Why craft brewers started making “postmodern” beers

Imagine a shelf stocked with cans of craft beer, the labels adorned with bold colors and graphics, a Liberace with a piano covered in nachos hereto skeleton warrior death metal thereAmidst the noise, a surprisingly simple yellow label reads: “Postmodern Beer.”

This beer, Premiumof Artisanal calm watersdefines what might be described as “postmodernism” in beer. The can does away with the cartoonish clutter we’ve grown accustomed to on craft beer labels, vaguely nodding to the nostalgic lagers of yesteryear but also presenting something new, stripped back. Noticeably absent are details of the beer, such as style distinction (lager or IPA? Saison or blonde ale?) or hops used. Its listed ingredients are basic need-to-knows: “quality malts, select hops, and wild yeast.” Brewing for a lager flavor profile with wild yeast more associated with funky Belgian styles is rule-breaking enough. But then consider cutting all ties to those stylistic reference points in favor of simply delivering the flavors consumers can expect.

“When I started in 2010, and even before that when I was homebrewing, I was trying to pioneer new beer profiles,” says Stillwater founder Brian Strumke. “I wasn’t necessarily new styles—I wanted to break down style guidelines and create new works based on traditional brewing techniques, studying the old world of beer and bringing it into the future.”

While Strumke sees Stillwater’s entire portfolio as postmodern, and the brand predates more recent analyses of the concept in beer, Stillwater beers capture everything that makes craft beer in 2024 seem postmodern. They’re a rejection of strict restrictions around categories, an argument that beer can be brewed in pursuit of flavor goals rather than style definitions. They’re then labeled as such, poking holes in the elitist control craft beer has long held: No, you don’t need to understand how many IBUs an EBS has or what ester characteristics to look for in a saison to drink and enjoy beer. Today’s consumers are driven by flavor, not category.

“If we’re going to save beer, we have to remarket it,” Strumke says. “A lot of people in the younger generation don’t know what a kölsch is. I don’t think they’re going to fall down the same rabbit hole we did a decade ago. … If you can get the younger generation interested in beer, that’s fine, but they’re not going to go study for their Cicerone.” [certification] after having their first “Aha!” moment when drinking it.”

As in every other field, postmodernism has been a moving target in beer. After all, there is no postmodernism without modernism to react to, and what truly defines the modern period of beer? One could argue that craft beer itself is an expression of postmodernism: the progressive technologies of modernism streamlined brewing traditions into a sleek, light American lager machine, and craft beer dismantled all that efficient homogeneity in pursuit of variety. Irreverent label designs have strengthened the postmodernist approach, as have substyles that mock the self-centered valorization of established style parameters, such as pastry stouts, milkshake IPAs, and milkshake sours. Modern beer relied on restrictions to ensure consistency, but at the expense of creativity. Craft beer dared to question that modernism and serve the results with irony-filled adjuncts and art in cans.

But as the punk ethos of craft beer grew and formalised into a major industry, it created its own rules, its own modernist period that drove the current dismantling. As Dr J Nikol Jackson-Beckham, director of social impact at the Brewers Association, explains in Lily Waite’s 2020 book Story of a good beer hunt Building on these concepts of beer, craft beer was built on many of the same principles as modernist America, framing white men as industry heroes and obsessing over “authenticity” and “purity.” Craft beer in 2024 is a postmodern rejection of all this, and the proof is in the liquid: now, in a movement similar to Empirical In the case of spirits, brewers look for flavors, experiences and vibes to appeal to consumers driven by those things.

Meet the new series from 10 Barrel Brewing Co. of Bend, Oregon, called CrushThey’re technically fruit-flavored sour beers on tap, but they’re marketed less as beer and more as “a better summer drinking option,” according to 10 Barrel’s press release, which goes on to suggest that the Crush varieties are for when you’re thirsty on a hot day but carbonated water is too boring, kombucha is too “strong,” and cocktails are too intense for the afternoon. Accordingly, keeping the focus on flavor rather than the specifics of the beer style, the Crush cans hint at nostalgia in a minimalist way, stamping white cans simply with “Crush” and each variety’s flavor in a coordinating color: blue for blueberry, peach for peach, green for cucumber.

The hallmarks of postmodern beer, aside from this emphasis on flavour, almost always include a trend towards lower alcohol styles, from session sours to light lagers to lager-inspired ales. Packaging also tends to play on the nostalgia surrounding “beer that tastes like beer,” an ironic parody of modernist beers. See also: Garage Beer, Sunday Beer, Gay beer and Tennessee Waterer.

There is also CarlosA flagship brand from Austin, Texas St. Elmo Brewing CompanyThe can looks as simple as it sounds: It’s labeled “Carl,” in a subtly updated take on American lager cans like Schlitz, Hamm’s, and PBR. The beer is a kölsch, but all consumers really need to know is that it’s a light, easy-to-crust beer; it tastes good; and it’s a craft version of a lager-flavored beer from a brewery they know, which is indicated by the branding. “There’s something grounded and classic about Carl, but at the same time it feels fresh and relevant,” says Drew Genitempo, creative director and director of brewing operations at St. Elmo’s.

Drinking beer in case of emergency It also smacks of postmodernism, even though the intention of his brewery, Wild Heaven Beer in Atlanta, is simply to make good beer. There’s irony in the name, as well as the can design, which is reminiscent of something you might find on a mid-century supermarket shelf. It is indeed a beer that tastes more like a lager, but with a twist, says Wild Heaven executive vice president and owner Sarah Young. The twist, in the case of Emergency Drinking Beer, is a “pils-style beer” brewed with lemongrass and sea salt that’s as light as a lager but not actually lagered. On the label, it’s referred to simply as “All-Purpose Blend.”

In a market where flavour is increasingly important, both in the spirits and beer sectors, you can expect to see more brewers challenging strict styles and conveying more essentially what consumers can expect from cans: “This tastes like a tropical fruit smoothie,” “This is good for the beach,” “This is a retro-inspired lager.” Selling flavours, moods and occasions is more accessible to a broader audience than speaking only to those who know what Riwaka hops taste like or what a saison is exactly. It also frees up brewers: if they don’t have to list an exact style with its signature ingredients on the label, they don’t have to brew exactly according to that model either. They can borrow different elements from different styles, add their own innovations, and label the cans with the flavour of the result.

“I was updating the label on one of my IPAs, Superhop,” Strumke says. “It originally had all the hops listed and I looked at it thinking, ‘You know what, that’s useless information for 99 percent of the people who are going to encounter this.’ I stripped it all out and put ‘Extraordinarily Hoppy, Unfiltered West Coast IPA.’” Less is more, he adds. Whether beer in 2024 is a reaction to craft beer’s pious value of knowing style guidelines or not, it’s refreshingly irreverent and straight to the point: what you can expect in the can.