PROVIDENCE, RI—Today, Narragansett Beer announces the release of its all-new Bohemian Pils, a craft offering joining the brewer’s flagship Lager, Light, and Cream Ale in its year-round line-up, which is complemented by seasonal craft offerings and limited-edition releases.

The Narragansett Bohemian Pils was styled after the Narragansett Imperial Bohemian Pilsner, a limited-edition offering in the brand’s Private Stock series, released earlier this year. Brewed under the supervision of award-winning brewmaster Sean Larkin, the new Pils is brewed to 5.2 percent alcohol by volume and filtered for a flavorful, sessionable beer experience.  The brew features the nuanced flavor of Pale malt, Pilsner malt, Wheat malt and Cara Blonde malt up front, balanced with the bitterness of Northern Brewer and Hallertau hops. The Bohemian Pils contains 30 IBUs (International Bitterness Units).

Honoring the brand’s long-standing tradition of lager brewing established by its German founders, Narragansett chose a lager-style beer to expand its year-round craft offerings. While many craft breweries today are focused on ale-style beers, lager continues to be Narragansett’s signature style, as seen in the brewer’s Marzen-style Fest, Helles Bock and flagship offerings Lager and Light.

Narragansett Bohemian Pils, priced between $8.49 – $8.99 SRP, is now available in six packs of 16-ounce cans and on draft throughout Rhode Island, Boston, Southeastern Massachusetts, and New Haven, Conn.

For further information on the Narragansett Bohemian Pils or to find a retailer near you, visit:www.narragansettbeer.com.

ABOUT NARRAGANSETT BEER:

Narragansett Beer…Brewed since 1890. ‘Gansett is a straightforward, quality beer that has been a New England tradition for generations, producing a classic family of award-winning American lagers & ales. Today, ‘Gansett is produced at top-rated breweries in Providence, R.I., Rochester, N.Y., and Westport, Mass. and is one of America’s top 50 regional brewers and the fastest-growing in the Northeast. Narragansett is available for purchase in local restaurants, bars, and liquor stores throughout New England, New York, New Jersey, Eastern Pennsylvania, the District of Columbia, North Carolina, Florida, Wisconsin and Nashville, Tenn.

Heineken? Budweiser? Microbrews? Bleep that shit—Pabst Blue Ribbon, man!

And, thus, one of the most perplexing trends in American consumerism was born: Retro beer.

Perplexing, not because an anonymous 20-year-old kid with a fake ID settled on a bland-tasting, nearly extinct industrial lager. That part’s actually easy to explain: Until the late ‘90s, the specialty at the Lutz—regarded as ground zero for PBR’s rebirth—had always been Blitz. When that brand was killed off after the shutdown of Portland’s old Blitz-Weinhard brewery, the bar simply replaced it with the next cheapest thing, Pabst.

The true puzzle is why this trend has lasted so long.

We’ve seen other fads—dry beer, ice beer, low-carb, malternatives—come and go; retro beer, though, seems as permanent as a tattoo. And not just PBR. Rheingold, National Bohemian, Utica Club, Ballantine, Narragansett—they’re all names from the ‘50s that have attracted new fans a half-century past the brands’ prime. It’s such an appealing phenomenon, it’s even spawned neo-retros, like North Coast’s Acme label and Full Sail’s Session Lager.

“I always thought it was just a hipster kind of fashion statement,” said Dave Wilby, whose Philadelphia craft beer oasis, the Dawson Street Pub, gave in and started serving PBR in 16-ouncers about 8 years ago. “It was something to go along with the trucker hat.”

Retro is fashion, yes, but it is also anti-fashion. It is the repudiation of mainstream advertising and the affirmation of nostalgic tripe. It is counter-cultural defiance and the sentimental bond between son and father. It is a bold statement of individuality and just another consumer product that defines one’s character.

One sip tells you it’s all about the can, not the contents.

Indeed, before it caught fire, Pabst was widely mocked as one of the worst beers in America—the sort of insipid excretion that Chicago newspaperman Mike Royko famously said tasted like it had been “run through a horse.”

Though it had been one of America’s top-selling brands since the 1800s, Pabst was on life support by the end of the 20th century, suffering through 23 consecutive years of declining sales. There was no advertising. Distributors didn’t bother to pay their bills. Its longtime Milwaukee brewery had been shut down. The company was owned by a charitable foundation in California and managed out of offices in San Antonio, and its beer was brewed by Miller on a contract basis. People saw the familiar Blue Ribbon logo and wondered, “Who drinks that stuff?”

Bike messengers, indie rock fans, sound techs, snow boarders—and they weren’t just drinking PBR, they were loving it.