Wrapper: Nicaraguan Habano

Binder: Nicaraguan

Filler: Nicaraguan

Size: 6.5 x 54 “Oval”

Body: Medium/Full

Price: ??

There is virtually no information on the web about this cigar but can be had via cigar.com in their Man O War Special Edition Sampler.

So with nothing to go on, I shall report what I find.

Construction is what you would expect….near flawless except for some large veins…perfect seams, but the cap is just the tiniest bit sloppy.

The only thing distinguishing this from any other maduro Man O War is the red ribbon wrapped around the cigar beneath the band.

This cigar does not seem to be avialiable anywhere yet. Except in the CI sampler…and there is only one within that sampler so I have not smoked it yet.

The sniff-o-rama detects, in order, cocoa, barnyard, and nutmeg.

I punch the cap and litht ‘er up.

The shape of the cigar is closer to a rectangle with curved corners.

Bam! A blast of pepper. Red pepper. Now I can identify red and black pepper, but for the life of me, I cannot detect white pepper. Who the hell cooks with white pepper? Am I trailer trash because when a reviewer describes the spiciness as white pepper, I have no idea what he is talking about.

This is a big stick and while I’ve had my bowl of cereal prior to lighting up, I expect a good case of the spins later on…you will know this because the typing will look like this:

Er35t%^#$^^RE##&)_++@!

So watch for it.

Right off the bat, there is a sweetness. No idea of whence it came but the Kat Nose & Palate will detect it at some point. I like to call it the KN&P.

Some of the sweetness seems to come from graham cracker….a dusty buttery and cinnamon flavor.

The char line, so far, is dead nuts. And I should put out a disclaimer here…Fernandez can do no wrong in my book. Anything I have bought of his design, I love. The San Lotano line and the Man O War line are just spectacular visions of blending.

This cigar is a slow burner so breaks will be taken so this review is not the length of the Gutenberg Bible.

The spiciness has tamped down a bit. And the sweetness competes with it for dominance.

Surprisingly, there is no cocoa flavor. Odd since the pre light aroma was redolent with it.

Well, I’ve only got 2’-5 to go so I imagine at some point it will show up.

An inch in, the ash falls and the cocoa comes to the light. Mild at first. The pepper has almost disappeared. And a slight creaminess shows up. The graham cracker sweetness has maintained an even keel.

The second third is more of the same. The flavors ramp up a bit after sort of disappearing for a bit.

The body is only medium at this point and I had expected more. All of the flavors described earlier are there but very mild. Nothing really stands out.

Then halfway through it, the coca and creaminess swing for the fences. They have completely sublimated the graham cracker sweetness and the spice.

Time to remove the red ribbon.

I have to say at this point, this is my least favorite Man O War.

The body stays a constant of medium body. The flavors are muted.

I will let the last third tell the story.

The power in the last third makes a giant leap forward…I’m seeing dead relatives in the light.

The flavors of cocoa, spice, creaminess, and sweetness are there evenly dispersed in the flavor profile.

I have to say that I was expecting more. I smoked the other Man O Wars that came in the sampler package and they were firing on all cylinders. But this stick must need more aging time in my humidor….Go figure.

And now for something completely different:

My downfall as the fixer….

From far left: Me, Mick Jacques, Darryl Way, Stewart Copeland, and in front: Sonja Kristina.

The band had finished its second album, at the infamous Island Studio in London…and since Miles Copeland was a cheap bastard, he picked an untried producer to ride herd of the biggest egos on the planet in the studio. Now the guy had a distinguished career as an engineer, but nothing as a producer. And the band ran all over him.. Once, he was almost brought to tears because Darryl Way, the band leader and violinist and keys player yelled at him….because Darryl wasn’t getting his way.

The old Island Studios

I was the mediator of the group and we all know what happens to that guy. And it did.

Two camps sprung up…Mick, the guitarist, and Darryl. Then there was Sonja, the singer, and Stewart Copeland, the drummer. I was in between trying to make the peace.

Stew was a very good drummer but had no constraints. He was like Keith Moon and just soloed away during every song. On stage, this was torture, because while Darryl and Mick were upfront trading lead riffs, Stewart was on some other planet soloing in all sorts of weird time signatures causing the boys up front to lose where “1” was.

Which made me hit quarter notes hard and heavy so they would know where they were. Quarter notes means 1-2-3-4. The backbone of rock n roll. It made me crazy to be an accomplished bassist playing quarter notes while Stew behaved like he was the star of the band. And this band was a progressive one with lots of intricate chordal changes. Not a 1-4-5 blues band.

During the near close of the recording of the album, Jose Feliciano showed up for a couple nights and added his own style to our English progressive recordings. The only one it sounded good on was my tune: “I Broke My Leg in Yucca Valley, but My Heart Lies in Palm Springs.” Really, no bullshit. That was the name of the tune and of course, it was bass oriented. I got to show off. The band hated it. It was so intricate that they couldn’t figure it out. So they went to the booth and sulked.

Top: Jose Feleciano enjoying a doob, Me with fro, Jose recording in studio, and the lead roadies enjoying my hospitality in my hotel room.

RCA had a big “Listening Party” debuting the release of the album called “Midnight Wire.”

It was a scene right out of “Spinal Tap.” So the record was played on a continual loop throughout the party and each time Yucca Valley played, I could hear mutterings of, “What the fuck is that?”

My heart sank. Feliciano liked it so much that he bought the licensing rights to it…but I waited and it never showed up on any of his albums.

RCA’s reaction to our album was a disaster.

Behind closed doors, Copeland and his henchmen figured out a new plan. They brought in two hot shot producer brothers that had just finished producing Claptons latest album.

In Amsterdam, they came to watch us perform and we got word that we better go meet them at their hotel one afternoon. I went by myself because no one was interested.

So I sat in their hotel room and listened to these two fuck heads tear the album apart…just ripped it.

Darryl Way and me.

And to my face, they told me my bass playing sucked. They said the vocals sucked. They said the arrangements sucked. They said the violin playing sucked. They said the guitar playing was out of place. Holy Bat Shit!

I raced back to our hotel and with my eyes as big as saucers, I told the band we are in big trouble. They just laughed at me while drinking and smoking dope.

The plan was to re-record the album but something needed to be fixed. The two camps blamed each other for the album failure. And then they all had a meeting to which I was not invited. And guess what? Yep. I got the phone call. I was gone.

I was the least of the problems but it seemed fair that I was the cause of all the problems. Bastardos!

They hired a session bassist to fill in the tracks. But when I listened to the finished album, I heard my bass playing on 75% of the tracks. So I wasn’t the problem.

The new album had no soul and was listless and sterile. No excitement, no verve.

There I was, stranded in England without a gig. It was so humiliating when the musical mags and rags started reporting that I had left the band because of differences inside the band. But I called these rags and told them the truth and they printed it.

I spent another 6 months playing with several well known English bands but it just didn’t click with me and I decided to come home with my tail between my legs.

The upside? I still get player royalties. Woo Hoo. Fuckers.

Me and little Jennifer critiquing a Curved Air album.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS