Shibusa Shiruzu OrchestraThe OpeningGretchen Parlato
Ali Takase & Silke Eberhard Bobby McFarrin
Parting words



Molde Jazz Festival 2010

JazzVirgin’s Parting Words

Those laidback Molde people :)

Molde 2010 stands alone for two things – the variety of its offerings and its organisation – both excellent. Performances ranged from big band to one-man shows, traditional jazz to experimental, mainstream to improvisational, blues-inspired jazz to Japanese jazz. Logistics were Good with a capital ‘ G ‘.

The absolute highlight for the JazzVirgin was the Gretchen Parlato and Bobby McFerrin concerts. The first for the opportunity to hear fantastic new jazz, worked by a musician we will be hearing a lot more about in the future, and the second for the chance to see how a really good concert includes the audience, how jazz can be suffused with joy and become one big jam session. All in all, Molde Jazz Festival was a blast, a smorgåsbord of great performances. It was a great success, a showcasing of Norway’s best jazz musicians sprinkled with some excellent international acts.

Not to forget the local heroes...

Logistically, things worked well, went really smoothly. The Press Centre and the support for journalists and photographers worked like a dream. Given Molde’s stature though, as an international festival, the odd programme in English would have made sense for those non–Norwgian speaking visitors, of which there were many. And jo ! – a venue or two that offered the opportunity to groove to the music would have been sooooooooo nice. A little dancing never hurt anybody… And while we are on the stuff that could have been improved – your JazzVirgin doesn’t want to sound ungrateful but wonders how a party for the press – thank you very much, great bacaloa ! – at a jazz festival can be defined as a party – without music ? ? ? A party without music at a music festival has got to be like being a "almost" pregnant, right ? Either you’re up the duff or you’re not, either there’s music or it’s not a party…

...the tough and brave audience

Weather, you can do nothing about. When it wasn’t beautiful, it was miserable. Three days of constant rain and three days of sun – what to do about that ? Just hope that the rain didn’t totally screw up the festival’s finances, I guess. Molde 2009 sold 11,000 tickets for Leonard Cohen alone and that’s a hard act to follow even if the weather gods were kinder. 4,700 for Missy Elliot wasn’t bad and a similar number for the Jeff Beck/ Herbie Hancock show was respectable.

So all that remains is to thank the team behind Molde Jazz Festival for doing such a great job. In particular, the JazzVirgin would like to say thanks to Åsa Marie Standal from the Press Centre for a blessed attitude and a great smile. To the people of Molde, another accolade – you deserve Molde, it’s a great festival for a beautiful, generous town. Speaking of which, thank you Synnöve for your hospitality, charm and good heart, not to mention the amazing view.

...and the beautiful view (virgin camera...sic-!)

So for now, the JazzVirgin bids a fond farewell to the town of Molde, its stunning landscape and the exuberance of its Jazz Festival. Fare thee well, all ye Press Centre folk, all ye golden breasted Norwegian girls and jazz musicians extraordinaire !

Signing off for 2010
Your JazzVirgin

PS: To the BossMan himself – thanks for the opportunity! It was a just peachy, Maestro. The best was listening to you chuckle over your own scribblings* ( Kungen och jag)**, picking pics together and just doing my JazzVirgin thing by your side. But I’ll tell you a little secret, Mr. BossMan, the very best of the whole damned experience was seeing you in a total freakin’ frenzy, running around like a headless chicken, screaming; ‘ Fuckin’ Hell ! Fuckin’ Hell ! Oh, Fuckin’, Fuckin’ Hell ! ! ! ! ‘ as you bolted for the washing machine – which was on – in search of your memory stick***

The famous jazzexpert, The BossMan, teaches
the Swedish king all about Norwegian jazz.
(The king to the left, out of view, as usual)

* I beg your pardon??! Scribblings ?? You Swedish illiterate !! (Virgin...hah !)
** The (Swedish) King and I - my very serious piece about the adventures of me and the king.
*** You know nothing about processing digital media. I just forgot to turn it on centrifuge.


Jazz Festival 2010

The Bobby Mc Ferrin concert
Bobby in the Zone
Ever dream in parallel ? Thursday night's Bobby McFerrin concert was like that, like dreaming 4 dreams at once. There were a lot of sounds coming out of that man, all at the same time. You just couldn't figure how a human being sitting on a stage by himself, without a single instrument, could sound like a 4 piece band. That was Bobby. And the concert itself ? Oh, that was a complete celebration of life.

Molde Domkirke was the venue for the sold out show. For those who had heard no more than ' Don't Worry, Be Happy ', a treat was in store. When asked if he was happy - yes, he took questions from the audience, had a homely dialogue with them - McFerrin talked about a wife he loved, 3 beautiful children and having God in his life. And being paid to do what he loved - play music ( with empahasis on play ). So, I guess the answer would have to be a resounding ' Yes '. You would have to be blind, deaf, dumb - and dead - to have missed that amount of joy.

The artist just talking to the audience set this concert apart. Talking to them from heart, no less. McFerrin was relaxed, sincere and at ease with life... Joy incarnate, that fella... This was not going to be any Missy Elliot concert, no auto pilot here. Mind you, with the humour of the devil and the patience of Job, he gently asked ' Is that your question ? ' when someone asked actually asked him ' Did you commit suicide ? '. Personally, the question kind of appealed to the JazzVirgin - in a twisted kind of way - given all that stuff about Christ rising from the dead. ..

Garbed simply in a black T and black jeans, McFerrin cut a sweet picture with his greying beard, dreads and golden skin. Fully present and calm, he sat center stage, on a wooden chair, mike in hand, and simply began. Using his chest as a drum, he ' sang ' - well, voice improvised 2 numbers before greeting the audience with a bow, a namaste and a dazzling smile. Already by this time, the crowd was eating out of Bobby's hand, so joyful was his music. Bobby was in the zone and the audience was on their way.

McFerrin's slender body - not just his voice - is his instrument. The man IS an instrument. It was Bobby doing it for himself and having a damned good time of it too. When he smiled, the world lit up. The world, dear reader, not just the room, or the church, as it were. The world. The man was happy doing his thing and his smile said it all. As he said at the end of the show, who wouldn't be happy doing what they loved, playing music ? And so it was. Bobby was doing what he loved - with glee.

Sitting in front of austere church candelabras, a painting of Christ and inscriptions from Mathew, Mark, Luke and John, McFerrin sang the Beatles classic ' From Me to You ' ( If there's anything you want, if there's anything I can do, just call on me... ). His was a very dreamy, mellow version, complete with voice improvisation. From there, he went straight into '( Baby, Baby, Baby ) When I Look into Your Eyes '. With only seconds between numbers, McFerrin then did more voice improvisation before ' Fly Me to the Moon ' and ' Somewhere Over the Rainbow '

But truth be told, there was something between ' Fly Me to the Moon ' and McFerrin's peculiar brand of voice improvisation. Something big. And that, girls and boys was AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION. Yup, audience participation. Pointing to one side of the audience, McFerrin gave them a tone. To the other side, he gave another tone. then you had a thousand people sitting singing harmonies in a church with good acoustics and an enthusiastic - and gentle - conductor. McFerrin was sweet, handling the
audience gently, all loving daddy. Playful too, with a ' Shhhhhhh... ' Ok, go ! ' game that filled the interior with marvellous echos. And let the audience groove along just nicely.

Another little gem was when McFerrin solo-ed with something that sounded close to sacred music - a kind of voice improvisation of a Georgian chant, I guess you could say.
All holy and soaring on the wings of an angel, just beautiful. JazzVirgin's favourite Bobby - who would have known ?

And then suddenly, there was this voice from way back in the pews. Bobby stood, eyes closed, smiling at the sound, taking it in. The audience swivelled, craned their necks to
see the owner of this lovely voice. Enter Eldbjörg Raknes. Barefoot, in beige silk blouse and blue jeans, she made her way to the stage, eyes locked on Bobby the whole time.

By the time she reached him, they were bouncing off of each other with the most delicious sounds imaginable. Bobby tilted his mike to her, and she, hers to him. Eldbjörg shimmied towards Bobby, forcing him back, and he her - all the time climbing the scales and playing together. The audience was thunderous in their applause.

And then - and then - McFerrin said ' If you want to come up and sing, this is the only chance you're going to get... '. For a moment, the JazzVirgin spaced out, so odd was this a thing to hear. Can't see Dylan doing it, couldn't imagine the muttering, mumbling, acidic Norwegian PapaFahr ( aka BossMan ) doing it, Too generous an offer
by far, for a man who thinks breakfast for two is 1 cup of coffee and 1 bowl of ( year-old noodles. JazzVirgin was, I have to confess, dazed and confused by the openness
and generosity of McFerrin's offer. Was McFerrin serious ? Was he actually asking people to come on to stage and sing ?

A tiny girl in knee-high boots and tight jeans took the challenge. Didn't seem nervous at all. With a minimum of chit-chat, she began. ' Can I sing something classical for you ? ' she asks Bobby, innocently enough, I thought. Then she says ' Can I have an A flat ? ' by which time even Bobby is looking a bit nervous... And then Beata Mordal opened her mouth and brought the fucking house down.

The Puccini Girl from Trondheim

Singing Puccini's ' O, Mio Babbino Caro ' ( ' Oh, My Dear Papa ' ), Beata was nothing short of superb, otherworldly. Bobby put on a great show, lovely really but Beata owned the house Thursday night and earned her place as the JazzVirgin's highlight of the whole freakin' festival.

Bobby said ' Fabulous ! ' and meant it. And that's what was so special about this concert - it was a celebration of music, a joyful gig between Bobby and a thousand of his closest friends, right down to the 20 brave ( and happy ) people who dared to join him on stage in a mass voice improvisation. For this jazz newby, it was like discovering a foreign language that you can have more fun in than a blind man in a brothel. And to
top it all off, Bobby says to us, ' Thanks, everybody ' Thank you, Bobby. And you too, Miss Puccini.

Signing off,
Your JazzVirgin,

Jazz Festival 2010

Aki Takase and Silke Eberhard/ Jazz for Little Girls
BossMan cackling. Not muttering now. Just cackling. Loudly. Soon hysterical. Odd as a two thumbed Chinaman, that one. But damn if it isnt hard NOT to be fond of him. Much amused by his own writings, he is. Only other person I know who laughs out loud at their own stuff / with pure glee / is me. Kinda hard to get annoyed at your own alter ego. But still, I'm annoyed. Trying to figure out if I missed something in the Takase/ Eberhard concert. I don't know, I don't think so.

In a nutshell, I found their music unimaginative, boring, totally lacking in oomph. Jazz for little girls. Some kind of mix between music, pantomime and a proud kindergarten performance.Maybe it's just me / maybe I need my jazz to be served with balls. It's not that Takase and Eberhard are not accomplished musicians, they are. It's not that they were only playing simple stuff, they weren't. Fats Waller and Ornette Coleman are no simpletons nor Johnny/come/latelys in the world of jazz but Takase and Eberhard just didn't seem to do them justice.

Hard to read the audience. One fella bolted after the third number. Others made a fast getaway immediaely the show was over. The remainder demanded an encore, which they got. Perhaps the problem was an inbalance between piano and sax/ clarinet. Takase was very focussed, very strong on the ivories.She played with flair and was nicely ostentacios. She has her own style, complete with waving her arms about like some eccentric conductor. These flourishes served to emphasis the high points of the pieces / they worked and the audience liked them. Something I really liked was the magic that Takase did under the hood, so to speak, pulling at the strings, enticing them to produce very un/piano like sounds from the inside. Little, fully engaged Japanese pianist leaning into a grand piano is a nice sight.

Eberhard was at her best on the sax especially when she played pieces that allowed her the time and space to settle into the music.

The best of Takase/ Eberhard is the sunny/Sunday/afternoon/jazz/in/the/park feeling they created. The worst was that you were left with the feeling that they were holding out on you, that there was so much more they could have pulled off. 8/ 10 for effort, 2/10 for magic.

Signing off,
Your JazzVirgin,

Jazz Festival 2010

The Gretchen Parlato concert
Gretchen's a good girl... but who is she ?
American, petit woman with a good heart and a delicate voice, a rising star. Says she'd spend her last day – if she had any choice in it – by the ocean, in a warm place, with the people she loves, with the people that love her. And her cats. Doing yoga maybe.Gretchen Parlato's got a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiig heart for a little girl, I reckon. When your Jazz Virgin asked how Parlato would describe her own voice, she said ' Human, naked, honest. ' And so it was...

Gretchen (Photo: Ted Pankin)

Like so many others, I too went in blind. And like Nils, I floated out of Gretchen's concert in a funk. Like a dog watching tele, I was smart enough to know that something was goin' on but just not clever enough to figure out what the hell it was...

You go in a Gretchen Parlato Virgin and come out something entirely else. Something softer, something more floaty. The 2 hour concert was like a caress when you were expecting a beating... Kinda confuses you, puts you off-side. Let's try to decode, deconstruct it a little...

Little woman on an intimate stage, full house, 50 more waiting on the street on the off-chance they can maybe get in. Three back-up musicians, Taylor Eigsti on piano – what must it feel like to coax out sounds like that, I wonder ? Alan Hampton on bass – man after my own heart with that beautiful, heartfelt solo he delivered in the penultimate number and Mark Guiliana who showed that drums can really hit a girl
where it has most impact. Who ever heard of an erotic drum solo, I ask you ? So little woman, young woman, on stage with her 3 boys – ' Like family, they are to me ' , she says, when asked. ' I feel supported by them. They push me, challlenge me '.

' Parlato ? Vad då ? ' says the BossMan. Says it sounds like something between gelato ( a good finger lickin' bit of Italian icecream ) and something only slightly more erotic – or vulgar – depending on your taste ( hahaha ! No pun intended ). Anyway, it probably needs no further explanation here except to say that maybe I need a new boss. But damn, how would it be – how would I cope if the boss didn't mutter ? Could I cope with a BossMan that I could actually understand, one that didn't grind his teeth and twitch all night long ? Hmmm...

So the BossMan doesn't get Parlato but I do. She is wonderful. Even Herbie likes her – Parlato, he says, has ' a deep, almost magical connection to the music... '. The BossMan can sing – Jesus, can he sing ! And he knows his poetry. He can string a sentence together as badly as the next Norwegian but he ain't no Herbie Hancock, that's for sure. Gretchen is doing well even if she's not the BossMan's cup of tea What does he know, silly old coot ? Probably not as much as Downbeat Magazine who just named Parlato one of the world's top rising female vocalists. Winning the Thelonious Monk International Vocals Competition isn't too shabby at all.Got to remember to ask the BossMan if he's ever won that...

Long time back, I saw Blossom Dearie, so recently departed. Long time ago, in far away little Adelaide town it was, circa 1978. What I most recall was the softness of her enormous power, the charm and elegance of her vocals. Parlato puts me in mind of Blossom. When Parlato sings, she brings the house down, in the most gracious way. The audience loved her, demanded an encore, wouldn't let her go before 20 minutes and bought all the CD's they could get their hands on. A virtual stampede for them, there was.

Parlato claps. A lot. Clapping is the kind of thing you realise you don't see much of anymore, until you see it. Parlato claps in a gentle kind of way, as far from hip hop clapping as you can get. Her clapping is something soulful that lifts the music even higher. And somehow, it goes very well with the songs, especially the Brazillian love
song. It forms a kind of a signature style, something uniquely Parlato ( other than the obvious, her unique voice ).

Singing Jean Hancock's Butterfly, Parlato makes it her own...
' give all the love we knew
to see all the light that we can see
and teach the children not to lie
and maybe one day, we'll fly... '.

In Weak, Parlato sings...
'...Can't figure out what to do
when the cause and the cure is you... '

I guess anybody could sing those words but nobody else could sing them in such an achingly beautiful Parlato way. The audience went wild ( in a subdued-middle-class-wine-bar kind of way, but still...). For me, as much as I enjoyed Weak and Butterfly, the absolute highlight was the quality of Guiliana's drums. His solo in Juju was to die. To die for ! Thing is, Eigsti on piano and Hampton on bass were also superb. It is a rare thing that the musicians are all equally top-shelf but these guys were and your Jazz Virgin loved that..

In Juju, Parlato sang;
'.. feel like you're flying when you haven't left the ground... ' which just about sums up Tuesday's sold out concert. Parlato delivered an intense performance. Her soft, deep confidence in her talent stood her in good stead – the 300 strong audience just ate her up. They went home happy and the little woman in the kind of black stillettos that any self-respecting jazz singer ought to lust after, looked so pleased.

Signing off
Your Jazz Virgin


Jazz Festival 2010

The Opening Ceremony

5,000 people, mostly Norwegians, stood in light rain in the park.
They seemed - in true Scandinavian style - to be in good but muted spirits. Kind of hard to tell from the outside but they seemed peaceful enough. Nobody jostled anybody else, nobody threw up inappropriately or put the boot in. Jan Ole Otnes was speaking. He is a man you want to listen to for his passion alone. Director of Europe's oldest jazz festival, the thing that clearly fires Otnes up is his baby, the Molde Jazz Festival.

Anniken Huitfeldt - the minister of culture

At 50, Molde is of a respectable age and Europe's oldest jazz festival. But ask me about the world's oldest jazz festival and I might come over all shy, coy like. Jo, Dear Reader, you guessed it ! Down Under, the Virgin's very own territory is home to the galaxy's first ever jazz festival. Not that I'm a nationalistic kinda broad, you understand. If you ask me, it's all a nasty game of chance, this nationality business. Flop of the mop, roll of the dice, ' There but for the grace of God, go I... ' stuff. Take Swedes for example, so intensely - and dangerously - proud of being Swedish.
What are the chances of being born in that ice-capped northern refuge of heartless mongrels ? 0.08%. More chance of being born a white tiger, I'd say. Or a mosquito. How can that be something to be proud of.
Something to base your national identity on ?
Maybe it's me ? Maybe I'm missing something here...

Out shopping on 15th of August 1961 ? Just happened to be out looking for some good buys in the western part of the then united Berlin ? Good for you, maybe... Except that you'll never see the rest of your family again - the high price of eggs that sent you out looking for a bargain on the other side of town ends up costing you dearly. Just by chance, you weren't home the day the wall ripped Berlin - and your family - in half.
Flop of the mop.

1degree east and you're born a Christian, 1 degree west, a Hindu - same fears, different villains...1,000 miles north and you're doing alright, 1,000 miles south and you're piss poor and you will always be. Best you can do is marry your cousin. If you can pull him off of your mother long enough to get him to the church, that is... Flop of the fuckin' mop, as I said...

So it just happens that the world's oldest jazz festival just happens to be in my country of birth, Oz. Flop of the mop. 1946, it was that the local communist youth movement of New South Wales thought it would be a groovy thing to establish the Australian Jazz Convention. And you know what ? There is a fella by the name of Don Anderson that had - as of 2008 - been to every single freakin' festival since '46. That what I call a man who knoooooooows what he likes ! Not sure if Mr. Anderson is still about but he was, maybe still is, the head honcho at The Victorian Jazz Archive and could tell you whatever you needed to know about whatever convention you were interested in, lickety split - where it was held, who played, what audiences were like etc. What a man ! Now, if I were 30 years older and not a Virgin, not a mere babe in the jazz woods, I'm sure Donny-boy could teach me a thing or two about jazz...

So this year, run by just shy of 1,000 volunteers, Molde is celebrating its 50th anniversary. 1,000 volunteers, 200+ journalists and an expected audience of thousands, makes Molde big. And well organised. Things run smoothly, information is easily at hand and the music on offer runs the gamut of mainstream to hot-off-the-press experimental - everything a jazz junkie's heart could ever desire. Molde pulls no punches - it has it all. The spectrum is wide - everybody from Missy Elliot and her funky jazz to Shibusa Shirazu Orchestra's playful jazz/ theater performance and Javid Afsari Rad's minimalist elegance not to mention the really good, solid Norwegian Magic Pocket and the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra.

From traditional to avant garde, Molde really does have it all. Their specialty though, is showcasing new talent, acting as a springboard for a new generation of jazz musicians. An invitation to play at Molde is something that any musician from any country would jump at, given half a chance. If you had a granny, you would most definitely sell her for the chance to play at Molde.

All this success is curious in a way though, for at a time when most record companies are struggling to sell anything, jazz is booming. Jazz sells. Less likely to be pirated and with a growing audience, jazz is on a roll and Molde is proof positive of that. 5,000 people standing in the rain are 5,000 people who like jazz.

Otnes talks about Molde being a festival for everybody, a festival to appeal to every taste. Other than being good for the local economy, the festival is one of the ( really ) big boys of Molde's cultural life. Otnes' plan is that this festival pleases and challenges people. This looks pretty likely to happen given that the range of acts also includes Sonny Rollins, Herbie Hancock, Ola Kvernberg, Jeff Beck, Red Baraat and Ketil Björnstad amongst others.

Anniken Huitfeldt, Norway's Minister of Culture took a broader perspective than Otnes. She talked about Molde not being New Orleans or Cape Town but something uniquely Nordic, something home-grown, something uniquely cast from Norwegian cultural and political life. She talked with enviable idealism about Molde not only being the oldest jazz festival in Europe but also an opportunity to write Nordic musical history. And I think she's right - with the spectrum and quality of jazz Molde offers, it has crafted Norway into a jazz nation and a very respectable one at that.

The crowd liked what Huitfeldt had to say ( especially the bit about not allowing Norwegian cultural and musical identity to be swallowed up by the EU... ), they smiled, clapped lightly, didn't look so very grumpy. That means - I think - that they were in agreement and content. As i say, bit hard for a Lebanese/ Australian Jazz Virgin to tell but no blood was spilt, no Viking war cries were heard and nobody came to any harm. All that was left was for Huitfeldt to officially declare the festival open and hand over the unsuspecting crowd to the Shibusa Shirazu Orchestra to totally blow their Scandinavian socks off.

Signing off,
Your Lebanese/ Australian Jazz Virgin,

Jazz Festival 2010

Shibusa Shiruzu Orchestra
" What would a Lebanese/ Australian Jazz Virgin know about jazz ? ' I hear you ask...
Not much. Less than she knows about good food, the PLO and good sex, but more than she knows about Guns'n'Roses, macrame and moody Norwegian poets.

What she does know is that Shibusa Shiruzu Orchestra blew the roof off at Molde's opening ceremony today. 2 hours of unmitigated joy is what they delivered to a crowd of 5,000. There is no doubt that the crowd got it's money's worth - well, they would have it if hadn't been a free show . Shibusa Shiruzu's music was a joyous mix of fast and furious jazz, Kabuki costumes and modern butoh theatre served with masses of energy and happiness. The 27 members of the orchestra worked together like a dream, Arbeta Yasuhika stage managing a complicated and fast moving show - and doing it with great finesse.

The performance began with a bare-breasted, Kabuki-white figure, swaying gracefully on the stage before seemingly paying homage to the spirits of the forest. Soon joined by male Kubuki dancers and other female members of the orchestra in fishnets and neon red/ blue/ pink wigs, the dancer disappeared into a writhing, swirling mass of colour and movement. Already the crowd was enraptured. And that was before the front man began doing his thing, reaching out to the crowd, explaining that Shibusa Shiruzu were not putting on a concert but holding a party and the more people, the more involvement, the more happiness - the better the music. Thus the stage was set for a great show.

The vocalist, Mari, threw some kind of magic dust the audience's way with her extraordinarily beautiful voice. Singing the poem ' Hikoki ' from the great Japanese poet, Takubku Ishikawa, her voice rang true and melancholic as she sang the story of a boy looking up at a plane going overhead and dreaming that his dying mother would recover. But like Ishikawa, she too succumbed to tuberculosis.

From Mari's delicacy, we went back to the front man who led a robust song about fishermen and promised the audience that the magical fishing words ' I yah toh toh ' had never before been uttered at Molde - most especially not by 5,000 people ! People laughed, flushed, tried hard to master the intonation. And that was sweet but not as sweet as the front man's final words ' Ha det bla ! ' Maybe it's always hard with language but music like this unites. Powerfully. Joyfully. Across language and across culture.

All in all, Shibusa Shirazu put on a fabuolous show - their brand of jazz was big, happy and inclusive. Kinetic, spectacular, theatrical are words often used to describe this orchestra. I would add strong, accessible, large-scale physically, free-ranging musically and extremely well put together. From the first dancer in her kabuki make up to the absolutely amazing, fascinating-to-watch, ever-so-laid-back, chain-smoking conductor right through to the fire-breathing artist at the end, Shibusa Shirazu gave it their all. Shibusa Shirazu means something like ' Never be cool ' or ' We don't understand cool, we are unaffected by cool '. And just as their name says, so they they performed. Nothing lagom about this outfit, not by a long shot. They were in fact, the only way - the very best way - of opening Molde Jazz Festival 2010.

Signing off
Your Jazz Virgin

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