Discovering the Wines of Gunter Künstler and the Intrigue of Having Interesting Friends

By | 22 May 2024

Terry Theise tastes the latest releases from a “Lion of the Rheingau.”


Terry Theise

Terry Theise dips into the vast range of Weingut Künstler in Hochheim, and comes away impressed anew by Gunter Künstler’s ability to express the many different terroirs of the Rheingau region.

Everyone should have interesting friends. Of course we love our friends, and to us our friends are always interesting. But I refer to a specific sort of friend, the one with whom you make such vibrant conversation that many days later the ideas are still crashing around in your head. It’s My Dinner With André in real life. If we have even one single friend like that, we are blessed and fortunate.

I’ve dedicated a significant portion of the past week sampling an assortment of wines generously provided to me by Gunter Künstler, in an effort to stay abreast with his latest works. Naturally, considering the enormity of his winery, it wasn’t possible for me to sample every single variety—I barely scratched the surface. I regretfully couldn’t try many of his reds, a majority of his Rieslings, including his Chardonnays, Grüner Veltliner, sparkling wines, and a number of others.

However, the wines I was able to taste left an indelible mark. They weren’t merely wines I found likable, admirable, and enjoyable; they were complex, inviting further reflection and contemplation—almost impossible to divert my thoughts from. A Künstler Riesling is likened to an intriguing companion.


Not long ago, Künstler expanded his horizons by acquiring more land. Thanks to this addition, Künstler’s Rieslings now offer an extensive representation of the possibilities afforded by the Rheingau region. Ranging from the earthy mineral-rich taste of Hochheim and adjacent areas, to the robust fullness of central Rheingau (Erbach, Hattenheim), and the delicate purity of the Rüdesheimer Berg Schlossberg with its unique slate and quartzite soils, this estate deftly explores and exemplifies these diverse terroirs with such elegance that trying to categorize it would be both challenging and unnecessary.

If there’s a common thread connecting these variations of wine, it isn’t effortlessly expressible yet it’s detectable in the scents and textures of the wines. Künstler’s wines are modern, which means they are neat and distinct, typically a bit effervescent, and largely on the drier side. However, these wines are not exceedingly acidic, intensely “perfumey,” or showing signs of being overly processed. Their sophistication seems to stem from an inherent honesty, which allows the vineyards to express themselves clearly, and that is how their identity is determined.

Regarding the white wines, the “1er crus” are from the 2022 harvest while the premier “GG” series hail from the year ‘21. Many wine commentators have heaped praise on the 2021 vintage. While lots of these wines are thrilling, and a handful are exceptional, the vintage has such a unique characteristic that my viewpoint tends to be more nuanced compared to others I have encountered.

A blend of sites in Hochheim, this appears to be the main estate wine. The fragrances are sweet and roasty, and the feel in the mouth is smooth and well-balanced. I was excessively eager to try these after sampling all the reds from Baum-Barth (a recently established vineyard in Ingelheim) the previous week. In contrast, these wines are less seamless; one can taste the craftsmanship and the surface texture is less matte compared to the Ingelheim wines. One must also take into account the inherent earthiness of Hochheim.

I’ve always been fond of this wine, and it continues to draw me in. Its exterior is perhaps more refined and shiny; it gives a feeling of having been sculpted, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. The Baum-Barth wines had an effortless existence, like they couldn’t be molded because they were already perfect. Here, we have a wine that’s vibrant and spicy and keen to express itself. I appreciate and respect it, while also yearning for the rich umami depths of last week’s wines, by which I seem to have been thoroughly spoilt.

Since four days, the almost full bottle has been sitting unattended in my 51º cellar. I got it back to room temperature out of curiosity—will it appear more believable and better connected than before? Predominantly, yes. Additionally, I feel it’s wrong to criticise a wine that appears physically well-structured. We appreciate such attributes. And the earthy depth and tomato leaf accent of the calculated ending appeals to me. It’s analogous to liquidized clove and duck breast.

Spätburgunder is only stated on the rear label. The vineyard, located downstream from Rüdesheim where the river veers northwest and known for its tilted slatey terrain, is notable for its reds. Despite their recent valid acclaim, courtesy of wines of this sort.

A mild, bonelike aroma lures you. Despite its modernistic clarity and splendid texture, the wine’s profound and sweet fruitiveness is captivating and persuasive. It’s chic alright, but equally stunning. It exhibits an urbane yet wild characteristic on the mid-palate; incorporating rose hips, tomato essence, and interestingly the omnipresent Bisquit de Reims cookies in Champagne. I may deviate a bit from the comprehensible path, but the fruitiness here instantly reminds me of Theresa Breuer’s Rieslings from the Rauenthaler Nonnenberg. It’s as if they’re related twins who can understand each other flawlessly.

This also revives memories of the sweet aspect of Gevrey, often overlooked, defined by Charmes-Chambertin. I’m not overstating when I say it possesses the strength and impact of a grand cru, even though its fruit is so divine that it seems almost delicate. But the ’19 vintage exhibits its generosity of sun-drenched wheat and its herbal-doughy mid palate, making the wine anything but fleeting. Having said that, the fruit quality seems to float, as if it has vaporised and is hovering just above the glass. People occasionally speak of the wispy charm of supreme Burgundy, and that’s precisely what I see here.

Ultimately, the wine lingers on the palate as if its existence would cease should it ever vanish. This wine demonstrates mastery and sublime tenderness. If “deeply buoyant” is not an absurd contradiction, the wine encapsulates this paradox that always indicates greatness, and such greatness is well within its potential. Hats off, Mr. Künstler; you have discovered a treasure.

Afterwards upon tasting once more, I ventured outdoors into the ferocious wind of a rare April nor’easter, and the wine showcased its fluency of expression and its articulation of subtleties. It presented its oak character, too, but no more overt than a skillfully executed Crianza Rioja.

A subtly mineral bouquet presents alongside elements of fir and iron, suggesting a reserved, even introspective character.

Nothing introspective about the palate! The wine makes its appearance with the intensity of a 21-gun salute, full of perceived “sweetness”, along with fondly redcurrant-esque herbs and an assortment of spices that evoked thoughts of galangal. Layered with the overwhelming earthiness of Hochheim, we find ourselves with a significant dry Riesling magic.

I mean, it’s no secret that Künstler towers over others as one of the top Rheingau growers. This wine is astoundingly delicious, exhilarating to the senses. It has a healthy blend of spice, earthiness, and mineral complexity, decorated with a borealis-like shimmer that glides incandescently on the palate. The pure, serene dryness has a comforting non-strict presence, making it a challenge to refrain from gulping it down immediately.

(And can I just add, we haven’t even started talking about the GG level?)

It has always baffled me that these wines have never been fully appreciated in the American market. Regardless of the alleged reasons, they don’t justify overlooking these fantastic wines. Their quality is unfathomable, consistently top-notch, and presented with a modest grace, a departure from the sometimes ostentatious display common with the grands seigneurs of the Rheingau.

And it only gets better with each taste. On my third sampling, I was tantalized by an exciting mix of nettles and gorse, and a newly persistent citricity of tangerine.

Here we present the raw essence of nature, Act-1: imagine the thrilling experience of savoring this alongside the Steinsetz Grüner Veltliner from Gobelsburg, dating back to numerous seasons – the similar crisp sharpness reminding you of radish, yet with a rich sumptuousness, and flavors that seem to skyrocket akin to a fast-moving elevator in a skyscraper. The wine isn’t exactly refined, but it’s exhilarating to experience.

(Stay tuned for the raw essence of nature acts 2 and 3, as these wines consistently unearthed their Austrian counterparts.)

Riesling makes its appearance only on the back label.

This loamy vineyard dominates as one of the top two in Hochheim. Gunter Künstler might chide me for not including the third, Hölle, but I perceive it as a peripheral grand cru and not exactly among the absolute best.

Compared to the Stielweg, this wine is more angular and corrugated, even though it contains a half percent less alcohol—but the striking, textured complexity of this wine is simply undeniable, even if it is slightly less ethereal than its counterpart, the GG. Descriptions such as “chewy” and “peppery” fit—but only if you’re familiar with the floral undertones of the Tasmanian variety. It’s reminiscent of a rock wall riddled with convenient hand-holds for climbers, and it carries an unexpected “sweetness” akin to cardamom. Trying to pin down its multitude of flavours, however, may be counterproductive, as the real essence of this wine lies elsewhere.

This wine dwells in the confusing realm of Riesling, where the variety is often misinterpreted as merely being “fruity” or worse, “sweet.” A wine like this stands at the pinnacle of its varietal expression—the fundamental truth of such wines. In their ideal growing circumstances, these wines exude stark minerality; all other characteristics dance around this rugged, fascinating complexity. The beauty of this particular grape is its astonishing taste, built upon such a sturdy foundation.

While there are certain aspects that don’t quite measure up to the Stielweg—it doesn’t possess the same length, it lacks the balancing act of profound minerality and radiant vibrancy—it possesses that indefinable quality that cannot be further distilled or reduced down because it embodies sheer depth. This is the pure taste of this particular vineyard’s terroir. It might come off as slightly awkward or shambling, but its defining characteristic is an unfathomable, indifferent depth. Like it or not, it’s not bothered—it simply exists in its unapologetically authentic state, indifferent to whether you decide to join the party or not.

Over the days, it grows more delicate; the party’s dying down, but the few remaining guests are engaging in those profound late-night discussions that all of them will remember fondly, for years to come.

This Rheingau grands crus is perhaps the most difficult to decipher, which could clarify why it attracts my affection so much. It seems to have been exiled from Deidesheim. It appears somewhat distinct from the other Rheingau crus. (However, this wasn’t always true, as they had a better understanding of these things in more straightforward times.)

In many regards, the differences are evident. This wine has a smoother texture than Kirchenstück. The minerality has a more fragmented quality; the wine comes across as more briny. There is a more extravagant presence of hyssop and caraway. The few grams of residual sugar seem more pronounced, but this could just be a mistake in perception. A bizarre undertone of melon emerges. The finish has a hint of spearmint. Honestly, this wine’s complexity is exasperating.

It shares some of the granulated, leguminous complexity of the Schoenenbourg grand cru in Alsace, along with the miso and Meyer lemon notes found in Pfalz. If “Rheingau” suggests a certain dignified sophistication – think of a perfectly tailored suit complemented by the flawless ascot – then disregard that image. This wine’s profound nature is reminiscent of a smooth avalanche of salt and gravel. The doughy base notes recall those of the Wachau’s Achleiten, albeit in a decidedly sleeker guise.

How does dry Riesling surpass this? I’m not sure. However, I will continue to taste and explore.

On the second tasting, the spiciness seemed to assert itself more from the Jancis glass. This transformation showcased a master class in terroir, swapping personalities with the Kirchenstück, becoming more vociferous as its counterpart became more elegant.

The back label reveals this to be a Riesling, attached to a disproportionately heavy bottle. This seems all the more glaring given that it originates from a “Fair ‘n Green” member estate. All the GGs are housed in these cumbersome bottles. This needs to come to a halt.

While we are now dealing with a different vintage, it nonetheless exudes the ethereal qualities that one anticipates from the GG class, unless the terroir is such that it is not conducive to these aspects. However, the aroma of this wine is divine.

The grandeur of this wine cannot be reduced to the sum of its parts. I will mention these parts here, most of them at least. There is the ethereal nature of the wine, a result of meticulous and sensitive cask aging; there is the umami. Then there is the mild honey note, reminiscent of freshly-cut acacia. There is the sharp, invigorating undercurrent of ’21, balancing out all the rich sweetness. A surprising lengthy finish encompasses the true essence of the cru, ready to be savored. The finish, both exploratory and distinctly mint-like, beckons further examination.

There is no single element that contributes to the totality, it’s rather a spirit that is echoed by the grand cru, much like music or poetry. It speaks to you, even if you think you don’t understand its language. You know the moment instantly.

This wine is a marvel, filled with many elements of grandeur, and it leaves me in awe. However, it sometimes makes me wonder if the wine is too overpowering. The strikingly bold flavor, akin to what Karen MacNeil refers to as the “stiletto” effect, seems to interrupt the harmonious ring, the ideal trait of a great wine for me.

I can picture people considering my thoughts extravagant. Perhaps I am extravagant. I have refrained from heaping unanimous praise on 2021, as much as its best wines are thrilling, its mediocre ones can be piercing and some of the finest ones can seem overtly ostentatious. That’s not the case with this wine, which is undeniably magnificent, but seems more explanatory than enchanting. But seriously, this is absurd! How can a rational man raise a question about a wine this exquisite? I shouldn’t…and I actually don’t. But the scent of the empty glass provokes me for the first time to just let go, to submit. The fragrance is truly ethereal.

I have the same sensation in each subsequent tasting process. This wine is extraordinary by any standard, even my somewhat mystical ones. It may sound ridiculous that I seek some kind of metaphysical sparkle as a representation of excellence. But I do. Just be careful to wear sturdy socks when you taste this, it’s likely to knock them right off.

The back label displays Riesling, along with the phrase “Weiss Erd” Weiß Erd, seeming as though the GG-font could not express “ß”

Perhaps one of the most unlikely GG in the Rheingau, blessed with an exceptionally warm microclimate and limestony marl. I considered this as a “lesser” GGs—but surprising, this wine has a scent worth a million dollars, similar to an impressive mix of Champagne and Nahe Riesling. The Jancis glass uncovers nuances of hyssop and fennel, and once this hits the taste buds—you’re in for a surprise.

Adding white tea and white pepper to the concoction. The wine enlivens every possible taste; it’s not just swimmingly lively but also boasts the brightest umami; it possesses stinging precision along with a kind of firm lusciousness; it brims with hectic energy yet radiates calm. Upon opening the sample case I was initially bit upset that Pfaffenberg GG wasn’t included, but I’m elated that this was instead! I doubt a finer wine has ever been produced from this cru. It summons the spirit of an ever-energetic puppy.

When the ’21s fulfill their repute they taste like this: a daring balance of flavors; they could easily become too impetuous, too crudely “intense” or too acid-driven, but just as I start to question all the hype, a wine like this turns up, justifying The. Hype.

Either there are a measly few grams of RS or else the physio-sweetness is unduly expressive. What (little) the wine might give away in elegance, it compensates with sheer vividness and a psychedelically visible intricacy. I could imagine it as a wine Hans-Günter Schwarz made in his heyday.

That’s a lot of words for a wine whose ideal “tasting note” probably should be—“Freaking hell, am I tripping?”

I have a little daydream of Gunter and his cellarmaster going through the cellar tasting these wines just after fermentation, looking at each other slack-jawed, each of them thinking Good lord, what have we got here?

Again Riesling on the back label, and again (like all the GGs) a lamentably heavy bottle.

Rottland exudes a brooding presence, seemingly introverted following the exuberance of the Weiß Erd. This initial impression can often be misleading as Rottland, packed with dense concentrations, tends to give an impression of inwardness. An intriguing comparison can be made with Ried Lamm Grüner Veltliners with their similar introverted glow. The Ried Achleiten might also be a worthy comparison.

The real question though is how Rottland, a classic symbol of dense Riesling, will respond to the brilliance of the ’21 vintage. The wine initially presents as voluminous, sporting some jalapeño heat and an enigmatic mist that shields its flavours within its depths. With time, however, it becomes saltier, bearing semblance to black lava salts and featuring hints of dried morel powder.

True to form, Rottland remains elusive at this stage, its heft making it difficult to decipher. It stands as a testament to the resilient Rheingau personality, seeking not to charm but to show the alternative face of wine – one that is neither amusing nor seductive, yet deeply intriguing. The term ‘unfathomable’ seems fitting for a wine of this complexity as one can only get a glimpse of the profound depths lurking beneath the surface.

I nurtured this wine carefully over several days, curious if time would leave its mark on it. Long acquainted with Rottland and its various microclimates, I returned for a second look the next day only to find it unchanged. This isn’t the first instance where I felt the GG rules somewhat confined a wine of this character. While it’s uncertain how much RS it contains, an additional 6-9 grams could have transformed it spectacularly.

Without doubt, it’s all a matter of taste! It wouldn’t be fair to nitpick about what could have been. When savoring a selection of wines as marvelous as these, I need to keep in mind how tempting it is to nitpick, just to prove my critical judgment hasn’t been totally neglected. Yet, the wine doesn’t seem fully at ease in the formal attire of 2021.

Obviously, we’re talking about Riesling.

The steepest vineyard in the Rheingau is also one of the finest, and it belongs to a select group of locales in this region that feature slate—in this case, slate and Taunus quartzite.

The aroma is divine; no other description is fitting. As I pen these thoughts, I’m finding out that one of the esteemed advocates of slate is in a Bernkastel hospital, fighting for every breath. I sit here, immersed in slate, musing over time and distance. Here’s hoping for the best for Alfred Merkelbach.

There’s a remarkable transformation happening with Künstler. This name has typically been associated with the full-bodied, mineral-rich earthiness of Hochheim. Now, it’s linked with a wine that’s its complete opposite: delicate, painstakingly refined, with flavors as intricate as needlepoint and a vibrant energy reminiscent of a fluttering kite. This wine is spectacularly precise and strikingly transparent, its clarity creating a sense of euphoria akin to finally understanding a complex mathematical equation.

Drinking from a Jancis glass both enhances and diminishes the experience. A faint celeriac-like steeliness emerges that isn’t present when using a Spiegelau, but the Jancis glass also reveals the wine’s complex structure with such ingenuity it’s like studying the Eiffel Tower—grand and intricately designed.

However, a second taste suggests the glass may detract more than it contributes. Switching to a smaller tulip might be wise to emphasize the wine’s juicy qualities, always a good approach with ’21s.

On the topic of the notable 2021 vintage, it’s truly an exciting year, mostly for enthusiasts who appreciate sharp, acid-driven clarity in their wines. As a general observation, my preference for it increases as I focus on southern regions. I perceive the virtues other commentators are praising enthusiastically. They are not mistaken; these are the attributes they find exhilarating, and at its finest, the 2021 vintage is indeed exhilarating. However, I offer a word of caution.

Let’s put aside the questionable aging outcomes of high acid years for a moment. Arguing about who triumphs in these debates would be moot as it’s unlikely I’ll be around long enough to witness the conclusion. Instead, I encourage you to shift your focus to this particularly outstanding wine and ponder over this; when a wine already showcases meticulously crafted flavors, possesses a firm “vertical” structure and emits an innate lightness, what becomes of it in a year when all other wines display the same characteristics? It can feel as if we are emphasizing an already highlighted trait. A wine like Berg Schlossberg perhaps shines brighter in years when its freshness is not the norm, thus making it more appealing. However, in a harsh vintage, we risk overdoing the assets of wines like this one. The sharp aftertaste is reminiscent of the usual worries. Despite this, the exceptional flavors that arise from these—in the late finish—are unparalleled and represent the vintage at its most compelling.

Now, these are mere musings, hypotheses, contemplations; do not take them to heart. More importantly, do not let them detract from the splendor of this wine, which is truly astonishing.

Its fame is such that it doesn’t require the name of the village Erbach on its front label. It is clearly a Riesling.

Marcobrunn and Bernkasteler Doktor garnered their reputations in an era past. Although the wines were (or have the potential to be) genuinely outstanding, they were often overvalued due to supply and demand economics. As a modest country wine merchant, I rarely had the chance to taste Marcobrunns. However, when I did, it was apparent why they earned their acclaim. Simultaneously, it was noticeable why many wines failed to live up to that acclaim. The news that Gunter Künstler had been granted the opportunity to produce wine from this sacred ground was a joyous occasion for us all. When I told Gunter that “the Rheingau angels are happy,” he expressed his gratitude and acknowledged that the added responsibility would keep his hands full.

Erbach essentially embodies the flavors of vanilla and meyer lemon, structured with a hint of pale honey, possibly lemon blossom. This tone can be identified in Siegelsberg and to a smaller extent in Schlossberg, which introduces a slight natural tinge. However, when dealing with a monocru, it’s always a toss-up regarding the vintner’s true commitment to its potential. Marcobrunn embraces the supple character of neighboring Siegelsberg, augmented by unexpected steadfastness best reflected in this wine’s intense earnestness.

Imagine stepping into a café just as they’ve set out fresh pastries for the afternoon rush. The exquisite aroma is so irresistible, it immediately sends your diet plans for a toss, prompting you to indulge in a guilt-filled cake feast. This wine encapsulates all the enchanting spices that don’t require enumeration.

The initial tasting experience is both grand and tentative, embodying a paradoxical balance between internal confidence and external apprehension.

Permit me a moment of absurdity. I can’t help but yearn for a bottle of Marcobrunn, encased in any available fancy bottle, devoid of the GG label and its inconsistent regulations. It should contain about 16-20 g/l of residual sugar essentially embodying the “feinherb” aspect while being reminiscent of the old production methods. These older methods contributed to the present-day prestige that we as consumers pay for. Basically, the wine should convey a message along the lines of, “This bottle is designed for the sheer beauty of the wine. Let the beginners worry about the sugar content.”

I say this ridiculous thing because, for all the lofty profundity of this GG, I can taste how it might have been even better. And I also can taste how I might have been wrong. After all, opacity is the sidekick of profundity, and it’s just reasonable to admit my position may be erroneous. The wine could justify itself and I look like a fool. But—I don’t think so. Sometimes the whole “GG” thing is a boat that needs to be rocked, and this may be one of those times.

It does well with air and it prefers the articulations of the Jancis glass. But overall it is somewhat obdurate. It needs time—of course it “needs time.” But it’s already handicapped by an ideology that doesn’t fit this particular wine. But in fairness, there are vintages of Bründlmayer’s Alte Reben Heiligenstein that can seem mulish upon release, only to reveal their beauty over the years. This could be one such wine. I don’t think so, but it could. I’ve been mistaken before. I’ve tasted it four times now, and its story isn’t finished being told.

That said, I stand by my conviction that this fine wine could have been majestic if it were liberated from the GG strait jacket. My opinion, yes, and I stand by it.

And yes, this is the order in which I tasted—Marcobunn GG, then this chap.

Please don’t misconstrue my words. This wine is a resounding success – achieving everything it purports to do, flawlessly. It epitomizes not only what it should be, but indeed, what it could be. It’s a wonderful accompaniment to any occasion, and the only thing you’d prefer to do is enjoy it. Less fruity, more “woolly” than the irresistibly attractive 2020 variant, it deconstructs the conventional belief that a “simple” wine can never equal a “superior” wine (or a wine with pretensions of superiority). In meeting this hurdle effortlessly, it bestows upon itself a dignity that many deem difficult to attribute to such wines. To be able to savour its aroma from three feet away may not be considered “elegant”, but it sure is enjoyable.

Don’t think for a moment that I’m disparaging the Marcobrunn, or even the entire class of the grands crus. The Marcobrunn is profound and deserving of my admiration, representing a distinct entity of its own that I respect for its exclusivity. I risk irking my friend Gunter by writing this – I know he’ll read this – but I need to pose a question: How do we weigh a Noteworthy Wine that could have been better, against an Ordinary Wine that performs to the best of its capabilities? (Indeed, this is a query for further thought, and yes, there will be a quiz.)

This wine exhibits an enticing herbal profile, less outwardly “mineral” than the original Galician, more kindhearted in its approach. If it reminds you of a Weinviertel DAC, I wouldn’t object. There’s much to appreciate in a wine that simply works, and innumerable ways to express this.

The wine hails from the Hochheim locale Herrnberg, a unique limestone spur in this vicinity. The wine strikes a fine balance of being ripe (13.5% alc) yet delicate and refined in its aroma. (It’s worth noting; the ’21, which I personally found overly vegetal, sold more quickly than any previous vintage directly from the winery. Indeed, that shows my level of discernment.)

Despite everything, I’m really fond of this wine for the fact that it speaks more of the terroir than the grape variety. The vineyard also produces a Chardonnay, which in hindsight, should have been included. I was never truly a fan of some Sancerre wines I consider less refined, however, I consistently enjoyed the courteous nature of Pouilly Fumés. This wine is audacious, yet never tasteless. Considering its ripeness, it behaves like some Alto-Adige Sauvignon Blancs that taste mature but not overdone, and not overripe. Regardless, I wouldn’t casually drink this wine—the alcohol content of 13.5% isn’t a light matter—but I deeply value how the cassis notes are subtly presented, almost as if it were a thoughtfully planned Scheurebe. According to my taste, this wine doesn’t lack in sophistication compared to any of the Rieslings. Of course, the potential of Rieslings is much greater, but still, an astute winemaker has put in his keen attention to even this wine.

With each swirl in the glass, the wine unfolds more bountifully, yet it never compromises its intrinsic and intricate finesse. “Finesse” and Sauvignon Blanc don’t usually coexist, making this a significant quality. It makes a delightful and important endnote to the loud statements of the Rieslings. I was touched by this “humble” wine, even moved, occasionally astounded. Now, it leads me back to the world with a pleasant narrative, not burdensome but engaging, that I feel compelled to share.

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