Somewhere in Gennady Aygi's anthology of Chuvash poetry there is an ancient charm-song to get beer to ferment.

I used to play regularly with the Edinburgh whistle player Jimmy Greenan. He drank himself to death on homebrew after running up unpayable debts at every bar within walking distance of where he lived. A slow messy suicide that took about two years of decline into increasing insanity. I've never since been able to see it as an innocuous hobby.