Last night, Harper Simon wasn't received as the lauded prodigal son of a folk-rock and songwriting legend. He was another unknown, paying his dues in an empty room. Although he played to an indifferent audience, Simon led a group of top-notch players in extended rock breakdowns of his recent debut album's folk- and alt-country-tinged songs. With unhurried confidence, Simon displayed solid songwriting skills and musicianship--as well as the ability to place the right people around him, ones who can expand your vision and make you more than you were alone.
Thank goodness for hometown openers the Pernikoff Brothers, as there was a good chance that without them, Simon would have played only for those getting paid to be there: the bartenders and me. The three-piece makes appealing, acoustic-based blue-eyed soul with muted harmonies. The two brothers take turns on instruments and lead vocals, but Tom Pernikoff's light-sandpaper voice provides the basis for "sounds-like" comparisons with national acts: Jamie Cullum without the piano or Ray LaMontagne with human contact. Rick and Tom Pernikoff, who attended elite Boston universities before starting up a company in Silicon Valley, seem to bring bona-fide business smarts to building their band's name, as evidenced by the crowd showing. It'll be interesting to watch as they make plans for sonic expansion (adding horns) and local domination.
Rules for a Successful Rock Show, Case #432: Cage the Elephant. (Good band name not necessary.)
Get a crowd who enjoys your stuff. One, though not the only, indication that Cage the Elephant won over the heaving audience at Pop's last night was the demand for an encore. Widespread hooting and chanting began as soon as the band left the stage. Since the previous 45 minutes was a fog of nonstop chugga-chugga rhythms and gutbucket commitment, the encore break was really the first occasion for the audience to hurrah their appreciation. And applaud they did.
The London-via-Kentucky band--Matt Shultz (vocals), Brad Shultz and Lincoln Parish (guitars), Jared Champion (drums), and Daniel Tichenor (bass)--looked like unbathed hitchhikers when it returned. No doubt the last two years have been one big hike: a major record-label deal, a smart move to England, an iTunes anointment and a push from MTV. Even at this larval stage of its career, Cage the Elephant has been lucky. Judging by the response, the crowd wasn't just there for "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked" and "Back Against the Wall," the two breakout singles from Elephant's self-titled debut. Every song from the album, a collection of baggy garage-rock, was an opportunity to sing along. The band could have repeated the previous hour with no complaint.
It didn't take long to realize that Rob Zombie was cranky last night. By the third time or so he admonished the media ecology of cameras and cell phones snapping pictures and recording videos, he appeared almost stupefied. "This is not Miley Cyrus," he growled. "You're supposed to be animals!" Had he his trident handy -- he must own one -- Zombie might have picked off the front row.
At his sold-out Pageant show, Zombie was less a scold than a good-natured curmudgeon who's been around long enough -- he's fast approaching Rock and Roll Hall of Fame eligibility, after all -- to remember when outstretched arms held only clenched fists. A certifiable cult metal figure and now a certified Hollywood commodity, Zombie exuded a relaxed depravity on stage, where his loping simian steps and Rockette kicks punctuated a show thick with sleaze, heavy on portent and dense with noise. Age has not withered nor custom staled his infinite vulgarity. For sensation and titillation, you could have done no better last night with your clothes on.
Peter Moren and Bjorn Yttling are a study in contrasts.
Bjorn, disheveled and in black, lumbers slowly across the stage. When he approaches the microphone, he drapes his mustachioed upper lip directly on the device, as if it would be too much effort to step back a few inches and project. He's aloof, unperturbed and totally chill. Bjorn is the bassist, naturally.
Peter, meanwhile, is the showman. Clean-cut and buttoned-up in a dapper beige jacket -- later discarded in an overheated fervor to reveal a pressed cream shirt (soaked through) and suspenders -- this was clearly a man accustomed to the limelight. He feeds off the adulation of the crowd. No matter how stark or rhythmically barren the tune, he would jump and jerk his body around, extend his arms out to the crowd, pantomime -- anything, really, to let us know that he wanted our attention. Peter is the guitarist, lead vocalist, egg shaker, harmonica player and, when appropriate, James Brown dance impersonator.
John drums.
In the middle of his song "Spit It Out," Brendan Benson declared "for every bubble you blow, I'm gonna pop it." The line offered a pretty good insight into the singer-songwriter's methods. For all his unstoppable power-pop moves and clear-eyed, harmony-enhanced bubblegum tunes, a bittersweet current runs through his best work. Songs of busted love and romantic indecision get dipped in a chocolate so sweet that it's easy to miss the pathos: His songs are catchy but rarely fluffy. Last night's show at Blueberry Hill's Duck Room proved that Benson and his backing band can spin off a 20-song set of high energy, endlessly melodic rock songs, even if some of those songs are tinged with regret.
By the time Black Crowes frontman Chris Robinson sauntered out onto the Pageant stage last night, most of the capacity crowd had worked itself into a slightly tipsy (but good-natured) frenzy. (Or maybe that was just a contact high.) Robinson, who was sporting a long beard and brightly shining "poncho of many colors," was the perfect ringleader for this circus -- and he was all smiles as he, his five band mates and two back-up singers launched into "Good Morning Captain," the first track from the band's latest album, Before the Frost...Until the Freeze. The head-bobbing groove and slithering, slide-guitar work was a warm-spirited way to start the night and set the mood for a show full of soulful anthems and gospel-revival spirit.
Leonard Cohen at this year's Coachella music festival.
At the Fox Theatre on Saturday night, in the middle of "Tower of Song," Leonard Cohen intoned, "I was born with the gift of a golden voice." The audience applauded enthusiastically, even though the line was not strictly true. Actually, it was not true at all, and it never was. Cohen was originally a poet who occasionally strummed a guitar. But over the years, his voice has tarnished and deepened, and he's transformed it into a remarkable instrument. Other singers may have done prettier versions of some of his songs -- Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah," Rufus Wainwright's "Chelsea Hotel #2" -- but nobody sings Cohen like Cohen.
His lyrics combine wordliness, wisdom, sly self-deprecation, biting sarcasm and the righteous rage of an Old Testament prophet, sometimes all at once: Who else could pull off a line like, "Everybody knows what you've been through/From the bloody cross on top of Calvary/To the beach of Malibu"?
No matter how many people he knows at a St. Louis Son Volt show, Jay Farrar will always be the guy who played a big part in creating the "alt. country" genre. Twenty years after Uncle Tupelo's heyday, Farrar and the current Son Volt line-up stay true to their roots without being strangled by them, presenting a set that sometimes rocks, sometimes twangs, and always remains heartfelt and honest.
Son Volt's Friday night show opened with the twang-free "The Picture." Without the horn section from the album version, the band compensated with Farrar on harmonica and a wall of guitar that announced the presence of a rock band -- a rock band that, over the course of a few songs, melted into the pure country of "Dust of Daylight" from this year's American Central Dust. Lap and pedal steel guitars had gradually been added through the set, creating a seamless transition.
Neko Case's show last night at the Pageant wasn't that different from her September 2008 appearance at the same venue. However, the comfortably crowded show was, shall we say, loose. Not musically - oh no, Case throws her head back, shakes her tomato-red mane and out pours her sweet, unadulterated voice, like clockwork. And her backing band - which includes long-time vocal foil Kelly Hogan and pedal-steel wizard Jon Rauhouse - helps her gently replicate the studio versions of her songs.
But Case was clearly in a goofy mood, from the second she stepped onstage, wearing simple blue jeans and a T-shirt. The show began with the big reveal that she and the band were comparing bad song lyrics before the show started. The winner? According to Case, it's the line, "I feel the horses coming gallopng," from Hole's "Malibu" - which she shared via a bellowed Courtney Love imitation.
Just got word that Yo la Tengo is returning to the Pageant on Sunday, January 24, 2010. Tickets are on sale next week; no word yet on price and openers. The band's new album, Popular Songs, is out now.
It's too easy to take AFI for granted. The Bay Area hardcore-turned-take-your-pick-of-genres band is such a strong live act -- and makes such smart music -- that it's easy to forget that nobody else out there sounds like it.
But the quartet reaffirmed its brilliance at last night's crowded show at the Pageant, with a dynamic set. Bathed in deep blue night, bassist Hunter Burgan strode onstage, teasing the audience with some eerie rumbling before the rest of the band exploded into the gothic-Nintendo "Torch Song." Wasting no time, AFI then launched into manicured-punk fan favorites "Girl's Not Grey" and "The Leaving Song, Pt. 2.," which spawned massive sing-alongs and set the energetic tone for the night.
By the second song of opening act Paper Route's set, it was clear that last night's Paramore show at the Pageant was going to be extremely loud and very in your face. The Nashville act (which is friends with the headliners) enveloped the near sellout crowd with its highly stylized blend of slick, ambient pop, echo-laden guitar effects work and danceable hooks. (Think Tears for Fears' studio-pop precision mixed with the spaced-out vibe of Massive Attack or M83 with the thickly layered percussion breakdowns of indie-rockers like Arcade Fire.) The band's sound was enormous, but the flawless and emotive dual lead vocals from J.T. Daly and Andy Smith always lofted over the top. In the end, Paper Route held the audience's attention like few opening acts ever manage to do.
When Paramore took the stage, the energy level in the room rose. The quintet made its presence felt in a big way, with a bombastic tour intro that featured a double-drum attack that literally sounded and felt like the Pageant's sound system was poised to burst. But when spunky vocalist Hayley Williams, sporting a tousled blond mop of blue-streaked hair, strutted out to take hold of her candy-cane-striped microphone stand, the crowd erupted into even more of a frenzy.
During a talk last month at Wash U, distinguished alumnus Harold Ramis described a rabbi who recommended carrying a slip of paper in each pocket. One should read, "Today the world was created just for you," while the other should say, "You are a speck of dust in a vast and meaningless universe." He added: "We have to remember that neither is true - and both are."
Photo: Brian Landis Folkins/Denver Westword
Matisyahu performing at the Mile High Music Fest in Denver this summer.
Perhaps these guiding principles of balance were tucked into Matisyahu's pockets last night. As he played in front of a boisterous Pageant crowd, it would be easy for him to believe the world was at his command. Yet the packed show was a communal experience, as would be expected from the Hasidic-Jewish reggae-fusion artist who raps about spirituality, joy and peace. Beyond returning appreciation to the audience, he shared the stage with artists Trevor Hall and Kosha Dillz, as well as a full backing band that expand his sound into alt rock and world pop, proving he's not blinkered by the popularity of his idiosyncratic brand.
After finally getting a chance to attend one of your concerts last night at the Family Arena in St. Charles, I finally understand why I think you're such a fantastic pop songstress and performer. From the first slow-burning, disco-infused chorus of "All I Ever Wanted," your voice held the sparse but appreciative Halloween night audience in a state of hypnotic wonder at how such an everyday, girl next door could somehow possess the ability to shake the arena rafters with such seeming ease.
However, the thing that I couldn't figure out from the get-go was this: Why do you need a dozen people in your band and such a ridiculously elaborate stage set, when your voice is so capable of wowing an audience all by itself? The Def Leppard style, reverse reverb and drum intro of mega-hit "I Do Not Hook Up" was really cool, but when the song kicked in, the mix was impossibly cluttered at times. The low end rumble of the bass and drums were drowning in a sea of guitar soup and backing track schmootz.
A truly charismatic, energetic opening act that commands the audience's attention is a rare find at most bigger rock shows. But at Friday's Our Lady Peace show at the Pageant, Chicago's Company of Thieves set the bar high, thanks to an irresistible blend of dance-party funk and soulful, spaced-out psychedelia.
The band pulled out all the stops with its Halloween spirit, taking the stage dressed as the cast of The Wizard of Oz. Vocalist Genevieve Schatz made a perfect Dorothy and wowed the packed crowd of Our Lady Peace disciples with her genuinely charming stage presence and rafter-rattling pipes. Judging by the songs Company of Thieves played from its debut album, Ordinary Riches, it's definitely a must-see live act and a new band to watch.
Dr. Aaron Perlut, Ph.D., CM, and chairman of the American Mustache Institute, called Friday night's second annual 'Stache Bash "a celebration of ridicularity." With the main floor of the Roberts Orpheum Theater full of costumed and mustached people taking advantage of free Budweiser products, ridicularity reigned supreme for a good cause. Ticket sales benefitted Challenger Baseball.
John Oates had a lot going against him, beyond having to keep up with opening act the Flavor Savers (who were interviewed on Daily RFT earlier this week.) As one of music history's most famous second bananas, does he have the chops to carry a set on his own?
Between songs at last night's Firebird show, A Place to Bury Strangers guitarist/vocalist Oliver Ackermann crouched down over a mysterious, suitcase-sized box with cables protruding from it. He dialed knobs like some kind of short-wave-radio operator tuning in scrambled signals from another galaxy.
Getting the chance to witness Ackermann coaxing these overwhelming sound collages from his guitar, effects rig and wall of Fender amplifiers in a small club setting feels almost voyeuristic, like you're maybe being allowed to see more of the mad science lab than you're supposed to. But the near darkness that shrouded the band for most of its set -- along with the seeming ease with which Ackerman executed his pedal switching dance in the near smoky darkness -- provided plenty of mystery. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that he designs his own effects: His boutique, Death By Audio, has become a go-to effects shop for everyone from Trent Reznor to Jeff Tweedy.
For the second time in fourteen months, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band played a non-stop, sweat-soaked, guitar-tossing, request-taking concert at the Scottrade Center. Springsteen's mission was clear: During "Working on a Dream" he claimed that he and the band were in town to "fulfill a solemn vow to rock the house." Few vows have ever been so redeemed. With a super-sized version of the E Street Band (Bruce included, there were often twelve people on stage, including two back-up singers and a trumpet player), the Boss played three hours of old and new tunes, taking no breaks between songs aside from his trademark "Hunh! Two! Three! Fo!" countdown.
The show began with a brand-new song called "Wrecking Ball," which Springsteen wrote in honor of (and from the point of view of) the old New York Giants stadium. It began mostly unadorned, with Bruce carrying the song on his Telecaster until the band kicked in with a double-time tempo shift. From there, he dusted off the growling rarity "Seeds" and moved into the Darkness on the Edge of Town nugget "Prove It All Night."View a slide show from last night's Springsteen concert.
Weathering the road since February, Samantha Crain played the penultimate show of her latest tour at Off Broadway last night--and she wrapped it up as the boss. The Boss, that is--donning a folded red bandana around her forehead, the diminutive musician, vocalist and band leader opened her set saying, "I'm Bruce Springsteen, thanks for coming." Though the specter of the simultaneous Springsteen Scottrade show lingered in the gaps between audience members, Crain headlined an intimate performance with dark charm and prickling energy. Take that, Bruce.
Local standout Theodore opened by sliding between Americana-style harmonizing and twang-rock with indie sensibilities before taking off to someplace else entirely. They busted out the accordion, the upright bass and the horn section. Oh yeah, and the saw. Whether it was the country croon of "Baby, do it all for me," or an a cappella group-howl (and to think, Karen O did the Where the Wild Things Are soundtrack), the crowd was hooked -- including Crain, who watched attentively and later referred to Theodore as her "favorite band in the world."
"I've heard of creatures who eat their babies, I wonder if they stop to think about the taste," Spencer Krug sang on Wednesday night at a semi-crowded Off-Broadway. The song, "Us Ones in Between," was the last in a show that stacked up a series of tangled and tense compositions, each a quicksand of Krug's fevered voice (it's a dealbreaker) and hyperliterate lyrics (also a dealbreaker). If Krug himself was tense and tangled all evening, hunched over his keyboard, it wasn't hard to figure out why: It can't be easy, night after night, performing songs so bent on catharsis, so consumed with summoning grandeur.
In Krug's Sunset Rubdown, we get a rare opportunity to experience Krug unfiltered and unadulterated, away from his many collaborations in the thriving Canadian indie scene (the main one being Wolf Parade). These associations have all made Krug prolific (too prolific?) and something of a songwriting enfant terrible during the last several years. What began as a solo project has grown to include a crackerjack band (special notice to Camilla Wynne Ingr's indispensible backing vocals) that has pursued an arty, angular style that's usually baroque and sometimes forbidding.
Roy Kasten checked out the Wooden Sky last night at Off Broadway, wrote some quick thoughts about its alleged "repressed klezmer-metal tendencies" and shot this video. Makes me think I should have gone. (Apparently, so should have other people: Twenty people were there.)
At a little after nine o'clock Saturday night, Lucinda Williams stepped onstage at the Pageant and began a two-and-a-half-hour, two-dozen-song chronological hopscotch through her career with a characteristically quiet welcome: "Hey everybody. It's the last show of the year for us. We're in a good mood -- ready to rock and have a good time."
Alone with an acoustic guitar, dressed in black from porkpie hat to leather jacket to jeans tucked into knee-high motorcycle boots, she looked a little, it must be said, like Tom Waits circa Closing Time. Williams commenced with "Motherless Children," from her obscure debut LP, Ramblin', then was joined by her backing band (openers Buick 6, absent guitar virtuoso Doug Pettibone) for another cut from that record, Robert Johnson's "Rambling on My Mind."
Midway through her set, Portland-based Mirah advised aspiring performers that knitting, not a "shot of tequila," was the best pre-show preparation. I looked around to see if anyone was knitting at that very moment, but things were quiet -- except in the back half of the Billiken Club, where a serpentine bar line and two televisions competed with Mirah's engaging, meticulous folk-rock for most of the evening. It was also a good thing that the club still had tables and chairs: Forced to stand, the uniformly college-aged crowd might have stumbled and teetered all night like stunned livestock.
This isn't to say that the performance was dull. In a different venue, where the communal act of standing together in proximity encourages mobility and demands attention, Mirah's stripped-down set might have been devastatingly intimate. Instead, given the peculiarities of the Billiken, it was more sideshow than main event, more detached and sedative than delicate and haunting.
Few indie bands are as divisive as Ghostland Observatory. For every fan and critic who fawns over its catchy dance punk grooves, there are others who decry tthe band as "robot rock for the flyover states" or, as Pitchfork infamously panned "Daft Punk for frat boys."
Ghostland is officially in the same league as love 'em or hate 'em acts like Vampire Weekend and Animal Collective. That in mind, the folks at Southern Comfort know how to ensure a packed venue for the Austin duo: free booze and pizza.
Last night's gig at the Pageant was the eighth stop on the SoCo "underCOVER" tour, a series of free concerts (headlined by The Hold Steady or the Polyphonic Spree in other cities) that encourages "well-known national experimental artists pay tribute to musicians that inspire them."
It also entailed free SoCo drinks (the Pageant bar was emptied and re-stocked entirely with the stuff) and a well-lubricated, dance-friendly crowd that ran the gamut from the skinniest jeaned hipsters to frat boys to half-nude ravers clad in fuzzy rainbow leg warmers.
The signs on the doors of the Pageant box office and entrances said it all: "Earplugs are available for purchase at the bar and soda areas." The occasion? Dinosaur Jr. was in town last night, and the band is notorious for being loud. How loud? Well, friends who saw the trio's show in Columbia a few years back swear it was one of the loudest shows they've ever been to. And during the show, bassist Lou Barlow said that somebody called the venue last week and swore they were going to kill the band - because that same Columbia Dino Jr show ruined their hearing.
I generally wear earplugs at shows anyway, so tonight was no exception. And I was skeptical about the volume - could it really be that bad? A few times during the 90-minute show, I took the right earplug out a few times, just to see how loud it really was. "Huh," I thought. "After last night's Mastodon/High on Fire/Converge/Dethklok show, this isn't bad at all." Right? Wrong. It's about 12:30 a.m. right now as I'm writing this, and the hearing in my right ear is a wee bit muffled. It was worse 90 minutes ago when I left the venue. Huh. Lesson learned.
At one point, Converge vocalist Jake Bannon thanked the Pageant crowd just for being there - and acknowledged the diversity of the quadruple bill of which his band was a part. He noted that whether you were a "punk kid, a metal kid or a hardcore kid, you were there for the love of music." He was certainly right on all counts.
Although High on Fire went on at exactly 6:30 p.m., a healthy-sized portion of the crowd was already in place for the band. Accordingly, its half-hour opening set exhibited what they do best: sludgy, stoner metal, performed with precision and power. It's impossible not to nod your head in time to the trio's galloping tempos, whether they're unleashed at a slow trot or a bit faster, even if the band itself didn't move around much. Shirtless, tattooed vocalist/guitarist Matt Pike sounded like a jaguar in a wind tunnel, or Cookie Monster being eaten by a vulture. And volume-wise, imagine a freight train heading full-speed into a tornado. Then imagine this a few dBs louder. Presto: High on Fire.
Converge's set started abruptly: Kurt Ballou stood in the middle of the stage and casually started playing his guitar, like he was a roadie soundchecking. Then the other three members of the Boston post-hardcore band ran onstage - and for the next 40 or so minutes, Converge destroyed.
As promised on Friday, the Bottle Rockets made a new setlist for the last night of their stint at the Duck room, The band started with "Gas Girl" from its self-titled debut album, which kicked off a stretch of eight classics. Despite some monitor problems, guitarist John Horton gave a thumbs up to the sound booth at the beginning of "Middle Man," when the sound from his Fender Flying V shimmied and sparkled.
After an extended jam at the end of "Perfect Far Away," lead singer and guitarist Brian Henneman commented that, in sorting through the band's catalog to make the setlists, he realized they could play a six-hour show. He speculated that most people probably wouldn't hang around until four a.m. (The crowd disagreed.) He introduced another first-album deep cut, "Hey Moon," as being "freshly rehearsed, straight out of the oven." Any rust the tune might have accumulated over sixteen years had been scraped away, along with much of the original's counry twang.
Notes were flubbed, lyrics were dropped and it was sometimes hard to hear the bass melody, but damn if it wasn't great to see Riddle of Steel play again. The group spent most of this decade rocking St. Louis with extended chords, rapid-fire drumming, tricky guitar/bass interplay and the occasional hypnotically beautiful ballad before calling it quits last September. Fortunately, the trio reunited for one night to celebrate the wedding of its record label's owner with a loose but powerful performance that left both long-time fans and the band smiling.
Riddle kicked off its first show in over a year with two of its most straightforward and best songs, "Baby Bird" and "Plenty of Satisfaction." The group did its finest hooks justice, blasting them at full volume with a sweet but edgy sound that filled the room. After a solid version of "Loose Talk," the group teased the enthusiastic and sizable crowd with the intro to "Got the Feeling." The crowd's strong cheers convinced the group to actually follow through with the song, despite lead singer/guitarist Andrew Elstner saying that the band haven't played or practiced it in over a year. Elstner proved his honesty when he hilariously started the song in the wrong key and took about 20 seconds to notice his mistake, but by the end of the song everyone was too busy rocking to care. And as Elstner said, "If we play a really bad set, what are you going to do? Not see us anymore?"
The two Johns: Linnell (left) and Flansburgh. Slideshow here.
They Might Be Giants has been playing all of its beloved 1990 album Flood in select cities on its current tour. St. Louis - long one of the most popular markets for the band - had the honor of hearing one of these performances last night at the Pageant.
This special enticement likely contributed to the show selling out. Although TMBG swings through town annually, the full house tickled the bespectacled John Flansburgh, who proudly mentioned it several times from the stage. The feel-good times continued for the next two hours, as TMBG mixed hit after hit with new tunes from this year's educational kids album, Here Comes Science.
After the rocking new song "Meet the Elements" and chestnut "James K. Polk" -- introduced as coming from a pre-Flood EP, but later popular due to its appearance on 1996's Factory Showroom - the sing-alongs started: cue "Theme from Flood" and the ageless pogo-pop hit "Birdhouse In Your Soul." Although keyboardist/accordionist/vocalist John Linnell promised Flood in order, that didn't quite happen -- the twanging boot-stomp "Cowtown" and a raucous version of "Why Does the Sun Shine?" (I believe the version rerecorded for Science) cropped up, and the sequencing of Flood's songs was haphazard.
While the Bottle Rockets could command a larger venue, it would be a shame to lose the intimacy the quartet fosters at Blueberry Hill's Duck Room. Better to play two shows in a small venue that feels like home, instead of one show in a big venue.
Troubadour Otis Gibbs opened with nearly an hour of his acoustic storytelling. He refused to let his songs -- which were full of Midwestern vignettes -- be relegated to background music: Between songs, he called out the talkers, asked for applause and sing-a-longs and extolled the virtues of "manufactured enthusiasm." At first the crowd humored him, but by the end of his set he'd drawn us in with his gruff vocals, humor and enthusiasm. Enough people sang along to drown out the chatters.
The Bottle Rockets stormed the stage with the joyous hop of "Get on the Bus" from its latest album, Lean Forward. With enough energy to fuel a Metro bus, lead singer Brian Henneman ended the song with a jimmy-legged jig that he'd repeat throughout the night.
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