Wrapper: Nicaraguan Shade Grown Corojo ‘99
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Nicaraguan Corojo ‘99, Criollo’ 98, Jalapa Medio Tiempo
Size: 5.5 x 42 Corona
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $11.00
I’ve had my sticks marinating naked for 9 weeks.
BACKGROUND:
Released June 2023
500 boxes of 50 cigars released.
This was purportedly Kyle Gellis’ personal blend.
The blend is a morphing of Warped’s Sky Flower and Moon Garden.
The cigar has the iconic 109 shaped cap.
THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
Aromas pounce…baking spices that articulate into clove, nutmeg, ginger, and cinnamon. The machine rages vanilla creaminess, milk chocolate, black and red peppers, oatmeal, cedar, malt, and black licorice.
The draw is slightly plugged. To the rescue, as hailed by the Bat-Signal, is my PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool. One swipe and the issue is resolved. The plug occurs at the usual spot of the cigar band real estate.
Kyle Gellis attacks. A big wallop of creaminess, black pepper, German pretzel, and beef jerky. So, this is what it’s like to be in Mr. Gellis’ head. This is his personal blend after all.
Strength hits an immediate potent medium.
Complexity swings away and the alien falls to the ground while Mel Gibson removes its fingers with a kitchen knife.
The construction is solid. Not a lightweight stick for the indigenous Corona. The char line is dead nuts.
The blend has all the telltale signs of being a Nic puro. Someone will eventually come up with a word that describes the experience. Not me though. I do not believe ‘fucking great” will enter the lexicon.
The tobacco has a very aged quality to its taste appeal. My first observation is that this is a cigar for sophisticated palates. The tobacco is doing all the work…not depending on a laundry list of exotic flavors. No sweet melon with Mozzarella and cherry tomatoes happening here…move along please.
Medium/full sticks the landing at 4 minutes burned. One quarter of an inch is lost in the fire.
I will say it again…Warped is one of the most consistent brands out there. Mr. Gellis has his shit in one bag.
I am listening to Blood, Sweat & Tears this morning. Great band.
With 3/8” burned, a richness appears that feels like a heating pad on your shattered uvula.
Oh my. A wonderful stick. My palate is fresh after more than a week out of service due to a head cold. I taste everything…the Canadian wildfire smoke, the wild ferrets who lost their lives because their legs are too short to run, the tree pollen exfoliating my sinuses, and the intense depth that is squirting from the Sky Moon like sticking your mouth underneath a frozen yogurt dispenser.
Every few puffs brings this cigar closer to being a misunderstood vigilante in Gotham.
Graham crackers, buttery Ritz crackers, and an ultra-smooth balance gives the cigar a pretty face.
I’m projecting that this cigar is going to hit full tilt soon. On one hand, this might be a good stick for newbies as they can experience hallucinations that are constrained by the size of a Corona. No pain, no gain. But for the seasoned smoker that loves something they can’t dissect, it is perfect.
I get why Kyle loves this blend. It is a tuxedo fitted by Bijan. A meal prepared by a Michelin 4-star chef. Footwear by Paolo Scafora. Underwear by Hanes. A Swiss watch by Rolex. And a ferret stew prepared by the inventor of Hostess Twinkies.
The first sweet spot appears at 1-1/2” burned. 25 minutes.
Lucretia Mac Evil dances the Happy Dance around my palate.
Waves of passionate blending behave like a tsunami in the Pacific.
I detect notes of Casdagli-like attention to details. This is a very unique Nic puro. There are a million Nicaragua centric blends on the market. And none taste like this baby, my dears. This is Forrest Gump special.
Have I mentioned that this is a beautiful cigar? If not, I should have. The construction is impeccable.
A touch of citrus appears and lands on a dime. Creaminess morphs into Saltwater Taffy. The spiciness is hiding behind Door #3.
The complex nature of this tiny beast is impressing my dead relatives that hover above my bass guitars snickering that I should have been a Jewish lawyer. My dad was a civil engineer with a law degree. He hounded me as a teen that I should go to law school so that one day I could work for an unethical ambulance chasing firm. Dad worked shortly for my maternal grandfather who was a mob lawyer in Cleveland before being whacked when I was 2 years old. Good times.
The next sweet spot arrives at 40 minutes. 2” burned. The cigar is a lovely slow roll. This may be my first Corona that lasts 80 minutes. Kyle ain’t fucking around with this concoction.
Flavors are subservient to the overall profile of the blend. A masterful design.
Full strength is achieved as my throat closes up and my eyes glaze over. I used this technique while I spent 3 years in Quentin.
Creamy is the dominating force. Grains of the Midwest float by in succession. The rich character is Howdy Doody stapling Clarabell’s feet to the stage. Probably the reason that Clarabell made a wise career move and became Captain Kangaroo. No staple removers needed.
This cigar is fucking uber delicious. Smooth waters and a sunny sky.
Sips of water punch my palate in the face with a gorgeous sumptuousness. Transitions move like a slow boat to China. I begin to sing “It’s a Small World.” Go on that Disneyland ride just once and you will never get that song out of your head. The finish fills my oral cavity with a people mover of complex notes that my brain interprets as a roller coaster of warm flavors rich with dense tobacco aging.
The halfway point sings “Helplessly Hoping” at one hour.
I push my office chair back. I lean back. And let the intensity wash over me in quiet solitude. No more typing for a bit…you’re welcome.
I’m back.
The Warped Sky Moon is written in long hand. A killer cigar blend. An $11 stick that shames a horde of overpriced cigars. Kyle did his fans a solid by releasing this blend.
You can snag this cigar from sponsors Small Batch Cigar (10% off with promo code ‘katman) and Luxury Cigar Club (15% off with promo code ‘katman’).
RATING: 97
And now for something completely different:
1975
Island Studios is in the Jamaican section of London. We had just finished recording our studio album to follow the “Live” album. All new songs. They even allowed me a George Harrison moment with something I wrote for the album.
It was called: “I Broke My Leg in Yucca Valley, but My Heart Lies in Palm Springs.”
Those were the entire lyrics. It was a jazzy scat type song I wrote on my bass guitar.
Neither Darryl (the violinist), nor Mick (the guitarist), could figure what to play so they threw their hands in the air and left the recording area. It ended up being strictly bass and drums. Drummer Stewart Copeland got it. I had worked with Stew, on that tune, for a month before coming to the studio.
Sonja tried to sing the song, but she wasn’t comfortable with the style. Now we had a song without lead instruments or a vocalist. Fucking great.
For this album, rhythm tracks were done first and then everything was layered on top. So, my job was done in a week. The coolest way to record is to have every player do his thing right along with the other band members. It has a much rootsier and live sound. Layering makes it sound stiff and technical. I was hired because of my funk but in Curved Air, it stunk. They thought they wanted what I had to offer…but realized that their classical and folksy songwriting could not accommodate me. I didn’t get it. I kept referring them to James Taylor songs and he had a killer rhythm section. They stared back at me with eyes rolled up in their heads.
Every bass note I played on the album was written by Darryl. I was given no opportunity to add my experienced opinion. This was a 180° turnaround from the reason I was hired. I saw the end.
I have heard from readers who have told me they don’t like Curved Air. Me neither. I was a hired gun. That’s all. I was a kid offered a steady paying gig with a big band. What musician, at 24, would refuse that? I would have played polkas if paid that much dough. So, attacking me for playing with Curved Air is made by non-musicians that don’t get it. Grown men making fun of me. I have plenty of that now because of cigars…at least those critics sit on solid ground.
Even as I whizzed through my parts on the album, we still had 4-5 weeks of studio time left. I preferred to hang in the studio than sit at home and watch BBC1. Plus, there was petty cash available to feed us and I learned to love Jamaican food.
Jose Feliciano was touring Europe and had never been to England. England was all abuzz.
Our press agent was a good friend of Feliciano and got him to stop by the studio one night. I was excited. He was a pretty big deal in those days.
Feliciano brought a then unknown percussionist named Paulinho da Costa. He went on to be a big deal in the years to follow.
Feliciano had a big mouth, and you couldn’t get a word in edge wise. Man, he could talk. Yeah, he smoked dope, but he must have been doing uppers like a madman.
He listened to our tunes and jumped out of his seat. He got his assistant to help him into the studio. He pulled out his guitar and started laying down tracks on our tunes.
After a while, it got weird. It wasn’t supposed to be the “Curved Air album starring Jose Feliciano.” The songs became Curved Air meets Mexican raga.
During a break, he sat on the couch in the booth. Our chick singer had a vocal coach who was a big star in the rock opera “Jesus Christ Superstar” in London. His name was Derek.
Now Derek was as queer as a $3 bill. He was a raging queen…and a lot of fun to be around. Funny guy. He would flaunt it til we couldn’t breathe from laughing…the man was a born performer.
Derek was there the first night that Feliciano was there.
Feliciano showed up the following night as well.
Before the proceedings began on the second night, Jose took the floor. Word had spread and the booth was jam packed with important people.
He sat on the couch. I sat next to him. And Derek sat on his other side.
Feliciano is blind. But you knew that.
You’d think he would take that into consideration when talking about people behind their backs (or in front of their backs) because he lit into Derek.
“Did you hear that queer last night?” And then he went on to imitate him. Everyone in the booth froze in horror.
Derek just sat there and said nothing. Finally, he had enough and leaned into Feliciano’s ear, with his hand on Feliciano’s thigh, and said, “Lissssssten Ssssssweetheart.”
For a moment, we all thought Feliciano got his sight back by the way his eyes opened, and his glasses flew off.
There was uproar of laughter in that booth. Feliciano tried back pedaling; saying stuff like: “I don’t care about how people live their lives, blah, blah, blah.”
Apparently, Feliciano had no sense of humor when it came to himself.
He stood up, made his excuses, and shuffled off into the darkness of the Jamaican section never to be seen again by Curved Air.
BTW- He liked my very lonely tune and brought Paulinho in to play on it. This really pissed off our arrogant, ego maniacal band leader.
During the official play back and release party at RCA headquarters in London, I remember that when my song was first heard by everyone, they did a double take.
“What the hell is this?”
They hated my song. Was it too progressive for a progressive rock band? No, it was too jazzy. Such backwards thinking by the suits.
I took a lot of crap, and they dropped the song from the album. I was not happy.
It was just too much for them. The album went on to be the lowest selling album in Curved Air’s career of more than 20 albums. Yeah. I was the asshole.
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