By Tommy Jordan of Urban Fantasy:10854176_367656540080685_2690842137487991685_o


I was at work a few months ago and felt a familiar feeling down it my pants. My phone buzzing. It was a short text message from my own lovely lady (Dani, who’s also my bandmates). It said her dad had given a ride to a badass dude who made music under the name NTRL, and that her dad showed him our music. He dug it. So clinging to my long-standing business philosophy of seizing EVERY opportunity that ever comes my way, I hit him up, and he offered us a show. At Barboza.

The two months preceding the show date were a little rough around the edges. Mostly first world problems, but still, rough around the edges. Life hadn’t been filled with band practice really at all, and a lot of projects we were working on collectively as Urban Fantasy sat stagnant in their own juices. I spent time hoping that the juice would just make it better, or aged, or more mature. I’m not positive if that happened but I like to think so.

Jacob took a step back from doing shows with us but he’ll still be around, and we can expect to hear his sweeping synth with those classy-ass danceable rhythms on future Urban Fantasy tracks. Since Jacob left the live set up, under a time crunch I started the long process of putting together the beats for our live show. This was a large amount of splicing, editing and mixing in the week before the show. Richard Sandbom really bailed me out there, made us some leveled-out show mixes to melt some faces with. Richie, who I consider my longtime music cohort is just that type of dude. The type that bails me out when I take on too much and have too little time.

We emerged from this process revamping the live set as Urban Fantasy, with a computer, a digital turntable, an actual turntable, a collection of a capella rap records, children’s records, an old radio programs for samples, and cross fader. This has put me back in the helm a DJ/rapper, and I gotta say, I still got it kinda. I mean I have a long way to go in the world of becoming an excellent DJ. But I still can rhyme circles around Dr. Seuss and look good while I do it. We had a few days to practice, and hammered out everything we could, including a few new tunes never done before. We practiced everyday, and one day all day long.

10858090_359939364185736_3760615880302488553_nSome background: I’ve been an indie musician actively working in a live setting in various acts in the same town for five years. I’ve never broken into the popular trend of my local town, but I feel as though I do have the respect of many of my peers, and many of them have seen me go through several artistic manifestations, and all agree that Urban Fantasy as an act is “the one.” The one to ride into hell. So thats what I’m going to do. In the the immortal words of Sage Francis “imma ride that horse till it bucks me off and I’m forced to shoot it down.”

Barboza is a venue owned by Neumos in the heart of Seattle. Neumos is one of the bigger venues which many of my heroes have played. It’s a seat that up and coming bands long to sit on. It’s the throne. A throne I’ve been watching. So to get offered Barboza was a huge deal for me. I had never played a venue that respected and was really excited to have that opportunity. It made me nervous and giddy, and excited to have a soundcheck beyond an on the fly one in a dive bar. P.S. I love the dive bar as well.

1653728_366284120217927_9009961571911016693_nWe made it down there in one piece and nervous as hell. My friend James allowed us to use his truck and we can’t thank him enough for that, as we are still saving to purchase a vehicle. We hit soundcheck and the first person we met was ZNI, his DJ, Charma, and his drummer, all of whom were incredibly nice. I walked around to the front of the stage and watched NTRL’s sound check. I made eye contact Jason Whitney and he gave me an affirming nod. I started to feel less nervous. Everyone around us was so kind and excited to hear us, and the little voice in my head, the one that fills your head every time you do a public display of art, that tells you things like “their not gonna like you.” Well, he shut the fuck up this time.

10931542_365907360255603_4857049704322085173_nWe had an awesome soundcheck. The sound technician was amazing, and very kind. Dani and I got some coffee, meandered around in the rain on Capitol hill and then hit the venue to perform. This was our first time without Jacob and I used my laptop and a turntable for samples, which went pretty well. I think we killed it. I barely saw Dani but I heard her voice strong through the monitors and every time I glanced over she was smiling and dancing. We played some new tunes, although I imagine all the tunes were new to the crowd. This included a song called “The Anthem,” the lyrics of which are a serious tongue twister and about as fast and complex rhythmically as I have ever rapped. We dedicated one of our most popular songs, “Holy Shit Mom!” to Dani’s mother, who was there (she and Dani’s dad have been incredibly kickass and supportive of our indie ventures). She loved it. It went stunning. We closed off our set with another new song called “The Future” which both me and Dani are feeling splendid about. Dani did a lot of improvised singing and ended on a beautiful acapella stanza. We left the stage and were greeted warmly by the crowd. Nothing but handshakes and love from everyone including the security people and the venue folks.

ZNI hopped on stage next. It was ZNI, the emcee himself, a DJ and a drummer. They killed it, with danceable songs and undeniable hooks, I literally still have one of them stuck in my head. I was singing it to Dani last night. He took the opportunity to point out that it was the eve of the NFL playoff game against the packers and that if nothing else we should be celebrating that. The football industry has been great for us in Washington this last year, good for the economy for the morale of the people who live in 8 months of rain and darkness, and I feel as though we all really needed that boost. The crowd went wild. ZNI killed it. Really fun party music. It was totally Vegas.

NTRL the headliner took the stage with a three person act. The sound was exciting, reminiscent of The Prodigy, with some Beastie Boy-like harmonies on the more hip hop parts. They had an industrial sound that was a throwback to the late 90s and Jason, the lead singer/emcee gave more than one hundred percent on stage. But I imagine thats what he’s like at everything. He had the whole crowd laughing at banter and participating in songs. The guitarist was incendiary, and had a stellar voice that really added to the overall juxtaposition of the chorus and catch phrases. The base lines were

phat and rolling like Hennessy mixed with anarchy, a mix of class and chaos. We watched from the front and had a hell of a time. When they finished we grabbed our shit, and left the venue into some of the most serious rain I’ve seen in years. We made it home in one piece, woke up late, and watched the Seahawks win a very very tense game. Fireworks went off on the drive back to Bellingham. I was tired, glad to be home, but I really felt like we had emerged victorious from this whole venture.

10945374_367654473414225_9097021453956528298_nIt’s been a hell of a few months putting together the live set, Jacob leaving the live scene and us reworking songs, and putting forth more effort as a team and as a couple. I’m really grateful to everyone on my team, and I mean everyone. From my friends at work who wish me good luck, to my boss who lent me her car to drive music equipment to practice spaces. To all the Shepherd Boy Records kids, out on their grind, fighting the winter blues with music. To my parents and family whom I believe really support me rapping after the release of a very personal album I did for them for christmas. I still get frustrated and jealous of my peers who have succeeded beyond me. I wish I lived in the city. I still wish I had my shit together more or felt more like a grown up. We had an opportunity to move last summer, but were low on finances and it didn’t feel right. But throughout this winter and all the people I’ve met, all the people who are on my team, I wouldn’t change it for the world. I learn more every day, and I’ve finally succeeded at making music I stand behind and that has a positive influence on the listeners. This year is going to be life-changing, and I’m so thankful just to be on this thrill ride.

I’m going to be less available in the near future since Dani and I are working hard on an EP and have several videos we are working on. So if you don’t see much of me, just remember I’m busy trying to pull the sword from the stone and it’s getting looser, and I think I got a fair shot at the crown.

A Dream within a Dream!

Direwood show 44 blog
by Raven Terrapin

Show 44 brought us back to the familiar home base of the Venture Compound as host and head imagination engineer to head up the third annual “Edgar Allan Poe” birthday bash.
In celebration of the 206 birthday of my favorite American poet, I had my friend Adrienne Rain manifest a wonderful cake and we topped it with three birthday candles with that numbers I bought at Publicks.
Once again, the Seat of Your Pants production pulled the frying pan out of the fire. If you had a “backstage” pass for what goes through my mind the entire day of a concert I wonder what you would think? I am quite frankly quite a mess of emotions that resembles someone that might need adult supervision with the overload of stressing factors of setting up and coordinating events like this. It started early in the day when I watched my carefully constructed and planned lineup of seven poets and six acts start dropping like raven turds.
Indeed it seemed as the Red Death had started lopping acts off the bill as one by the poets that were featured were felled by migraines, colds and flu with 104 temps etc. Then the music acts started to fall. One at six cancelled just as I got ready to pack the car. One failed inside the venue when they had to bail for a family emergency leaving your host missing the first hour of his act.
So, we got to get a extended hypnotic stretched out ambient set that never bored or fell out of place from Tired Kingdom. These guys are the new type of “far out Kesey acid washed pranksters dripped in lysergy.”
This is the new 1967 and i have a front row seat.
Lilith followed and i sat transfixed as she wrapped her spell of Peter Murphy like wails and chants, also bringing the face paint and occult trappings of Jaz Coleman and Jarboe into one of the most cohesive and well played sets I’ve seen in quite some time. Brilliant. I can not wait to see her perform again.
The cake came out, party balloons were blown up and noise makers made the strange sounds of dying ducks in the kitchen as we all sang happy birthday off key and off tempo. A true moment.
A moment of poems from Wayne Williams and bassist Iatro called on the spur of the moment.
Smiles from the friends in the crowd, including my best friend from high school Jeff.
Direwood rocked the mic hard, played super solid, got all the cues spot on. We’ve become adept at this level. Sometimes I feel the pull of time and wonder if this is all it will ever be. Am I okay with that? No giant crowds of undulating adoration and groupies and ca-cane.
Not Motley Crue, But Tired Kingdom. Not Donkey Shows. Hell Garbage. Cake.
And a closing set of para theater from Whitey Alabastard closed the show. A contact mic, a table, scribbling on paper, coughing up fake blood that taste worst then real blood.
From the crazy person in his car singing “Would” by Alice in Chains so loud it was the only sound the air before anyone showed up. To the last screams and whispers of the the night as the fire built of trash warms the hands of the brave audience and players, all the same. No stage per say, no division exists between the acts and crowd. We are beyond gay or straight, man or woman, white or black, we are all the same. We are all very different.
I had a hard week this week. I lost a wonderful friend in a terrible accident. I didn’t want to celebrate death very much on Saturday night. Then I thought there is beauty even in death, even beyond death. Death does not pale beauty. In fact, when death takes a wonderful young one or dear friend from us, it only serves to enshrine and bring back the celebrated moments that make up a life worth living. I think Mr. Poe would understand that. I think Marc Atari was there too. I know he was there. I heard him in the wind. I heard him singing “Would” by Alice in Chains.
“Into the flood again,. Same old trip it was back then. So I made a big mistake. Try to see it was my way. Have I gone? Have I gone to far to get home? Have I gone? Left you here alone?

Oh, the noise, noise, noise, noise!

A new blog for the new year by Raven Terrapin.
We all agree that music in it’s current form and function has just about run it’s course, from sacred sounds created by masters to be played in worships of Gods and Goddess, to the church and the rise of many different forms of “spiritual” music, like blues, gospel or reggae.
There is another side to the spiritual which I can only refer to as “noise music.” In some cases it’s not even really “music” at all, just a random series of static bursts and screams of demonic pain liked the “music” created by Dylan Houser of Lakeland, FL.
Most well known for his ever evil and elevated Hell Garbage, or “Shit Ass Hell Garbage,” ” Houser is always testing the limits of the human eardrum with his giant amp and prepared guitar work.
It was indeed an honor of the highest that had my brand new “tribal occult” noise project land of NOD to be invited to open the Pangaea Project’s 56 at the church known as Venture Compound.
With a project that I had set up on a whim to fill a need to be able to participate in a scene as wild as noise here when we get people from all over the planet to come play, you have to bring your “A” game.
Houser played guitar with us in land of NOD without even practicing and it was wonderful. In this band, I’m the overall brain, meaning I send the thought patterns to the rest of the group. I lead with a vocal or maybe a pounding drum and let the “body” that is my band react.
I use a cell phone with recordings made in easy recorder to loop and sample, a record player to add live elements of sample sound, two giant tom drums and my bass rig. JB also plays a role of filling space with sounds from the Klingon Bible and spaceship samples.
I pulled in two kids from the audience to play drums and shakers while I was playing bass and chanting and singing random phrases at the top of my lungs. I made noises I don’t remember making. It was wonderful and primal and joy and there was salt all over the floor in a circle cut into four corners.
I can’t wait to to do it again and have also started on the second “dub plate” which I will do after every live show to kind of give a new context to the performance. After I get 10 of these “dub” plates done I will clean it up and mix it and put it our for free download on our label, Shepherd Boy Records (
Within an ever evolving set up and truly astonishing and tireless work ethic, our kind host JTV projected video, worked the sound board and set up all the live sound in a wonderful way. It seems he’s has even upped his video game as of late, leading the crowd into some hilarious dance moves from a cheese ball hip-hop VHS video from 1993.
Houser set up the show with local flavorites Derridada (ugh, get an easier name to spell) who tore down the house with their Sonic Youth style noise escapades and the true fluent drum work of Jon Freda as the guest skin pound. Great performance from these rising talents and also free of some nasty sound problems that have pulled me out of their brilliant sets in the past. Freda is also a super funny dude who runs the Fuzz factory in Gulfport.
Ben Sellers of leveret gave me some great advice on New Years Eve as I prepped to dive into the noise pool. “Something every performer has to know how to do is go when the rig is broken.” he said. “You can’t stop and you just have to move forward and play with the face that you won’t have your guitar working or whatnot. That’s part of the whole thing.”
Sure enough, my turntable rig conked out on me right as I ready tor rock. Oh well.
Brilliant sets from Boston three piece Pariuh and sister solo project Couples Counseling highlighted the evening. The first being a high energy “Le Tigre” style pop rock attack led by a madman in a skimask and pajamas, a indie girl rocking the guitar and pigtails and another indie girl with a high school football jersey rocking the fuck out of the keyboards. I was handed a toothbrush and brushed my teeeth spitting in a bucket at the apex of their set. “It’s a dirty world” indeed.
Closed the night up playing bass for Hell Garbage on a whim, with a brand new Hell Garbage t-shirt (MERCH) and despite the two inch blistered open wounds on either of my index fingers from rocking the fuck out of some drums with a padded drum stick that was made from a literal tree. I could feel the floor of the compound shifting under the sounds of my bass due to giant stack of subs they have in the corner and made as many heavy metal rock star poses as the VC has ever allowed. Fuck yes. Hell Fucking Garbage yes.
We are on the island of Misfit Toys, the island that turns good little boys into donkeys and leads puppets into the gaping mouths of whales. This is bat county.
I am so glad to share in these wild nights of fantasy and beauty with my nerdy damaged, arty weird, social awkward, tatted, pierced, multi sexual, beautiful freaks under the full moon light. We live Boho from the first set to the last note and we love and laugh, we make merry, we smoke outside and small the burning trash fires that light the way from the the mad max world we created out of garbage and our own hell and made it, beauty.
“Don’t dream it. be it. Don’t Dream it. Be it”.”

An Artists Toolbox: What’s In It?

By Chris Dylan

“We artists are indestructible; even in a prison, or in a concentration camp, I would be almighty in my own world of art, even if I had to paint my pictures with my wet tongue on the dusty floor of my cell.”
-Pablo Picasso

Many artists would love to agree with this statement. Most good artists do. This quote states many things. Firstly, that an artist is a god, a creator of things. Secondly, a true artist is somone with a necessity rather than a simple desire to create. And mainly, that the world of art itself is riddled in and surrounded by misery, and artists wouldn’t have it any other way. For ages, artists of all types have endorsed misery as a platform to base their art off of. Some thrive on it, some tend to strive for it and surround themselves in it and/or concieve ways to keep themselves from becoming emotionally secured. (Sid Viscious, Edgar Allan Poe, Eminem, and of course Kurt Cobain are a few that come to mind) Most artists also agree that the purpose of art is to enter a hightened state of being, enter a void where emotions no longer exist, day to day problems and the gears, cogs and workings of life seem to evaporate while in the midst of an artistic vision. What happens is that an artist turns their self into a work of art in front of them, creating a work that represents both emotion and spirituality in its highest form while at the same time coming from a state of true non-emotion or nirvana. Many artists (myself included) believe that it is not, in fact, themselves making their art but the oversoul itself taking control of their body and using it as a tool to manifest what would otherwise go unknown and unseen. Artists crave distractions from life, but happiness is not the distraction that they crave. What is so fundamentally odd about happiness in the world of art? My theory: Every artist is making a portfolio to present to the grim reaper upon aquaintance. Now, the grim reaper isn’t going to judge you based on whether or not you held a smile up for your whole life. Moreover, many people believe that death will in some way judge them by their effect that they had on the world. Some artists biggest fear is not that people will not like their art, but more that their art may be an insult to existence itself. ‘Is it valuble?’ they ask themselves sometimes, not thinking on a monetary scale. Now, to be valuble in this sense, a work of art must encompass a full spectrum of emotion. If it is purely miserable it will come off as pathetic. If it is purely blissful it will come off as arrogant. If it is purely content it will come off as bland. (So on and so fourth) Here is where I stand on this: I doubt that there is a single person out there that has never experienced misery. Some people live with tangible misery on a day to day basis. Some people say that these people have ‘bad luck.’ Others may think of misery as that thing that hit them that one time when they lost that something that was truly valuble to them. Either way, everybody knows misery on some level. The same goes for happiness but, what makes one happy is not always the thing that makes another happy. This differs from misery in the sense that there are many things that would make any individual miserable. (assuming you’re not a nihlist, and I’m going to say that a nihlist is the opposite of an artist) Essentially, happiness is fleeting and truly comes from different corners of the court, different to everybody. But, misery is a concrete thing and tends to come from the center of the court when you lost the ball toss. So, our ability to relate to misery through an art medium is much higher than our ability to relate to ones individual happiness. In the end, we urge ourselves to understand a piece of art and we all understand misery in much the same way. Misery sells in art for this reason, and for the same reason, happiness doesn’t. My fear is that this ancient mentality that has been held by artists for so long can end up creating an overall fear of happiness, letting our great artists recourse to over-analyzing the age old quote ‘ignorance is bliss.’ Remember, as said before, it is necessary to provide a whole spectrum of emotion before creating a work of art. And it is true, the making of a true artist involves a certain fear of ignorance, for if they themselves become ignorant it will reflect in their work, but should they fear happiness their art will suffer as well. In order to create the quality art that most artists do, they must be in a constant influx of many emotions. But, what is odd about this, and many artists don’t know this, is that it is, in fact, ignorance that an artist craves when they create art. As said before, an artist strives to enter a state of non-emotion or nirvana when producing works. Now, are nirvana, ignorance and bliss all the same word? Basically, in my unproffesional opinion, yes. But, what is important is that before entering the void that an artist enters while manifesting their work, they we’re not in the void to begin with: that they came from a place of high emotional capacity and are ready to release it into a piece of art. The truth is, to create a beautiful peice of art is not easy if you want it to be accepted by many. So, in the end… Are all of our great artists truly so miserable? No, at least, I don’t think so, although they would like me to believe that they are. They are merely using the tools of the trade, and moreover, the tried and tested ones. Misery can be an artists best friend and the most powerful tool in their toolbox. But, I’s like to say to all of the artists out there ~ it is not the only one.

It belongs in a Museum!

By Raven Terrapin

Gulfport and the new Fuzz Factory was the landing for the last spice run of Direwood’s 2014 live tour. We ended at show 43, setting up 2015 as the year of milestones, show 50 on the horizon. I will also turn 40 this next year and I will be completing a full length album called “40” sometime during that time, though it may take the whole year to get it as good as I want it to be.
I have promised to take a hard objective look at Direwood and our future at that point. Right now I am living in the moment. It starts when JB makes it over after work with soup on the stove. We plug in and dust off, talk about what songs we want to do for “Left handed cypher #1″, a sort of council of war for deep underground hip hop in the local area.
Jams ensue, we rip through the set twice in between episodes of Portlandia and inhaling.
Pack up, load up, make sure we’ve got all the skulls we’re taking. That’s the real ignition point for me and the emergence of ‘Lil Mic,” when the skull collection comes off the shelf and gets wrapped in old t-shirts in the suitcase.
Drive down was nice and smooth until we drove around the block in the border of Gulfport space (read here industrial wasteland) trying to find the venue. I hate GPS. Half the time it doesn’t work. I make JB go into a diner to ask what street we are on. Breathe in, breathe out. It’s gonna be OK. Finally I park the wheels and get out and just start walking down the street looking at numbers. I let my senses adjust to the rusty dirty street light. I look down an alley and spot my punk rock friends and a little storage space turned into a room with a stage and speakers, couches, various musical stuff, like a small Venture minus all the weird mad scientist shit.
Load in try to set up a live stream and fail. Meet up with Orlando crew, namely Eric Cansouled and Paco Tuesday. Meet up with Figment, one of my fave emcees in the area and one of the few females straight ripping it up here.
Hugs exchanged, vibes on, Iatro of rest In Satin Silence gets us started on the perfect note with looping, beat boxing, his trademark gut screaming and feedback. This is as avant guarde as the night will get, the far left of the left side of the dial, just clinging to the cliff of rap. It’s like a concept dish made by a chef that tastes great but might just have been spiked with LSD.
Figment sets the bar solid boom-bap with the next set. Sort of comparable to Dessa of Doomtree, but more street, the energy is spiking now.
Next is Paco Tuesday, a super fill in on the fly after Justinhale bowed out. He’s got a very different style, north Chi town slow downed beats and flow. A lot of call and response, some dope anime references and a Blackhawks jersey.
Cansouled plays after that and he’s one of my all time favorites. He’s sort of a super sensitive emo rapper, apt to fold up the tent at any time cause he’s kinda shy and has no ego at all. I love him though he has the worst luck with shit getting stolen from him at shows. More on that later.
ABSTRACT MACHINE is now the Holley brothers, namely Bnen (yes, that’s right, Bnen), and Mir, AKA Bay Sir who I hadn’t seen live since they teamed up. Dude, this is like what would happen if El-P hooked up with Beck. Bnen has a super soul voice in a high range and he’s skinny as a rail, throwing his self all over the stage in freaky soul estatic frenzy.
We are up next so I duck out past the Real Clash crew and into the alley. I stretch out and pray. We light up in the circle, blowing smoke into the paint scented air near an building that looks like zombies might live in it, complete with a spray painted “No Parking” sign on the front. Someone set off a light and alarm on the other side of the parking lot, much laughter ensues as i set it off again by wandering right into the same trigger spot.
Set up the skulls, plugs, set pieces, rock out so hard. give everything to the set, every part of effort and zone right in and stand in stage inside my dream. My best friend on stage with me, the crown right in the palm of our hand. This is really happening. My friends are dumb dancing, screaming, hollering back. I find a cinder block to stand on and I am now nine feet tall and unstoppable.
The real Clash comes on after us and crushed. Crushed. The closest thing we have to the Roots, this awe inspiring group of dudes is real hip hop. There is hippies, hipsters, gangstas, nerds, tribal wizards, Sefus and students, drunks and straight edge kids together. We are united by this form of art called hip-hop.
Yes, god damn it. This deserves to be tattooed on your arm. HIP HOP IS ART. It isn’t treated very well, not given any respect despite the fact that even Dr.Phil probably bumps Snoop.
Your mom likes the Black Eyed Peas and your baby sister wants to be Nicki, god damn it.
I want to have my friends perform in a safe space, where you can speak your truth, there’s no fucking drink minimum and maybe a little class. Still, local hip hop is very much in it’s early punk rock phase here. Ride with this thought for a bit. Remember when normal people were scared of punk rockers? Sending vans of cops to break up shows and beating up members of Black Flag on a regular basis? No, y’all are too young for that. I’m almost too young for that and I’m nearly 40.
“Hip hop kids are bad, they might fuck up your place and twerk on your wall”. Well, 98.8 percent of the real hip hop kids I know (in fact, all the ones I know personally) are the nicest, humblest, sweetest, funniest people I know. We have fuck all to do with drive by shootings and crack sales. We’re just hungry artists trying to work inside a set of street rules, born on the ground and hot pavements of the shitty Bronx in 1975.
Someone stole a phone from the show. Lot has been said about it already, more will be said. Who knows who did it, in the end doesn’t matter who. Made us look bad, the hard working, sweet awesome poetry kids who just put on a minor miracle,. We don’t need a bad reputation, we were born the black sheep. Shepherd Boy records, motherfucker.
I want to do hip hop, real hip hop with my friends in a safe space where I don’t have to worry about being kidnapped and having my kidneys stolen, but until the upper crust starts booking all ages hip hop shows, meaning never, I will rip in the side of industrial warehouses that look like the Paper Street Soap Company house from Fight Club. I think i just heard a golf ball bang off some glass and Tyler Durden is cackling in the air. In death, members of project Mayhem have a name. His name is Robert Paulson.
Mystic is my wife, but hip-hop is my girlfriend she has been beat up and disrespected, the Goddess is real tired of bein called a bitch. It’s time to put the respect where it belongs and her crown back on her scared black beautiful face. I love her and you do too, so start treating her like the lady she is and have some respect Stand up when she walks in the room, pull out her chair and buy her a drink and the muse will dance all night with you. Belle of the Baller.


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