If you know Tynan’s Meleagris Gallopavo, then you don’t need too much of me running my mouth with all the praise I have for this 2018, especially considering this will be my third tasting note on this wine since being fortunate enough to follow it over the last couple of years. So, ya, it’s on the razor’s edge of awesome. I fell like I’ve been using the word “persistence” quite a bit with these sorts of amazing Napa Cabernets, and the MG here epitomizes that compelling combination of length and tension. Its execution and delivery have more Ayatollahian fist-punch-significance than the Chief Commander of the IRGC, but this iteration of MG is, almost supernaturally, able to unstack its FULLY stacked mid-palate and reign-in the acid-thrust skillfully enough to let a quivering explosion of uber-pure dark red berry fruit, earth, spice, and dried flower notes pulse along its conveyance of flavor.

Like all things Tynan, this is built to age. There is a lurking approachability, but it is so solidly chock-a-block right now that it exudes more ADHD jumpiness than a 5-year-old on Christmas morning. A decade-from-vintage all rolled-up in a blankie and cellared in the far corner is likely best. But speaking of ADHD, I’m sure I’ll pop these like a rampant dachshund in a room full of balloons once I get my hands on them. 97-99+ points.

Juicy red raspberry, sour red and black cherry, and damp earth notes flow across the palate with an effortlessness that is instantly appealing. Bright and fresh, with a red licorice note that appears on the back end, adding interest. This is certainly going to be a more gratifying wine earlier on when compared to the mega-bomb MG. The price-point on this inaugural introduction to the Tynan lineage will also be dialed-down a bit relative to its beefier sibling. Signature Tynan frame and tension still live here, but the affable fruit delivery will give those of us with zero patience something to sip on while the rollicking Wild Turkeys take a timeout and sleep in the cellar for a while.

Get out your differential equation cheat-sheet kids because this Syrah is one PRI-MAR-Y panther. If you even know what a ‘linear polynomial in the unknown function and its derivatives’ means, or think that a0(x)y+a1(x)y′+a2(x)y′′+⋯an(x)y(n)+b(x)=0 is a good opening for a Hallmark card, then 1.) Why are you on Cellar Tracker? (You should be minting money at some dot-com startup in Palo Alto), and 2.) You will love the 2018 Tynan Judge Syrah in its current form. Blackberry seed, crunchy blackberry, rigid red licorice (like when you used to bite the ends off both sides of a Red Vine, shove it in your large icy Coke at the movies, and use it as a straw), and frozen blood (like in The Thing) flavors straight-arm their presence over the palate with authority and steely-eyed intent. Acid pops and clenches on the cheeks, closing out with a finish that is direct, no-nonsense, and quite frankly, wickedly irresistible. It’s like watching a favored anti-hero playing Jeopardy! and mopping the floor with the competition. “Who is… Snake Plissken?!”

And just when you think the Daily Double has ya all caught up and you’re about to lose everything, a hefty swirl in the glass awakens meatier roast beef, sanguine, salami, olive, black cherry, and purple plum skin notes that add motivational layers and budding complexities that beam with signals of what’s to come of this wine. It’s a bit of a young Cornas-Hermitage half-breed, and is most certainly planted more in the meatier plot than its year-older 2017 sibling, which is a redder-fruited and floral Cote Rotie-type of contrast. This 2018 reminds me of a taut 2015, which is a great thing, as I love what the 2015 is morphing into as time goes on. The 2018 has more overt freshness than I recall from the 2015 when it was at a similar stage, but a time-machine forecast of the 2018 seems to indicate it is off to a racing start. Just know that the track its on is more of a long-haul competition. Of course, if you’re looking for cocktail plush party bomb gratification, maybe best to head west over to Hall or something equally cotton-candied. If you’re a cerebral cool-climate Social Network kind of Rhone Ranger, then this is your wine without question. Hold bottles until you figure out the Diophantine equation and master the summing of three cubes.

This shows as a super floral Cote Rotie type of profile, with higher-toned red fruit and only the slightest hint of meatiness currently showing. The 2017 is all about aromatics, with a gorgeous nose that intoxicates the senses and gears up the palate for a delivery of berries, peony, pepperoni, and salt rock. Less intense and stacked than the 2018, this 2017 will certainly have an age-ability stamp cleanly on it but can also be accessed with some nearer-term gratification. Charming and fresh, with still a cunning wink-wink to it that lets you know “accessible” doesn’t just mean it’s all about Labrador puppy licks and hair-flip “Doy!” simpleton flavor-pulls. Everything is with intent here. It’s not quite the algebraic phenom that is the 2018, but it’s hard not to take another joyful palate-prancing sip afforded by the pleasing 2017. Still, best to hold for a few years.

Well, this wine is pretty much all sorts of astounding. Especially for a Tynan wine, which typically leads from the frame, this is an expressly gushing specimen. I’m not even sure where it begins and where it ends. It is just kind of all over the place in the best of ways, inside and around every corner of my mouth, like some poltergeist phantasm kind of harpy lifeforce weaving through the soul of my tastebuds. In “pro”-speak, “This is a wine that flirts with perfection,” whatever that even means exactly…

Here's my read: Take the 2018 Songbook and infuse a spatter of black pen ink, blackberry syrup, freshly laid road tar somewhere just east of Flagstaff (or the Inferno), and the darkest Bangladesh soil known on the planet, and you’ve got yourself the 2019 Songbook. There’s red fruit in here, but it’s not red; it’s more “reblack,” or “black-ed,” or “blakred.” It’s goth with an Extreme Makeover: Emo Edition. Think Elvira cliff diving off the coast of Santorini. Thrilling opulence with a dark and cutting flex that suddenly curves into the most broodingly saturating molten chocolate lava cake kind of finish (…and not abhorrently sweet and gummy like one you might get at a Domino’s in Caracas). There is also an obsidian and devil-dog Hades rock thing going on here that ramps up the tension and frame, adding to the statuesque unfolding of this erotic voodoo gypsy serpent. If O-Ren Ishii was a wine, it would be the 2019 Songbook. So, ya, I am all about this wine. A three-digit second-coming isn’t out of the question here, with my reserving a whole point for now just because I know with a little time this will become even more amalgamized and seamless. Seductively evocative, the 2018 and 2019 Songbooks are a gorgeous pair.

I love Tynan’s take on To Kalon, with a serious cut instantly reminding me of a MACDONALD-esque physique and intensity that showcase some of the frame and fortitude that is sometimes missing in the overly ripe and gushing-hot versions from other producers that can override the true terroir of the TK vineyard. In young Cliff Lede style, this leads from the frame, hits you with a solid dose of black minerality, and then fires off with an acute blast of dark soil-laden berry fruit. It doesn’t have the layering that the other-worldly ’19 Songbook currently exhibits, but the TK will surely become less sinewy with another 7+ years in-bottle. It’s a bit of a steely display, which strikes at the fruit a bit and keeps the core from unleashing and expanding, but boy oh boy is there drive and focus that make this a wine for the ages. If you want right-now-melting-ice-cream-ravenous-fruit-bomb style, this ain’t it. This wine will straight snipe you for even looking at it sideways or thinking it’s a puppy to play with. Serious business here.

If you want a wine that makes you feel inferior because it is clearly more awesome and street-fighter than you (and it knows it), pick up a few of these bad boys. Don’t forget to grab a pack of diapers on the way home… and call your therapist. Hold bottles until your kid finishes med school. 96++ points. Tasted twice on separate occassions.