If I said that the wine’s label often tells more about the winemaker and his company than the wine itself, a psychologist would probably agree. Maybe one, anyway. The label represents the exact image the company chooses, whereas the wine might sometimes fall short of its expectations – or even exceed them. The label makes an interesting interface between the winemaker, the wine and the consumer, and is worth spending a moment on. A label’s purpose is twofold – firstly to attract the attention of those who might be expected to buy the wine, and also to provide enough information for the buyer to justify the loss of precious shekels for it. Many wine labels are so cluttered with detail that they take forever to read. On the other hand, some wineries operating under CIA-like security give absolutely nothing away on their labels, and leave the bloodhound noses of the cork-sniffer to find their own scents. Wolf Blass’s Black Label cabernet-merlot label doubles up as a wall-hanging, while you could condense the (lack of) detail on a Virgin Hills label on to a postage stamp. Now I’d like to show you how the lingo of the wine label is put together on several commercial wine labels. What the company states on the label is entirely up to it, provided it doesn’t mislead and satisfies certain legal requirements, by printing the bottle size, alcoholic strength, plus that grand statement ‘Product of Australia’. It may mention a single variety, area or vintage year, but whatever claims are made must be true for a minimum of 😯 percent of the wine in the bottle. A good label that gives adequate information will include the following details – the name of the wine (which can be a varietal or a generic name), the region where the grapes were grown (which is only really essential on up-market wines), the vintage year (vital) and of course the company who made it. If you see a label choked with tiny replicas of gold medallions, or sagging under the weight of all the diplomas, medals and trophies the wine has won, don’t get steamy and excited, but play cool and hard-to-get. Look at where the wine was successful, and remember these things. Capital city shows are much harder to score at than regional shows. Not all awards are of equal standing, for there are commercial and premium categories at major shows. Many companies don’t advertise their awards on the bottle, and many other firms choose not to enter the shows. What can we conclude? If the label is not decorated with awards, don’t write the wine off for this alone. But if it is, look at where the awards were won, when they were given, and if you’re really keen, find out the category in which the wine was judged. Even though it takes a good wine to win an award, I’m sure you’ll agree that a gold medal in a premium class at the Melbourne Show is of greater merit than a Golden Backpack award in the Sheepdip Class at the Bakkaburk Agricultural Society social meet. Many wine labels carry a ‘winemaker’s comments’ section for the curious, which describes the wine, and is commonly found on a back-label. Some take longer to read than the wine takes to drink. James Halliday’s Coldstream Hills labels come to mind. Who says that wine and literature don’t go hand in hand? Hardys’ back labels go one better, calling their winemaker an ‘Artiste du Vin’ in their otherwise creditable Collection Series. Back labels discuss the wine’s virtues and style, a little about how they made it, and usually conclude with the comment that the wine makes perfect drinking now but will of course improve for at least another five years. Interestingly enough, I am yet to read an undecorous back label. How about this one from E. and J. Gallo, the American firm which is by far the world’s largest wine company. It’s from the label of ‘Olympus Gold’, the official wine of the XXIIIrd Olympiad at Los Angeles, and it reads: ‘A medium-dry, medium-sweet, medium sparkling golden wine that goes with meat, fish, fowl, eggs, vegetables, fruits and grains. Enjoy it at any time, day or night’. But will it start my car? Back labels have become quite the thing, and with a little self-control it’s a good idea. I only wish I owned a glue factory. If you cast your eye around the shelves you’ll doubtless notice that wine labels contest very keenly in their own fashion stakes. Currently in vogue is the pastel landscape, originally drawn by Cloudy Bay (Marlborough, New Zealand) and now duplicated by Australian and New Zealand labels alike. Still popular are the stylised sketch or graphic of an ancient, decaying building, a la Lynch-Bages, which usually bears absolutely no relationship to the winery itself, the playful hiding of the vintage year on the back label, the elegant handwritten look, and the winemaker’s personal signature (Murray Robson’s is actually real). There’s no doubt in my mind – it all adds to the fun and intrigue of my favourite subject. It must also list any preservatives added, e.g.number 220 for sulphur dioxide and 301 for tartaric acid. By the way, these preservatives have been used since time immemorial in wine, it’s just that the Government has made the wine company state so on the label. It would have been nice if they had explained the whole deal a little better to the consumers, however.
