Wrapper: Habano
Binder: Connecticut
Filler: Dominican, Nicaraguan, Paraguay
Size: 4.5 x 52 Robusto
Strength: Mild/Medium
Price: $9.25
I reviewed this cigar in 2022. I allowed it 5 months of naked humidor time.
APPEARANCE:
The cigar is pretty much a clean machine. Some veinage, but not obtrusive. Seams are nearly invisible. The weight feels correct and there was no scrimping making sure that this little firecracker doesn’t disappear in 35 minutes. There is a remnant of a pig tail or fan tail, but it is so diminutive that I have no idea of the intent. The gold 24K gold leaf’s purpose is to give the cigar a false sense of elegance. It only jacks up the price. Based upon my research, the gold leaf, cutting, application…plus OH & P makes this a dollar addition to the cost of the cigar. The bronze wrapper is oily and slick.
SMELL THE GLOVE:
Aromas are somewhere between faint and non-existent. I do some deep knee bends with my sinuses and find notes of black pepper, cinnamon, creaminess, cedar, dark chocolate, Honey Nut Cheerios, and the Exxon Valdez.
The draw is too open for my tastes…which tells me this cigar may not be compacted as much as I thought. My PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool runs away laughing.
The cold draw presents flavors of barnyard, black pepper, cinnamon, not a lick of sweetness, lemon, cedar, and charcoal briquets.
THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
The first puffs are treacly sweet but with no origin planet identified. There are notes of lemonade and sweet cream.
Black pepper arrives tied to a dolly with a protective mask. It bites.
The intense sweetness is a bit off putting. I assume this will calm down once I make some headway into the cigar.
I was correct on my second assessment as I discovered the draw was wide open. The stick has burned half an inch in about two minutes. If it doesn’t find something meaty to burn, the cigar will be an 18-minute experience.
Some complexity raises its head long enough to give me hope that the 18 minutes I have with this stick might be OK.
There is now a warm, creamy expenditure by the cigar.
Strength is mild.
The char line is dead nuts on the money.
At 1-1/2” burned (9 minutes), the flavor profile goes into stasis.
Forward momentum has fallen to its knees begging for forgiveness.
No change in the flavor profile…still peppery, lemony, creaminess with a teaspoon of sugar.
I always need to stop writing when “All Along the Watchtower” is playing. I will return.
I’m back.
5 months of naked humi time should have given this cigar some oomph in the body category. No oomph.
It could be one of a million bundle cigars. It does not have its own identity.
I hit some tobacco at the 1-3/4” burned point and the cigar slows down after a quick 16 minutes.
I dearly hope the second half brings some relief. The cigar is just cruising Whittier Blvd in a 1967 Ford Pinto. Absolutely zero changes from the start.
Strength remains weak. But fortunately, the black pepper is annoying. In fact, the spiciness outweighs any chance of a subtle flavor sticking the landing.
I am smoking the gold leaf now…I feel like a Kardashian…except my ass is normal sized and I’m not trans.
Clearly there was no tobacco in the first half. It is situated in the second half and the cigar is burning in a normal fashion. So maybe the cigar will last 35 minutes.
The blend tasted better in the first half than it does now in the second half. There is some harshness and bitterness happening that is heightened by the potent black pepper. This cigar is a total waste of a sawbuck.
If the Cavalier White doesn’t clean up its act soon, I’m going to relegate its remains to the trash bin.
I get no pleasure from enduring a disappointing review. But the more I dig into the second half, the worse this cigar becomes.
I am just now finishing burning the gold leaf. I will be patient for a few more minutes to see if that was the reason for the bitterness. It shouldn’t taste like anything at all.
I gave it a chance…but this cigar is shit on a shingle.
Carry on…
There are plenty of decent blends from Cavalier Geneve, just not this particular stick Sponsor Small Batch Cigar has a large inventory of different blends. Take 10% off with promo code KATMAN.
RATING: 70
And now for something completely different:
1975. We were recording another album. This time at Island Studios in London.
During the close of recording that album, Jose Feliciano showed up. Our PR guy was a longtime friend of Jose’s and invited him to the studio. It was the first time Feliciano had toured England.
He seemed to have liked our foreign prog rock and was so enthusiastic that he asked if he could lay down some guitar on our tracks. Darryl Way did not like this idea. But here we were. The worst that could happen is we would be entertained by Feliciano and then throw away his parts later in final mixing.
For two nights, Jose added his own style to our British overly dramatic recordings.
The only tune he sounded great on was my one tune that was allowed on the album: “I Broke My Leg in Yucca Valley, but My Heart Lies in Palm Springs.” That was the name of the tune and of course, it was bass centric. I was allowed to show off. Of course, the band hated it. It was so funky and intricate that they couldn’t figure it out. It was steeped in American jazz fusion…the exact reason they hired me. The guitarist could not come up with the chords or lead riffs. Darryl had no idea how to immerse himself. Stewart got it immediately. Sonja couldn’t hit the notes. The three went to the control booth and sulked.
My tune became a bass solo…with Stewart Copeland on drums and Feliciano playing guitar. Jose brought along Brazilian percussionist, Paulhino De Costa who played every percussion instrument he had in his kit bag. Stew was right on point. I tried teaching Sonja the two sentence lyrics, but she didn’t have the range or the ability to hit the strange time signature…or the ability to scat, so we had our only instrumental on the album.
RCA had a big listening party debuting the release of the album called “Midnight Wire.”
It was a scene right out of “Spinal Tap.” 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 licensing rights…but I waited, and it never showed up on any of his albums.
RCA’s reaction to our album was a disaster. And not just because of “Yucca Valley.”
Behind closed doors, Miles Copeland and his henchmen figured out a new plan. They brought in two American hot shot producer brothers that had just finished engineering Clapton’s latest album, “461 Ocean Blvd.”
In Amsterdam, they came to watch us perform and we got word that we better go meet them at their hotel the next afternoon. I went by myself because no one was interested. I felt it was very important, but the band had no interest. They sat in our hotel drinking and getting stoned.
I went to the brothers’ hotel and sat in their room and listened to these two fuckheads tear our album apart…just ripped it. They told me that I didn’t move around enough on stage…WTF? Were they expecting me to Duck Walk? I played a lot of convoluted lines and while I tried grooving to the music early on, Sonja did not like her spotlight stolen…so I stood where my place was: next to the drums, as what most bassists do.
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 were in deep shit, and we are in big trouble. They just laughed at me while getting their afternoon buzz on.
The plan was to re-record the album, but something needed to be fixed. The two camps (Stewart and Sonja. Darryl and Mick) were called for a meeting. I was not invited. They blamed each other for the album failure. And guess what? Yep. I got the phone call. I was gone. The album problems were laid right at the foot of the bassist.
Bastardos!
They hired a session bassist to fill in the tracks. But when I listened to the finished album, I heard my bass playing or the bassist copying my licks on 75% of the tracks.
The new album had no soul and was listless and sterile. No excitement, no verve. It was considered by the critics to be the end of the band.
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. The band came down hard on me for doing this. I didn’t care. They fired me without any severance, and I was dead broke 6000 miles from home with my girlfriend and her little girl. So Miles Copeland used something I said in a radio interview to put me in my place in the following piece of crap in Melody Maker:
The roadies took pity on me and delivered half of the equipment stored in the management’s warehouse so I could sell it and have money.
Management made no stink over this. These were their best roadies. They stood up to Miles Copeland and shamed him for doing what he did to me. I sold everything and finally had some money in the bank.
I spent another 6 months playing with several well-known English bands, but it just didn’t click with me, and I decided to go home with my tail between my legs.
Looking back, it was still a great learning experience for a musician in his mid-20’s. I learned a lot…the hard way.
Discover more from Cigar Reviews by the Katman
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS
