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YO PITTSBURGH MIKE HERE
 
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Member 74

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Mar 2006


Old Nov 13, 2007, 09:29 PM Local time: Nov 13, 2007, 06:29 PM #1 of 201
So the EP by a band a few friends of mine started a couple years back is finally out, and I've got to say I'm surprised at how quality it is. I've had a copy for maybe a week now, and the CD's been on repeat the entire time. Fantastic album, end to end, and it's even more amazing considering I know the kids who made it.

Anyway, I like it so much I figured I may as well upload it and let you guys hear it, as well. So, here goes.

Ball of Flame Shoot Fire - Grumpy Little Bird
Label: Unsigned
Year: 2007
Genre: Hmm. You decide.


Track - Title
1. Red Meat
2. Flaming Wreckage
3. Vroom Vroom
4. Down the Street
5. 'rado
6. Vasco de Gama
7. Wolf Cry





DOWNLOAD HERE

And be sure to post comments. I'd love to hear what you guys think of it. Thanks.

Jam it back in, in the dark.
YO PITTSBURGH MIKE HERE
 
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Member 74

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Old Nov 28, 2007, 08:34 PM Local time: Nov 28, 2007, 05:34 PM 1 #2 of 201


Girl Talk - Night Ripper
Label: Illegal Art
Year: 2006
Genre: Mashup, Dance, Experimental


Track - Title
1. Once Again
2. That's My DJ
3. Hold Up
4. Too Deep
5. Smash Your Head
6. Minute by Minute
7. Ask About Me
8. Summer Smoke
9. Friday Night
10. Hand Clap
11. Give and Go
12. Bounce That
13. Warm It Up
14. Double Pump
15. Overtime
16. Peak Out

The element of surprise is gone from the mash-up. Hollertronix and 2 Many DJs mastered the technique, made it a staple of their sets, and next, everyone on the block was mix-matching hip-hop to electro and indie rock. The idea that two songs blender-ized can recombine to create something wholly new is thrilling in theory, but the execution is usually sloppy or samey, either simply aligning two similar beat structures or pairing up two completely disparate tracks for the slapstick novelty of a jokey title.

Pittsburgh native Greg Gillis (Girl Talk) absolutely detonates the notions of mash-up on his third album, the violently joyous Night Ripper. Rather than squeeze two songs that sorta make sense together into a small box, Gillis crams six or eight or 14 or 20 songs into frenetic rows, slicing fragments off 1980s pop, Dirty South rap, booty bass, and grunge, among countless other genres. Then he pieces together the voracious music fan's dream: a hulking hyper-mix designed to make you dance, wear out predictable ideas, and defy hopeless record-reviewing.

Night Ripper doesn't stretch the boundaries of mash-ups because there were no boundaries to begin with. As an illegal art form, it's surprising no one came along with an idea like this sooner. Still, it's doubtful they'd have the sturdy, meticulous hand that Gillis flaunts here. The record's pacing is astonishing-- with more than 150 sample sources (all thanked in the liner notes), it ricochets from Top 40 hits to obscure gems and back again like a cool breeze, clocking in at less than 42 minutes. The sampling is pure precision, slotting razor-thin (but highly recognizable) guitar stabs on top of blaring synths on top of anthemic rap couplets and so on, all at breakneck speed.

Part of the fun of listening is trying to figure out the source of each fragment used on these tracks. Familiar as they may be, you'll never place every sample. But at the risk of getting sucked into Gillis' name-game vortex, an example speaks to the power. "Smash Your Head" glides into the siren keyboards of Lil Wayne's "Fireman" less than a minute in, then abruptly shifts into the crushingly dense riffs of Nirvana's "Scentless Apprentice" while Young Jeezy spits the familiar flames of "Soul Survivor", before it all tumbles into a Pharcyde-Elton John-Biggie somersault. On "Minute by Minute", Gillis even slots Neutral Milk Hotel's "Holland, 1945" up next to Juelz Santana's "There It Go (The Whisper Song)". There are no ties, other than the miracle of chopping and looping.

Due to its overwhelming number of unlicensed sources, Night Ripper is practically begging for court drama. In the event of litigation, Gillis' label has armed themselves with a Fair Use argument, citing artists' rights to liberally sample in the creation of new works. Whether that'll hold any water in a courtroom remains to be seen, but for listeners it's an afterthought. Some may dock him points for lack of originality, but Gillis' schizophrenic attitude toward pop music is so novel it's impossible to stay mad at. Time will tell whether it's still fresh in 12 months, when the very recent samples (M.I.A., Gwen Stefani, Webbie) lose their chic appeal next to Smokey Robinson, the Pixies, and Public Enemy-- but for 2006, Night Ripper is the soundtrack of the summer.

-Sean Fennessey, July 17, 2006


Listen: This album is fun. That's really all you need to know. I've seen him perform live, and the place was just wild. Check this out.

Download Here

And another one:



Silver Jews - American Water
Label: Drag City
Year: 1998
Genre: Indie Rock


Track - Title
1. Random Rules
2. Smith & Jones Forever
3. Night Society
4. Federal Dust
5. People
6. Blue Arrangements
7. We Are Real
8. Send In The Clouds
9. Like Like The The The Death
10. Buckingham Rabbit
11. Honk If You're Lonely
12. The Wild Kindness


After a dozen enjoyable listens, I popped American Water into the car stereo this weekend while cruising the hills of San Francisco and waited for a weak track. Forty- eight minutes and three record stores later I drove home convinced that D.C. Berman has crafted this autumn's most incredible record: twelve portraits of the American landscape that simultaneously beg to be played at every hour of the day, and reclaim the word "poetry" as part of the musical vocabulary. You heard it here first, folks. The Silver Jews have evolved from a Pavement side project into a full- fledged contender for the American indie throne.

American Water reunites Berman with Pavement frontman Steve Malkmus. It's not surprisingly then that most of the songs sound like they would have been just as at home on the last Pavement album, Brighten The Corners. The big difference? Someone must have convinced Malkmus he was Tommy Verlaine, because he delivers some of the most focused, inspired guitar work he's ever done. And then there's the addition of ex- Royal Trux bassist Michael Fellows, whose bluesy approach and punchy bass lines add immeasurably to the album's pastoral, timeless flavor. A muted horn solo here and some added textures there keep the arrangements fresh. It's obvious that a lot of thought went into this record, and every move pays off.

From the opening song, "Random Rules," you know the Silver Jews are onto something big, something which, in Berman's words, should be "hospitalized for approaching perfection." The first half covers considerable territory, from the midnight execution epic "Smith and Jones Forever" to the journey from Malibu to South Dakota in "Federal Dust." In the lilting pop ditty "People" Berman reels off in his laid- back twang one of many strokes of lyrical genius:

People ask people to watch their scotch.
People send people up to the moon.
When they return, well there isn't much.
People be careful not to crest too soon.

On the album's second half, the Silver Jews expand their magna cum Pavement sound to include honky tonk ("Honk If You're Lonely" is sure to become a college radio classic) and a few Dylan-esque takes on the rambling blues ("We Are Real," "Like Like The The The Death"). As the titles suggest, it's not always clear what the heck Berman is singing about. But in the pauses, and in the obtuse phrasing of questions like, "Is the problem that we can't see, or is it that the problem is beautiful to me?": somehow you know what he means.

Just how good is this album? A few years back I bought Silver Jews CDs to pass the time between Pavement releases. Now things may be the other way around. So all hail the Chosen People. It's time to take off your clothes and skinny dip in the American Water.

-Zach Hammerman


Download Here

Enjoy~

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Last edited by YO PITTSBURGH MIKE HERE; Nov 28, 2007 at 08:38 PM.
YO PITTSBURGH MIKE HERE
 
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Level 51.30

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Old Dec 6, 2007, 09:48 PM Local time: Dec 6, 2007, 06:48 PM #3 of 201


The Field - From Here We Go Sublime
Label: Kompakt
Year: 2007
Genre: Minimalist Techno


Track - Title
1. Over the Ice
2. A Paw in My Face
3. Good Things End
4. The Little Heart Beats So Fast
5. Everyday
6. Silent
7. The Deal
8. Sun & Ice
9. Mobilia
10. From Here We Go Sublime

Review


After centuries of music consumption, we're still obsessed with the crescendo. From all that classical music we learned in school to modern soundtrack fodder to the banal quiet/loud/quiet dynamics of groups like Explosions in the Sky, people still seek the thrill that comes when music reaches its stirring Big Moment. Blame remote controls or the death of vinyl, but 30-odd years after Brian Eno invented ambient music, most people are wary about "turning off" to any music that doesn't actively seek to engage them. Deep listening remains mostly theoretical in the age of mp3s.

Minimal techno isn't exactly built for the iPod age, so what's a post-disco producer to do when he wants the restraint but also the explosion? If most 21st century pop music could be whittled down to a ringtone without losing any of its effect, a dance producer who actually manages to hook the ear for six or seven minutes after that opening jolt-- while still rejecting, you know, narrative or harmonic development-- is doing something special.

Axel Willner, founder and sole member of the Field, is hardly the first to split the difference, but his formally simple yet functionally overwhelming music captures not only those big ecstatic peaks but also the initial ringtone-esque bursts like the two sides of the same coin they are, and basically just repeats them until he decides to stop tape. Willner's records under his Field alias (his other guises include Cordouan, Lars Blek, and Porte) do away with the build-up almost entirely while still milking the climax like a chemist running real-time tests to see just how long he's got until the drug's effect wears off.

That kind of pared-down sound-sculpting is everywhere in continental European electronic music these days, but rarely is it as instantly enveloping or as comforting as the Field's debut, From Here We Go Sublime. The album recalls Kaito, another artist on the German label with one great idea, likewise pushing wistfulness and simplicity to the brink. Favoring a dreamy minimalism of just a few sounds waltzing around each other, Willner smears, chops, and processes slivers of musical information-- the tips of a vocal, a note and a half of an instrumental-- in a delicate computer-assisted retrieval process. But unlike other maestros of hiccup and twang, Willner favors uncomplicated, revolving compositions rather than a loom-like mesh. It's a bare bones compositional gambit that could wind up utterly irritating, but with the ears of a hip-hop cratedigger and the hands of a surgeon is bliss. Gliding like zero-gravity skaters, opener "Over the Ice" spins, twirls, and pivots on just a shivering vocalized "e"-- split across two octaves-- and an undulating "i."

But if Sublime initially sounds set for the dancefloor and not the couch, it's strictly down to Willner favoring quick tempos and rhythms, like the concussive "uh!" and the bumping acid bassline on "The Little Heart Beats So Fast". Despite its nods to house and techno, Sublime is really an extension of the best ambient electronics of the last decade or so, especially Gas, a project of Wolfgang Voigt, who as co-owner of Kompakt Records is now releasing the Field's music. (Not for nothing did Willner's sublime "Kappsta" appear on Kompakt's Pop Ambient 2007 even as it could easily fit here.) Folks may also call the Field trance, because there's an often anthemic bigness to Willner's little sounds, a certain shameless bombastic quality to the way he deploys his loops and builds his arpeggios. And like both bog-standard dancefloor trance and ethereal Gas records such as Pop, Field tracks sound loud, even when played soft.

People may also call it trance because of Willner's elementary drum tracks, often just a deflated machine thump flecked with hi-hat hiss. Compared to peers like Perlon, Kompakt may not be particularly known for its adventurous drum programming but Willner's purposefully entry-level beats shift much of the percussive burden onto his melodies. And while Willner may be building his arpeggios out of baby love sighs snatched from the mouths of the Temptations (on "Things Keep Falling Down", sadly not included here) or strummed guitar loops nicked from nuggets of yacht rock instead of preset synth pads or Ableton plug-ins, his spirit animals are the likes of Sasha, Digweed, and Tiesto, guiding him on how to put his sounds together for maximum spine-tingly impact. There's a reason those guys sold so many records to a whole generation of folks looking for, well, the sublime. And like all those 2xCD 1990s trance mixes, an hour of Willner's vibrations may have you drooling for an off-beat or a key change or, hell, a build-up to crescendo.

But forget pop musical concerns for a second-- Willner's triumph on Sublime remains how he manages to isolate and repeat his little moments, transmuting them through the basic dance music building blocks of juxtaposition and repetition into something bigger, wringing pleasure out of the always potentially dull aforementioned "sound sculpting": The metallic schlurp of the drums and background hum of robot cicadas on "Mobilia"; the fingertip flutters of the textural stuttering all over Sublime; the hot and heavy pressurized soaking of "Sun and Ice"; the disembodied zombie doowop filched from the Flamingos' "I Only Have Eyes for You" that echoes through the title track like Kraftwerk daydreaming they're a soul duo, before the voices finally unspool into a timestretched blur as the record fades out-- one of the most shiver-inducing moments you'll hear all year. Often the best part of Willner's tracks are those final few seconds, as on "A Paw in My Face", the guitar sample finally escapes its loop with a joyous twang of freedom (only to reveal its source as Lionel Richie's bloodless lite-FM staple "Hello"). If Willner doesn't hit at least some of your pleasure centers, well, forget your ears-- your nerve endings might actually be dead. Even three months in, it's a safe bet that From Here We Go Sublime will wind up 2007's most luxuriant record.

-Jess Harvell, March 26, 2007


Never thought I'd see the day when I came to say it, but hey, this is pretty damned good.

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This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Last edited by YO PITTSBURGH MIKE HERE; Dec 6, 2007 at 09:50 PM.
YO PITTSBURGH MIKE HERE
 
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Old Jan 11, 2008, 05:52 PM Local time: Jan 11, 2008, 02:52 PM #4 of 201


The Hold Steady - Boys and Girls in America
Label: Vagrant Records
Year: 2006
Genre: Rock, Post-Punk


Track - Title
1. Stuck Between Stations
2. Chips Ahoy!
3. Hot Soft Light
4. Same Kooks
5. First Night
6. Party Pit
7. You Can Make Him Like You
8. Massive Nights
9. Citrus
10. Chillout Tent
11. Southtown Girls

Record Review

When Pitchfork finally received a full-art copy of Boys and Girls in America, it came with a Hold Steady coaster, a wink at the received logic that Craig Finn and his cohorts are members of "America's #1 bar band." That's an ill-fitting tag for a couple of reasons; first, because the vast majority of the bars in the U.S. feature DJs and jukeboxes not bands-- let alone ones as unique and powerful as the Hold Steady.

Second, and more importantly: Although the characters in the Hold Steady's beery tales are big drinkers, you can't imagine many of them bellied up to a bar. That sort of drinking-- introspective, sometimes done alone, indoors-- is the antithesis of the imbibing in Hold Steady songs. These characters are drinking at apartment parties, at festivals, in fields, in cars. In "Stuck Between Stations", the protagonist and his friends "drink from [a] purse"; "Massive Night" has the boys "feeling good about their liquor run"; and in "Party Pit" the female character is "gonna walk around and drink some more." They're not reflective or nostalgic, and when frequent Finn heroine Holly is contemplating the past, it's with regret she can no longer get as high as she used to.

So it's no wonder that critical darlings the Hold Steady aren't exactly indie rock heroes. Marginalized to that world almost by default-- radio and video are, for the most part, unkind to new rock bands not targeted at high-schoolers-- the Hold Steady craft classic rock-indebted music that would sound better sandwiched between Born to Run and Back in Black than Illinois and Tigermilk. In other words, the more likely you are to use music as a social lubricant than as a social balm, the more likely you are to enjoy the Hold Steady.

And if you dislike this band, you wouldn't be alone. After years of making detail-heavy music with both Lifter Puller and now the Hold Steady, Craig Finn enjoyed a critical breakthrough last year with the divisive Separation Sunday-- a loosely conceptual album based around a trio of characters named Charlemagne, Gideon, and Holly-- which wowed critics with its back-alley poetry and willingness to reach the cheap seats, but left many listeners cold over Finn's gruff sing-speak vocals and his band's tendency towards licks rather than grooves.

On Boys and Girls, some things have changed that will make the band more palatable to doubters yet could disappoint Separation Sunday fans: Finn sings more than speaks, and his lyrics have a big-picture approach, allowing listeners to fill details of their own lives into the songs rather than be required to commit fully to those of his characters. Putting less emphasis on lyrical detail than in the past, Finn claims in opener "Stuck Between Stations", a paean to poet and suicide-victim John Berryman, that "words won't save your life"; later, on "First Night", he writes that "words alone can never save us." It's the difference between working more in character, creating a low-rent version of street and suburban life, and creating songs that, as Pitchfork's Stephen Deusner observed, "Finn's characters might want to listen to."

One way in which Finn does this is by ratcheting up the force and power of the music, layering guitar and trebly keys and multiple hooks on top of one another like a mid-1970s E Street Band or an E-boosted Happy Mondays. It's rock'n'roll before it was ashamed to do either, and unlike on past efforts, lyrics can sometimes be summed up by lines that approximate the effect of a chorus, even if they're presented more like a thesis statement: "I've had kisses that make Judas seem sincere," "When they kiss they spit white noise," the aforementioned "Gonna walk around and drink some more."

The lack of specificity also means Finn is acknowledging the universality of his themes, which-- although he's still mostly writing about the Twin Cities-- reflect the experiences of kids across the country. Whereas Finn's spiritual predecessors, Bruce Springsteen and Jack Kerouac (whose On the Road lends the album its title), romanticized the open road and the possibility of escape, his characters travel not to start again or get away but as a diversion, as on "Chillout Tent", in which a pair of kids so desperate for something big to happen in their otherwise humdrum lives-- he on his "first day off in forever, man" and she on a break from her studies-- awkwardly try to squeeze as much decadence as possible into a single afternoon.

Finn is less a 21st century Springsteen than he is an American Jarvis Cocker; he's the poet laureate for the U.S.'s have-nots in much the same way the Pulp singer was for the UK's common people in the 1990s. Unlike Cocker, however, Finn doesn't write angrily, perhaps a telling indication that the stereotypically British self-loathing is equitable to the "colossal expectations" and lack of discipline of the boys and girls in America. Just as one wouldn't imagine Cocker writing escapist fantasies such as "Chillout Tent", nor would Finn pen something as bitter as "I Spy".

In a sense, however, this album, thematically, is as self-aware as Cocker's work at his height of fame-- the ambitious, zeitgeist-grabbing Different Class and hangover album This Is Hardcore. But rather than moan about too many nights on the tiles, Finn channels his diminishing energy into characters older and younger than himself: His epitaph for Berryman ("he was drunk and exhausted but he was critically acclaimed and respected") and Holly's laments over stoner burnout in "First Night" could both be read as autobiographical.

They could also be seen as a lament for the type of music Finn's making, the straightforward arena rock that, these days, often settles for critical acclaim and respect rather than connecting with lots and lots of people. For all of Finn's holding his lyrics at arm's length here, he remains one of the best writers in rock, demonstrating grit and spunk and wit and intelligence in each track. Unlike many of those who've translated big, arena-ready guitars into arena-sized audiences, Finn doesn't resort to confidently sung platitudes like "It's a beautiful day!", "Look at the stars/ See how they shine for you," or "I'm not OK." He not only has a commanding, rousing voice but he also says something worth hearing, displaying gifts for both scope and depth that are all too rare in contemporary rock-- indie or mainstream.

-Scott Plagenhoef, October 02, 2006


Download Here

And just to switch things up, for the hell of it:



M83 - Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts
Label: Gooom
Year: 2003
Genre: Electronic


Track - Title
1. Birds
2. Unrecorded
3. Run into Flowers
4. In Church
5. America
6. On a White Lake, Near a Green Mountain
7. Noise
8. Be Wild
9. Cyborg
10. 0078h
11. Gone
12. Beauties Can Die

Record Review

Sometimes I think it can't be a matter of simple coincidence that sound, when rendered visually, appears as ever-changing green fluctuations stretched over an infinite black void. The power of music to seemingly construct, alter and distort space can be staggering. Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts, the second album from French electronic duo M83, nicely epitomizes this: The sound is absolutely huge, its relentless attention to detail eclipsed only by the stunning emotional power it conveys. For fifty-seven glorious minutes, its impossibly intricate tapestry of buzzing techno synthesizers, distorted electric guitars, cheesy drum machines, and subdued vocals generate a sense of bodily movement through a landscape of beauty, disappointment, glory, and decrepitude. Dead Cities not only envelops you, but also affords you room to explore its vast expanse.

One remarkable attribute of Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts is how vastly M83's sound palette differs from the ones most often used to create music possessing this much beauty and depth. Countless musicians have humanized electronic sounds by generating tones that feel warm or organic, but M83 have undertaken a different challenge: to convey beauty through the familiar, filtered buzz of the kind of cheap synthesizers usually found in techno and dance tracks. Paradoxically, the sounds that have constituted some of the most vapid, hedonistic, and forgettable music of our time have now returned to make us cry.

M83 open Dead Cities with one of their most striking misappropriations of trite instrumentation. In "Birds", a tinny sample of chirping birds is combined with swells of synth strings and a computerized voice repeating, "Sun is shining, birds are singing, flowers are growing, clouds are looming and I am flying." The computerized voice is run through an odd, wavering melodic filter that affords it just the right degree of harmonic dissonance with the accompanying synths, and it takes on a decidedly unsettling feel, repeating its mantra-like invocation of the unsteady world you're about to enter.

Once inside, you're exposed to a landscape of seemingly infinite depth and complexity. Rather than just ending, sounds and songs disappear off into the horizon, continually bringing a promise of something familiar but unforeseen to follow. "Unrecorded", the first full-fledged song on Dead Cities, makes clear the reason M83 have drawn so many My Bloody Valentine comparisons. Building upon a foundation of fuzzed-out guitar, rich bass, synth strings, and a drum machine that sounds surprisingly like the acoustic drums of Loveless, the duo layers burbling techno synthesizers into complex rhythmic intersections as the song's vast backdrop slowly fades away. Just as My Bloody Valentine refashioned distorted electric guitars as instruments capable of divine and volatile sound, M83 recast harsh sawtooth waves as voices of reflection and regret. On "Run into Flowers", almost-real strings and whispered vocals are juxtaposed with overdriven drum machine clicks, as an insistent 4/4 beat evokes lush, green fields as easily as abandoned factories and polluted rivers.

This kind of contrast factors heavily into "In Church", as a clear pipe organ and an angelic, reverb-laden chorus are assaulted by blasts of white noise. Finally, a wrenching, synthesized melody enters, providing a profoundly moving counterpoint to the sterile beauty that preceded it. By the time you get to "0078h", it's impossible to tell whether the heavily altered vocals are of human or computerized origin; it's also completely ceased to matter. Oftentimes, the most organic sounds on Dead Cities are the most formless, and the most glaringly synthetic sounds the most emotional.

Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts ends fittingly with the 14-minute epic "Beauties Can Die", which recalls at first the melodic, pastoral electronica of Múm's Yesterday Was Dramatic, Today Is OK. This peaceful opening is soon overtaken by a sound that gradually transforms from a low, earthquake-like rumble into a blast of synthesized static. Synthesizers and harmony vocals are layered and layered until the sound is so explosively, beautifully gigantic that you won't mind it's damaging your hearing. More earthquake rumbles follow, each ushering in even more layers of ungodly gorgeous sound and evoking a stomach-turning combination of fear and excitement. At the crash of a synthesized cymbal, the song descends into submerged ambience, and ultimately into a long silence, before resurfacing with distorted radar blips and shrieks of howling noise.

As "Beauties Can Die" fades, you're left with the feeling that you've just returned from a journey-- that the images passing through your mind for the last hour couldn't possibly have been the result of mere imagination. An album like this extends far beyond your speakers, guiding you through an impossibly rich, detailed world of sound while also giving you room to explore it yourself; you don't listen to Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts, you inhabit it.

-Matt LeMay, May 12, 2003


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