour punch those give you. The depth of flavours, the layers, and the complexities of the conversation between spirit and cask that’s been deepening over a decade and a half. And then drink this Johnny Walker 15 year old and weep about what’s been done to it. The life has been brutally strained from what were vibrant, powerful malts and all that’s left is this dull, grey corpse of a whisky.
Perhaps it’s unfair of me, a whisky enthusiast, to review this. Is it unfair of an enthusiast to review something that they know is not aimed at them? Perhaps it’s fairer to the whisky and its makers if someone at a different – earlier – part of their journey gave their opinion on this. Drummond of, say, four years and many, many whiskies ago would be much closer in target palate demographic for this than the Drummond of today. But, being up front about where I am now in my whisky journey I hope helps with giving some context about the perspective and experience I’m bringing to this review. Yes, I recognise I’m not typical buyer of this, but in doing so I’m giving it the handicap I think it deserves. Even then, this is where I am with it.
We’re between 2/10 and 3/10 territory here, sadly. Our 3/10 is “Disappointing: some hints of promise, but ultimately pretty poor and hindered by deficiencies.” Understatement, but yeah. “These are the kinds of releases we’re here to help you avoid.” You can thank me later. “Not as rare as we’d like.” You can’t get much more ubiquitous than this, unfortunately. “Hints of promise”? I know what Caol Ila and Talisker are capable of, so technically, there is “promise” here. But Diageo has sucked the life out of these malts such that any hint of that “promise” is nearly undetectable.
2/10 for us is “Avoid. A flat-line in liquid form.” Couldn’t have put it better myself. “Dull, difficult to find any positives.” That’s putting it diplomatically. But, “Avoid”? Am I recommending that you, fellow whisky botherer and Dramface reader, avoid this? Hell yes. But I’m also thinking of my friend who is slowly getting into whisky. He has a couple of bottles of Tamnavulin and a Glenmorangie sitting on top of his fridge. Would I recommend this to him? No.
But if I saw that he bought it himself and he asked me to share a dram of it with him, would I? Of course I would. And if I saw he liked it I’d of course refrain from saying what an embarrassment of a whisky I thought it was. Because I don’t want to discourage whatever directions his journey takes him. And I’m not a jerk. I’m a Cask Strength Captain Picard abiding by the Peaty Prime Directive: allow new drinkers their own journey without your overt interference. Or, at least don’t ruin it for them.
But, as you, Dramface readers and enthusiasts, are my target audience, I’m afraid I’ve gotta shout it for those in the back: this is 2/10 and save your money. Even if this is on offer, put that £30 toward something, anything else. Adelphi’s Maclean’s Nose, which Wally just reviewed, is the same price I paid for this. Buy that blend instead and avoid this sad, lifeless, black-and-white shot of the bodies of Caol Ila and Talisker laying face down in the gutter in the rain.
I hate to give this score to a whisky that has my beloved Caol Ila in it. And yet this is also a reason why this score must be given. I know what Caol Ila is capable of. I know what a fantastically flavourful, complex, boundlessly interesting distillate the folks working at the distillery on Islay make. My hat truly goes off to them every time I try a new indie Caol Ila, and let me tell you, I’ve tried loads of indie Caol Ila. For research. It’s one of the few distilleries from which I have never had a bad or dull dram. Which is quite a feat when you think about it.
I also know what greatness Talisker is capable of, the 10 being a solid stalwart and the 18 something special. And now I know how much life can be extinguished from those whiskies. Diageo should be ashamed of what’s happened here to these magnificent malts. But of course they’re not, they’re not reading one whisky nerd’s opinion, and they’ll continue to sell this by the tanker-load and happily dance their wheelbarrow with piles of money straight to the bank.
I’m not against businesses making money, but knowing what this could be knowing the component malts really puts the profit incentive, shareholder returns, and streamlined economics of delivery into laser-sharp focus. Every corner has been cut here, and everything thinned out and squeezed to the lowest possible denominator for a mass audience that Diageo is leading to believe that this is what a 15 year old whisky tastes like.
This is ultimately what makes this Johnny Walker Green Label such a tragedy. Yes, a blend should be something greater than the sum of its parts, yet this blend somehow manages to kill its component parts and make something lesser than they are separately. Think about that. And considering the seminal powerhouse and beloved distillates that go into this, it’s all the more remarkable that this is possible to do.
Yes, it is almost certainly chill-filtered and coloured and is at a low strength of 43%. But, given even other 43% malts that have significantly more heft than this sad whisky-flavoured drink, I think we’re going beyond the normal gripes about specs on paper here. How is it possible that carefully bringing together 15 year old Caol Ila, Talisker, Linkwood, and others can give us this? I am not a master blender, and nor do I have a master blender’s nose or palate. But I know malts that taste alive and make you glad that you’re on this spinning blue globe to experience these little luxuries that life offers. And I cherish those life-enhancing waters of life even more when I drink them alongside this pale, sad, desolate wasteland of what it should be, of what its constituent parts so often are, and what a decade and a half of maturation should bring it. Someone call the police, because these malts have been murdered.
Score: 2/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. DD
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