Ellen Allien’s latest is a darkly playful slab of good, old-fashionedelectro, and that’s a good thing. Early electro was some of the firstmusic I fell in love with as a kid. I had no cultural reference pointfor it, and I knew nothing at the time of the bizarre trans-Atlanticintercourse between German techno pioneers and New York funk producers,but somehow the music just worked for me. Everything that was inventedor came to prominence in the early 1980’s is enjoying a comeback now,but I’m happy to say that Ellen Allien’s newest, Thrills is more homage than rehash. There’s no irony in the mechanical rhythms and icy electronic atmospheres on Thrills.The record isn’t a tongue-in-cheek throwback to bad hair and pants withmore than one zipper. Instead, it’s the latest in a long line ofproductions from underground dance producers who never let the electrovibe fade.
Somewhere along the way electro melted into faster, less funky techno,but Ellen Allien is doing her part to bring back the funk, albeit inthat stiff, Kraftwerkian way. The few tracks with vocals on Thrillscould have given the record more depth, but might have also steered itoff course. Luckily the vocals are repetitive and mostly monotone andjust work like a sample might instead of taking control of tracks thatare otherwise pumping along just fine without a voice. “Down” featureslots of breathy “ahhs” laid over the album’s most rollerskate-appropriate jam, while “Ghost Trian” spits out a beautiful,sputtering melody over some low end drones and a simple disco loop.“Cloudy City,” which is only one letter away from being a great StarWars reference, shows off Ellen Allien’s knack for catchy, rubbery basslines. All of this music is motorik and repetition is the key to makingthis sort of stuff work, but dance music can easily wear out itswelcome outside of a club setting. Thrills keeps this in mind by never letting any of the tracks go on much past the six minute mark. That’s what remixes are for!
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For the 12th year Brainwashed Readers have voiced their opinion on the best and worst music of the year. While some of the results shouldn't come as a surprise, there are, as always, plenty of anomalies. Brainwashed Readers have once again, and probably moreso than any other previous year, distanced themselves from the mainstream. Thanks to all who took part. As always, the Brainwashed Staff have added their comments.
Zola Jesus
"My favorite artist of the year. Everything Zola Jesus has produced has surpassed her previous release. Comparisons to Diamanda, Siouxie and Kate Bush are not unfounded. I expect really big things to come from this midwestern banshee." - Michael Barrett
Throbbing Gristle
"Throbbing Gristle have never seemed so important or relevent to me as they do now. I wasn't even born by the time they terminated the mission originally but today, in a political, economic and environmentally turbulant time they have proven to be not only relevant but inspiring. Driving through desolate areas where shops have closed down and the queues to collect jobseeker's allowance grow longer and longer, the ghostly pulse of their music haunts me more than ever." - John Kealy
"The reunion concerts were criminally underwhelming and The Third Mind Movements did even less for me than P-Orridge's horrendous last two Psychic TV albums. At least I got my vinyl copy of Heathen Earth signed by all four members at their Brooklyn Masonic Temple gig." - Gary Suarez
"I never listened to Throbbing Gristle a ton. The first time I heard them, I was sure that I hated them. Actually, I couldn't imagine anyone liking them at all. Over time I became familiar with them and somehow they seeped into my veins. I still don't listen to them on a regular basis and I still can't say that I love them, but I don't think I can imagine music without them. It was because of some Throbbing Gristle tapes I was given when I was pretty young that I came to listen to so much weird music. They pushed me over the edge and compelled me to seek out more strange music. If there were a group of people capable of making and listening to music like Throbbing Gristle, then what else could be waiting for me? They certainly made all the popular so-called "industrial" bands look weak and silly by comparison. Throbbing Gristle were exciting, even as I disliked them. Turns out that they influenced so many of the bands I do enjoy and listen to on a regular basis. Go figure." - Lucas Schleicher
"Gen has lost it. That is obvious. The fact the the rest of the band can come out and still slay like they did in the '70s, even better with updated technology, is a testiment to true artistic validity and genius. Just make your releases more democratically available and affordable, OK?" - Michael Barrett
"I saw Gristle perform two sets this year: one that was completely mesmerizing and another that was an embarrassing fiasco. That is exactly how it should be. It's like they never left." - Anthony D'Amico
History Always Favours the Winners
The most immediately apparent thing about Sadly, The Future is No Longer What It Was is its sheer, impenetrable immensity. There’s over three hours of material and I have tried and failed for several months to make it through the entire thing in one sitting. The futility of that endeavor was compounded by the album’s other noteworthy attribute: all the tracks all blur together in a gray fog of gloom and emptiness. That is not entirely a failing, which is where things get complicated. As a listener, I am definitely bored by the lack of “hooks” or differentiating characteristics and feel very strongly that one album could have conveyed everything here without anything being lost. However, it seems like Kirby set out to create an overwhelming and elephantine void of loss, hopelessness, and alienation: an artistic goal that he seems to have met with a stunning degree of success. This album is not enjoyable or engaging at all and probably never will be, but it might be years ahead of its time. This is post-everything; nothingness made extreme: the sort of music that I can only envision being listened to in a dreary futuristic dystopia populated by soulless automatons.
Obviously, this is a rather singular (perhaps even crazily self-indulgent) work, but Kirby does overtly allude to some influence from others. The most obvious touchstones are the early ambient works of Brian Eno and Harold Budd, manifested most strongly in the watery, quavering tones of Kirby’s synths. The atmosphere here is a grotesque parody of the pastoral minimalism of albums like Music for Airports, as all the familiar elements are there but sound mildewed and soaked with despair. The other apparent inspiration seems to be Angelo Badalamenti, though that may be entirely accidental. While most of the album is vast ocean of rumbling, soft-focus murk, occasionally there are bursts of cheesy, dated-sounding synthesizer melodrama that would not sound at all out of place during a poignant scene in Twin Peaks. Utter blankness and creepy sentimentality make odd bedfellows, but I have no doubt that Kirby acted deliberately (albeit mystifyingly). On a related note, that propensity for melodrama has also infested the song titles, which read like Victorian poetry—an oddly pretentious move for a former V/VM member. They seem weirdly appropriate though, as they add to the sense of dislocation from the present and give the works a vague narrative thread. The titles almost make the album seem like a series of aural paintings.
It took me a very long time to form a lasting opinion of this album, as my initial gut reaction was “this is absolutely awful,” but my fascination with some of Kirby’s previous work gave me a nagging suspicion that something great was happening that I was too dumb or insensitive to appreciate (I have mostly overcome it though). This demands a hell of a lot from a listener and gives proportionally little back in return. In fact, it is hard to imagine this record making any impact at all if an unknown musician had released it. There certainly are some genuinely eerie moments here, such as the creepy carousel music of “And Nothing Comes Between the Sadness and the Screams,” but they have to be listened to both actively and loudly to be appreciated. When I listen to the album at a normal volume, it is merely a droning, vitality-sapping hum that leaves me longing for respite from its edgeless, formless, artificial-sounding enormity. As far as musicality and accessibility are concerned, this is substantial regression for Kirby. As an artistic statement, however, it may actually be kind of brilliant—in its own way, Sadly, The Future is No Longer What It Was might be one of the most uncompromising and non-commercial albums ever made. This probably isn’t a black hole very many people will want to descend into, but it is nevertheless an effort that commands grudging respect.
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Crippled Intellect Productions
The first thing I thought immediately upon hearing the opening track "Invocation" was the late 1990s movement of dark, glacial sound art, much of which was sparked by Lustmord’s Heresy album. The track uses the same deep, subterranean ringing textures, like ancient sounds arising from a newly unearthed tomb. The ringing sounds are allowed to fully return to the surface, appearing sharp and metallic around the otherwise cavernous rock.
"Compression (False Limbs)" keeps the deep ringing but adds flanged croaks and other textures, creating an entire microscopic universe that is being observed sonically. The piece is mostly understated, but hollow noisy ambience infringes on that dynamic as the track comes to its close.
The long "High Silence Into The Earth" begins much more expansive, with deep, low register thuds and tiny sounds deep in the distance. It is a track with microscopic changes, which are almost too small: the variations are so far apart that it unfortunately fades into the background more often than it should. The same with the quiet, tortured sounds of "Jackal," which, even with the high frequency intrusions remains too overly dour to be compelling.
The stuttering, panned samples and hollow ding of "Breath of Corruption" at times is reminiscent of harsher noise being played at a lower volume, but with a swirling, almost psychedelic quality to it, helping it stand apart from the otherwise snowy sound field. The closing "High Silence Into the Winds" acts as a reprise to the long "High Silence Into the Earth", but allows almost musical loops to be heard through the reverberations and audio grime.
This is not a bad album by any means, but to me it is simply too monochromatic in approach and calls to mind a past genre of music that I personally burnt myself out on a number of years back. There are some unique sounds to be found here, but unfortunately they are few and far between, there is simply too much hollow reverb and processed samples here as filler that obscures the best moments.
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From the opening of "Faster," Githead channels both other projects and their contemporaries: the sharp drums and bass that open the track, later met with some post-punk influenced guitar chords could very well be the precision of Githead tackling Mission of Burma’s Vs. "Take Off” continues this early 1980s by way of 2000s electronic sense but adds in disconnected vocals courtesy of Malka Spigel that gives the perfect balance of nostalgia and progression, with guitars by Newman and Robin Rimbaud.
Other points of reference abound in the ten tracks that make up this album, but never do they feel lazy or out of place, instead they just simply work. The heavier riffs and snotty, agitated vocals of "Over The Limit" put it in a place where it could be a lost out-take from Wire’s Send, though the lighter, ambient production colors it differently than the digital aggression that permeated that disc. Similarly, the drum ‘n’ bass tinged rhythm section and heavily processed vocals of "Displacement & Time" puts it in league with some of Newman’s late 1990s work, though filtered through a real live band rather than a battery of sequencers and synths.
It wouldn’t be Githead without a significant amount of unexpected turns, of course. The title track has the propulsion of bar band blues rock, but the gentle textures and effects on Spigel’s vocals are much more shoegazy in nature. Immediately following is the jazz of "Ride", which cruises along on a beatnik coffee shop bassline and sparse percussion, the vocals alternating between singing and spoken word, before collapsing into a more traditional "rock" motif.
The overarching theme is unabashed pop music, which has been a frequent modus operandi of Newman’s since the beginning, "Lightswimmer" is all lush, digital guitars and thick electronic production, while never sounding overtly electronic, the presence of machines is definitely felt. The simple "From My Perspective" is a short little piece that is pure ear-worm pop, the kind of song that at first seems too sparse, yet sticks around in one’s brain much longer than the song’s duration.
The closing "Transmission Tower" in some ways could be the "sore thumb" I lamented not being present on Object 47. Clocking in at nearly eight minutes, it is a pensive, melancholy track that channels the best moments of late 1980s/early 1990s alternative rock, but in an entirely different, modernized framework. It uses its longer duration to its fullest, shifting from sparse sadness to aggressive, raw sounds and closes with a storm of heavy guitar textures. Its complexity and diversity make it stand out compared to the other tracks, but in a totally wonderful way.
Unsurprisingly, given their lineage, Githead has produced another album of complex pop music that is both comfortable and inviting, but confounding and obtuse beneath the surface. Listening to the album again as I complete this review during a cold North Eastern US weekend, the warmth and familiar atmosphere of the album mixed with the innovative elements could not come at a better time. Few bands are able to wrap up such a complex enigma in such a beautiful, infectious package.
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The incidental sounds that permeate B-movies and those weird LPs of electronic music that attempt to evoke the sounds of the cosmos are the main points of reference for Space Music. Beginning with what sounds like asteroids hammering off each other, it promises to be an exciting and violent piece but after these few minutes of activity, the calm of an infinite void sets in and Space Music proves to be a predominantly low key piece that lends itself beautifully to deep (space) listening. The kind of sounds that I imagine the scientists at CERN long to hear coming from their machines emanate from the stereo like some interdimensional transmission in a format that we have no idea how to pick up with our primitive technology. Cold, metallic tones ring out into the vast infinitum of space like God’s tinnitus from the big bang. This is quantum music for quantum people and I need an equation to fully describe it.
Leaving behind the cosmic analogies and metaphors, Space Music is more than just another genre work by Nurse With Wound. This album sits perfectly well alongside other “ambient” works in Stapleton’s repertoire like Soliloquy for Lilith and Salt Marie Celeste but just as there is no tangible link between those two albums, Space Music also sits out there on its own. I find both those older albums to be difficult listens in that I find them incredibly unnerving (although that is part of their appeal for me) yet in the case of Space Music I feel like the Star-Child from 2001: A Space Odyssey; the embryonic brine of the womb replaced with a calming, god-like light. The liner notes mention that subliminal effects are used throughout the album and I wonder if these have anything to do with its strangely calming ambience.
Listening to this, it makes me wonder why people point radio receivers at the heavens when such unearthly sounds are being generated on earth. Space Music is, along with Jack Dangers’ Music for Planetarium, almost unique in being cosmic music that truly sounds like it is from the gaps between the stars. All those years of tinkering have paid off and Space Music caps off both a productive year and decade in the ongoing adventures of Nurse With Wound. Perhaps the next ten years will bring us that hip hop album we always wanted.
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At only 99p (check your local currency), Paranoia in Hi-Fi is great value for money as long as you can find a shop that stocks it. Intended to encourage Internet shoppers to leave their laptops, venture out into the fresh air down and visit their local independent record store; things have not quite gone to plan with many shops having (or saying they are having) difficulties getting it in. Larger chain stores seem to have had more success stocking it which kind of undermines the sentiments behind this release. Although the appearance of Paranoia in Hi-Fi on auction sites for inflated prices is particularly distasteful; give some people an inch and they take a mile.
Paranoia in Hi-Fi is a good studio approximation of the Nurse With Wound live experience but here the focus is more on the fun side of the music than the intense experiences of the concert hall. Those familiar with Matt Waldron’s Possible Nurse Mix for Sun and Moon Ensemble should know what to expect; instantly recognizable bits of Nurse sounds re-arranged and massaged into a new piece by Stapleton and Andrew Liles. Stapleton’s entire back catalogue has been trawled to make Paranoia in Hi-Fi, taking in the obvious “greatest hits” like “Rock’n Roll Station,” “Two Mock Projections,” and “Salt Marie Celeste.” “Two Shaves and a Shine” makes an appearance but it is the awful disco remix from the 2006 reissue of An Awkward Pause. Yet as bad as that remix seemed plonked in between the other fantastic bonus tracks on that album, on Paranoia in Hi-Fi it works far better. I still do not particularly like it but it at least brought a smile to my face this time.
There is some new material peppered throughout the album but it is unclear whether these are going to be unique to Paranoia in Hi-Fi or are works in progress for forthcoming releases. Each new bit is tantalising in that they seem to be completely at odds with a lot of the recent NWW releases. There is some reference to the lounge feel of Huffin’ Rag Blues but there is also some great guitar bits including one that mutates the main riff from Black Sabbath’s eponymous song and transplants it into the body of a Max Ernst painting. Later what sounds like a strange marimba and bell combo play a disjointed rhythm as strange toy animals sounds groan in the foreground. If these are sneak previews for next year’s releases then it sounds like another good year for NWW fans.
As fun as Paranoia in Hi-Fi is, you get what you pay for. If this was a normally priced CD I would definitely be coming away more than a little disappointed (although not as disappointed as I was with the similarly minded but badly executed Great in the Small by Current 93). However, for 99p I am getting a lot more bang for my buck and the sentiments behind this release are genuine; Nurse With Wound was borne out of record stores as like-minded friends scoured the racks for oddities so it is nice to see them try and get people back into the shops to discover new things by chance instead of the dreary quotidian experience of online ordering (or worse, downloading). Stapleton and Liles’ plan worked for me as it took me three cities to track my copy down (despite the local store ordering it ages ago for me, still waiting on the order to come in) but I found a lot of cool little releases that I would have missed had I not been on the hunt.
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History Always Favours the Winners
Musically, Sadly is pretty mind-blowing stuff. On the one hand, much of it is familiar in one way or another. We've heard Kirby playing with these sounds his entire career, whether he was goofing off or producing truly haunting audio. On the other hand, Sadly features honest-to-God songs and comes across as a total refinement of everything he has done in the past. What distinguishes this album from Kirby's past efforts isn't necessarily his technique, but his method. Everything on each of the three albums belongs to James. He played the piano and synthesizers the make up most of the record and he is, of course, repsonsible for all the digital effects, production, and editing. Only the artwork (which is superb, by the way) is the product of someone else's labor. By utilizing his own performances instead of relying on samples, Leyland James Kirby had the chance to express himself before chopping things up and processing them.
The result is undoubtedly his best record. In addition to producing bigger and more obvious melodies, James pulls finer textures and a better sense of continuity from his own performances than he ever has from someone else's. I also think that this change in method afforded James the chance to sound a little less dark and dense than he usually does. Sadly isn't necessarily a happy record, but there are points where it explodes with joy and optimism. He retains some of the haunting qualities I associate more with The Stranger or The Caretaker, but he balances those out with something from the happier side of existence. With the ability to create sounds where he needed them, James went all out and crafted his brightest and most enjoyable record to date, even with the dread and gloom that permeate its darker and more uncertain corners.
Waiting beneath the fuzz and drone of these songs is a conceptual scheme that Kirby has elaborated upon in various interviews. I've been wrestling with this album since before it was released, in part because it is such an ambitious and demanding recording, but also because James has put so much of himself and so many of his thoughts into the music. It is impossible to talk about these aspects of Sadly... without first mentioning just how massive an undertaking it is: three double-LPs of new music from the man responsible for V/Vm, The Stranger, and The Caretaker. But, I do not want to spend too much time dwelling on the album's self-indulgent qualities. I think they're obvious enough to everyone and, what's more, Mr. Kirby has tested such deep waters in the past. We are, after all, talking about the same person responsible for the 6-CD Theoretically Pure Anterograde Amnesia boxset. That project stretched its audience's memory and patience to Béla Tarr-ian limits with a never-ending parade of foggy melodies, distorted dream sounds, and fractured distortion. I've always thought it was designed to replicate the same amnesia for which it is named, so that no definite memories of the album could ever form. On Sadly, however, Leyland James Kirby wants his audience to remember.
Along with the album title, many of the songs refer to memory in a general way, and more than a few suggest that Kirby is interested in sharing his own personal memories and thoughts with everyone. Interviews bear this suggestion out, but memories aren't Sadly's only theme. Fear and hope are two more and so is uncertainty about the digital era and all that it has given us. In some ways, Sadly is the perfect album for 2009. All three records can be put on an MP3 player and listened to seamlessly, which is to say that Sadly is a perfect example of how digital media can come to our musical rescue. While there will never be a good replacement for handling a piece of wax, a project of this size and kind (i.e., ambient music) benefits from non-stop playback and lack of surface noise, something a record player will never be able to give us. At the same time, James has also chosen to release this project in the form of three double-LP albums. I think everyone can agree that setting an MP3 player to random and enjoying a few tunes on the way to work will never replace sitting in front of a record player, handling the sleeves, and reading the liner notes (not to mention the better audio quality home systems provide). When handling a record, rarely can it be mistaken for just another piece of music or another thoughtlessly acquired hour of sound.
So, with James' distrust and distaste for modern media made apparent in his interviews, it was odd to see a digital release available at all. But, Mr. Kirby is clearly confident about his work and what it means. Sadly's size and scope force the on-the-go MP3-loving train hopper (me) to slow down, listen carefully, and to treat the digital file like something more than a commodity. In a way, it wouldn't be going too far to call Sadly one of the first truly modern albums of the digital era. While casting a leery glance at the recent past, James also sets his sights firmly on what the future might bring. But, instead of dystopian chaos and emotionless, machine-like repetition, Kirby offers up something more hopeful and breath-taking. The soulless commoditization of music isn't the only possible outcome of the digital revolution; there are other more positive possibilities. Learning how to live with these new mediums is obviously something Kirby is mulling over. These are confusing times, he might say, but the world is what we make it.
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Richard Skelton occupies an unusual stylistic niche somewhere between classical music and drone, as Landings seems to be largely the product of unspecified bowed instruments and a looping pedal. I suppose Marielle Jakobsons’ Darwinsbitch project is something of a kindred spirit, though Skelton’s work is meditative and profoundly melancholy, whereas Jakobsons’ Ore is intense and harrowing. However, they both conjure almost supernaturally powerful, haunting, and enigmatic aural monoliths from mere wood, steel, and horsehair. Both are lucky that the witchcraze is a distant memory.
For the most part, Landings is built around achingly beautiful and impossibly sad beds of strings. That is not especially novel on its own, but no one else that I’ve heard has done it in such a visceral and vibrant way. The magic lies in the details, such as the squirming, shuddering bow-work in “Noon River Woods.” These 12 songs are all superficially gentle and hypnotically repeating, but they invariably crackle with creaks, bow scrapes, harmonics, echoes, moans, chirping birds, and all sorts of other evocative elements that are tangental to the central themes. The songs themselves, while gorgeous, seem to be merely a foundation for the mesmerizing, shimmering nimbus around them.
The album has a very timeless and organic feeling to it, which is likely a direct consequence of Skelton’s unusual recording techniques. The bulk of the material included here was improvised live over a period of four years in various remote locations throughout Northern England: on hillsides, along streams and rivers, in deep forests, etc. Moors, however, seem to be a particular favorite haunt: the now sold-out version of the album released through Skelton’s Sustain-Release imprint included a book of his writings on the West Pennine Moors of Lancashire, a place that has been of considerable import and inspiration for Richard in the past. Thankfully, he is not entirely a process purist, as the raw beauty captured during those excursions is later sculpted and augmented with overdubbing. As a result, many of the pieces manage to sound simultaneously alive and flowing, yet deliberate and artfully layered (no easy feat). At times I think the production might be a little cleaner than it should be, but I suspect that may be a necessity for capturing every single little nuance, which is an essential element of Skelton’s work.
Landings definitely sounds like the sort of album that takes four years to make: there is nothing weak or half-conceived here. While it might be his best work yet, it is by no means a dramatic leap forward, as the few other albums that I’ve heard exhibit much of the same ineffable sadness and focused intensity. There are several obvious standout moments, such as the echoing and lurching divinity of “Undertow” or the spectral pulsing of “Voice of the Book,” but Landings is one of those albums where my favorite song is destined to be in a constant state of flux. This is a thoroughly complex, visionary, and unique work. (The CD and MP3 versions of Landings on Type will not be released until 1/19/10, but the limited edition double LP is out now (with a bonus disc that I have not heard yet).
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Curiosum kicks off with “Oh Odessa,” which harks back to the playful sounds of Zuckerzeit but it does not repeat what Cluser have already done on that album. “Oh Odessa” instead sounds like the theme tune to a children’s TV show about science: that mix of wonder and joy that gets lost as we grow older captured forever in synthesiser. “Proantipro” goes in a completely different direction to the rest of the album, sounding like a Throbbing Gristle outtake. The trembling menace and queasy electronic pulses create feelings of paranoia and unease, squelching and whirring background sounds filling out the atmosphere brilliantly.
Changing mood dramatically yet again, “Helle Melange” has the air of an old folk song but as imagined by the inhabitants of some future society where only the scantest records of the past remain. Elsewhere, the wonky rhythms of “Tristan in Der Bar” might be that future society’s pop music; its somewhat alien structure is quite unlike anything in Cluster’s back catalogue and represents a strand of music that they unfortunately never returned to. The same can be said of “Seltsame Gegend” which pre-empts the sound of Autechre by a good decade. As if the world needed more proof that Cluster were far ahead of their time, here’s another prime example.
Curiosum is not the best Cluster album by any means but the fact that it remains an obscurity rather than the peculiar brother to their classic albums is a crime. Granted some of the pieces may sound like unfinished sketches but there is so much charm permeating the music on this album that it is impossible to not fall in love with it. In addition, the fact that none of the pieces seem to fit together pays testament to the creativity of Hans-Joachim Roedelius and Dieter Moebius. It always confused me as to how Cluster would remain inactive for so long after this album when the music here showed so much promise to redefine electronic music in the '80s like they had already done in the '70s. Curiosum now has the chance to be rediscovered and given its proper place along with Roedelius and Moebius’ other works.
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