Like a woodwind section of beautiful antique instruments, these Linfield Road wines are a quartet best listened to all at once. They play perfect harmony, their counterpoint so subtle as to feign pure unison.
They're the lost Franz Schubert piece never before heard; in the couple of centuries since his death their dark rose and cherry wood tones have lost the edgy squeak of baby instruments and the clicking of their mechanical keys is well past, oiled away by the breath of generations of players.
They have none of that nasal annoyance of the oboe, like you see backlit in romantic movie credits over and over and bloody over as the sunrise hits the splashing droplets when the waterbirds land; rather they start with the bass clarinet, sometimes hinting at the goosehonk of the bassoon, but never reaching that awkward hooter's lack of sensuality.
These are the motherly, sensuous, moody wines of a revival consort.
They were made by the Wilson family, which began growing vines on their farm in the cooler uplands of the Barossa's southern reach near Williamstown in 1860.
Apart from that amazing provenance, they're significant because they show very cleary how even in the cooler bits of the Barossa, grapes can ripen quickly, almost over-delivering warming alcohols, especially when grown and made in the most natural and traditional manner, with wild yeasts and long maturation on lees before bottling without fining or filtration.
The Pruner Grenache 2014 ($30; 14.8% alcohol; 128 dozen made) is pure black cherry to sniff: pickled bitter cherries in rosehip jelly. It also shows the smoky/woody Marveer-and-laquer tones Grenache can display through its own natural lignin - sometimes, ripe like this, it barely needs barrel to seem oaky. It's a paler red: like Pinot, you can see your fingers through the glass. Which is not to say it's a lighter drink. It's syrupy, silky and very rewarding to sit and ponder. If you must have food, make it tea-smoked duck with shiitake.
To push the musical metaphor as much as their sheer gastronomic fascination, I made a blend of equal parts of all four. It is indeed the most heavenly, transporting, rustic delight: the essence of old Barossa. Strangely, it's tighter, finer and more elegant than any of its components. Try it yourself: line the four bottles up with some friends, and compare each wine to your blend. It's a heavenly delight. Drink them all while uttering the Barossa Barons' toast: "Glory to Barossa."