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A Tight, Straight-Ahead, Funky New Album and a Rough Trade Show by Dancefloor Groovemeisters Emefe

Emefe distinguish themselves in many ways, one of them being that they are one of the few drummer-led bands around. Miles Arntzen – son of individualistically brilliant trumpeter/composer/singer Leif Arntzen – propels this Afrobeat-inspired dancefloor groove crew from behind the kit. Tenor saxophonist Jas Walton’s site describes the group’s mission as being “to fight the inner authorities that we put on ourselves” – as George Clinton said, free your ass and your mind will follow. Their forthcoming second album – which isn’t out yet, although there are a couple of tracks up at Bandcamp – updates mid-80s, funky Talking Heads for the 21st century. It’s a lot more terse, focused and less jam-oriented than their previous material, although that probably won’t have much to do with how much this group likes to cut loose onstage. They’re playing Rough Trade on April 2 at 11 PM; general admission is $12.

The new album kicks off with a flourish of a flute intro and then Jake Pinto’s surreal blend of watery synth tones joins the guitars as Doug Berns anchors it with his terse, biting, kinetic bass: the mantra is “don’t fall for it.” It’s part funk, part oldschool disco and it’s awfully catchy.

One of the guitarists – Deen Anbar and Michael Harlen – takes over in the tonebending department on Come Back to Me, which adds a little hip-hop touch to Talking Heads funk. Likewise, Same Thing takes a Burning Down the House drive and adds a little anthemic Celtic flavor. Sun Spat takes a circular indie classical horn riff – Walton in tandem with trumpter Michael Fatum, trombonist Raymond Mason and baritone saxophonist Zach Mayer – and then brings the band in to meet them in a blaze of intricately orchestrated harmonies that they very artfully shift in a funkier direction before an unexpected detour into dub.

Summer is as close to oldschool 70s funk as the band gets on the album, Walton’s sax sailing over dirty guitars and a tight dancefloor strut until Fatum blasts in and blows up the spot. And then the band follows with a long, anthemically explosive outro. After that, a jazzily determined vocal-and-percussion interlude leads into more beefed-up Talking Heads funk with Free to Scream: “You could scream any time of day/Be prepared for anything in your way” is its cautionary message. It’s the album’s most angst-driven and best song.

40 Watt, a dynamically shapeshifting instrumental with more pyrotechnic Fatum trumpet, builds to a joyous shout-out to the soul-funk classic The Horse as it winds out. The final cut, Dream Your Life Away brings to mind MTV-era Peter Gabriel. What use is this music? It’s like espresso in a can. It’ll revitalize you on the way home from work or school, and if you have enough space in your place for people to dance, throw this puppy on the next time you have a party and crank it.

Madam West Bring Their Psychedelic Soul to Palisades: Not an April Fool Joke

Isn’t it cool when a band actually know themselves well enough to tell you what they do? You’d think that more artists would be able to do that…but a lot of times they don’t. Madam West call themselves psychedelic soul and that’s what they are. That, and danceable, and fun. On their new four-track ep, Not Pictured – a name-your-price download at Bandcamp – the group comprises singer/uke player Sophie Chernin, keyboardist Todd Martino and dummer Mike McDearmon. They’ve expanded to a five-piece for their 9:15 PM Palisades show in Bushwick on April 1 (no joke) and they sound like they bring the party live.

The album’s first track, Darlin’ has a funny video that’s sort of a Fatal Attraction spoof. The song is a vampy, bouncy thing where Chernin finally decides to take off and head for the sky about halfway through. The next song, Home starts out as a uke waltz, but then McDearmon adds a funk groove underneath. And why not – there’s such a thing as a jazz waltz, why not a funk waltz? The music-box synth tones are an unexpectedly cool touch too.

In her more stressed moments, Chernin takes on a bluesy, imploring tone that reminds of Jolie Holland. She stays closer to the ground throughout most of The End, a steady, resonant latin soul groove with some playful synth squiggles and blips. The last track is October, which fools you into thinking it’ll be a brooding waltz before Chernin’s vocal leaps and Martino’s judiciously hard-hitting chords take it in a more kinetic direction. Promising debut; hopefully more to come. More bands should be doing stuff like this: it’s fun and catchy without being bland, and you can dance to it.

Anna Winthrop Brings Her Soaring, Classically-Infused Songs to Caffe Vivaldi

Singer/pianist Anna Winthrop defies categorization. Her Soundcloud page has a mix of lush art-rock, terse chamber pop and classical art-song, sometimes with just the hint of cabaret. Her tunes are translucent and catchy; she likes a steady beat and big anthemic crescendos, even if she’s not playing them in straight-up 4/4 much of the time. And she’s a fantastic singer. She’s at Caffe Vivaldi at 9:15 PM on March 31, playing a duo show with cellist Kirin McElwain, who’s also on the Soundcloud tracks.

Winthrop doesn’t waste any time going up into the midday sky with her arrestingly clear, stratospheric soprano on the first track, Look to the Sun over a pointillistic waltz beat that contrasts with the cello’s lush washes. Her lyrics are thoughtful, sometimes opaque and draw you in: this one seems to be about a struggle for clarity.

So High works a jaunty, skipping-down-the-sidewalk ragtime-pop pulse, but at the same time it’s not completely at ease: is it about being so wasted you can’t think straight? That would be very counterintuitive for a song this lively and direct. Words has a catchy, more somberly insistent quality, McElwain building an artfully terse weave behind Winthrop’s chords and pensive vocals.

Walk Away develops an aptly disorienting, jazzy edge, McElwain plucking out a bassline over Winthrop’s anxiously precise chromatics. See Me has a brooding circus rock/noir cabaret ambience, McElwain switching between stark washes and dancing lines. All of Me is an original, not the jazz standard, although it owes more to jazz and blues than the other tracks. The last one is Fantasie in G Minor, a solo piano instrumental that could be a miniature by Schubert or Faure. All this should sound good in Caffe Vivaldi’s intimate confines, especially on an off night when the place isn’t overrun with drunks on their way back to Jersey.

Winthrop also has an unusually eclectic background, having had considerable success as an actress and dancer, with experience in the opera world as well. The reason you’re seeing this here and not at the top of the page is to set her apart from the legions of newly arrived sorority girls who took a couple of tap lessons, appeared in a college production or two, moved to New York on their parents’ tab and then decided on a lark to take up singing.

Ward White Plays an Enticingly Quiet, Lyrically Rich Show at the Rockwood

Ward White is New York’s preeminent literate tunesmith. His songs come across as a sort of catchy, anthemic, current-day update on Hermann Hesse’s Glass Bead Game. They bristle with references to novels, film, theate, art, history…and sometimes silly current events. For all the doomed imagery, savagery and relentless cynicism on his latest album Ward White Is the Matador, those songs can be hilarious. His stage show is the same way. It would have been fun to have been able to catch him playing a relatively rare solo acoustic set – the kind where you can really listen, and get into those lyrics, and try to figure out what the hell all those twisted stories are about – at Pete’s Candy Store a couple of weeks back. But the L wasn’t running. For those who missed that show – or White’s searing electric show with his band at the big room at the Rockwood last month – he’s making another semi-rare acoustic appearance at the small room there at 9 PM on March 31. It’s a good segue, actually, because White’s a criminally good guitarist and he’s followed on the bill at 10 PM by another mean picker, bluegrass maven Michael Daves, who’s playing his weekly Rockwood residency.

That February show there was much like White’s fiery Bowery Electric album release show late last year. Violinist Claudia Chopek fueled the centerpiece of both the show and the album, Bikini – a reference to the radioactive South Pacific bombsite rather than beachwear – with her knifes-edge, shivery crescendos. Bassist Bryan Smith fired off boomy, muscular low-register chords coupled to nimbly catchy hooks further up the fretboard. While it’s not like White – who alternated between punchy glamrock hooks, resonant jangle and soaring leads all night – really needs a lead guitarist, Smith filled that role when the music got quieter. Visually, the star of the show was harmony singer Victoria Liedtke, who balanced a stoic Lynch girl presence with some pricelesss cat-ate-the-canary expressions in response to White’s banter, which were every bit as as funny as the songs’ double entendres and references to things like mylar balloons.

That’s what one of the night’s best songs was centered around, an offhandedly chilling hospital scene set to a allusively balmy ballad backdrop – mylar balloons are those shiny things you can get in any hospital gift shop, White explained. The understatedly creepy, retro 60s pop of Dolores on the Dotted Line was as suspenseful and offhandedly apt a portrait of control-freak sadism as it is on album. The album’s pulsing opening number, Sabbath, was as amusing as it was ineluctably bleak. In between, White cracked up the crowd with the S&M Bacharach bossa nova of Alphabet of Pain as well as plenty of sardonic between-song one-liners, but he didn’t do much explaining when it came to the songs. Although he did allude to references to both an unnamed Kurosawa film and a David Foster Wallace novel in one of the set’s later numbers. Go to the Tuesday night show and find out what else you missed.

Tara O’Grady Salutes the Irish Influence in New Orleans Jazz

A lot of people don’t realize how much of an Irish influence there is in New Orleans jazz. But the Crescent City was a major port of call and received plenty of immigrants during the Potato Famine years and subsequently. So it’s hardly a surprise that the rich musical tradition they brought with them would become part of the city’s multicultural fabric. Torchy chanteuse Tara O’Grady pays tribute to that cross-pollination on her fourth album, Irish Bayou. She’s playing the album release show Thursday, March 26 at 7 PM at the Metropolitan Room, 34 W 22nd St. Cover is $20 – if you really want to go whole-hog, it’s $85 for the show plus open bar. Hmmm….

Although the album hasn’t hit the web yet, there are a couple of tracks up at O’Grady’s youtube channel. The opening tune, I Love You with All My Blood is an oldschool soul strut played as ukulele swing. And A Rude Awakening is a tartly slow-burning blues shout-out to early feminist Irish-American novelist Kate Chopin, lit up with some understately slashing Michael Howell guitar.

What’s the rest sound like? Lots of shuffles. As the Rain Fell Upon Bourbon Street is a bittersweet, ragtime-inflected number, pianist Sasha Papernik pairing against Justin Poindexter’s Hawaiian-infused slide guitar resonance. Carry Me Home is a deliciously vicious, accordion-fueled second-line shuffle that builds to a fullscale blaze. Dry Dem Bones, a deep-fried Little Feat-style remake of the old gospel tune, sways along on the groove from drummer Ryan Vaughn and bassist David Shaich. Ghosts of New Orleans follows a similar theme as the band swings it hard.

“You’re the olives in my muffulata from Central Grocery,” O’Grady croons in Heaping Helping of My Love, which builds to a jaunty dixieland dancefloor bounce. “We can order in some beignets and eat them in bed!” she entreats. The best track here is My Fall Romance, an original that sounds like a Billie Holiday swing classic from the 30s, O’Grady’s sassy, imperturbable alto delivery matched by trumpeter Jordan Sandke’s soulful muted lines. The most relevant number, the burning Take Me Home, reminds how much Irish immigrants have struggled  under the radar in this country.

There are also a couple of covers here; Louis Armstrong’s Irish Black Bottom, reinvented as a funk tune with some wry hip-hop flavor, and My Irish Molly-O redone as oldtimey swing with a coy Michael Hashim clarinet solo. And NYC guitar legend Pete Kennedy of the Kennedys – who have a reputedly amazing new album of their own due out soon – figures into the mix somewhere. One assumes that he’s responsible for all that edgy tremolo-picking.

 

The Brussels Jazz Orchestra Sells Out Lincoln Center with Their Edgy, Historically Rich Multimedia Program

The Brussels Jazz Orchestra wound up their stand at Jazz at Lincoln Center Sunday night with their sixth consecutive sold-out show. There’s a reason why European big bands are so popular and highly regarded: because they’re funded with government money, they can rehearse rigorously and as a result tend to be extraordinarily tight. What differentiates this blazing, hard-swinging group from their fellow large ensembles in, say, Copenhagen or Berlin? A sense of humor and outside-the-box creativity, just for starters. Their program  for this stand was titled Graphicology, an enterprising and wildly successful attempt at integrating a graphic novel into a concert, the band playing seamlessly and boisterously along with projections of text and illustrations by Philippe Paquet, bringing some pretty crazy stories from throughout the history of jazz to life with fire and verve and sardonic humor. Paquet, a jazz bassist himself, is well suited to this group, his stark black-and-white images providing context and storylines that the ensemble matched with split-second precision. The group’s fondness for playing live scores to silent films probably has a lot to do with how smoothly the production went: one would assume as well that the projectionists were doing double duty reading from a score. And beyond the visuals, the music was lush, and stormy, and often exhilarating.

The orchestra opened with Italian composer Enrico Pieranunzi’s bustling, uneasy shuffle It Speaks for Itself, from the group’s recent Pieranunzi tribute album. Pianist Vincent Bruyninckx ambled through the outskirts of bop, after which bassist Jos Machtel stalked through a brooding modal solo, dredging the piece’s murky, Monk-inspired undercurrents. They followed with Bert Joris’ brass-fueled clave theme Signs & Signatures, a vamping vehicle for trumpeter Jeroen Van Malderen, who chose his spots judiciously, followed by a smokily animated solo by baritone saxophonist Bo Van der Werf.

The Graphicology numbers were choreographed down to the second, whether that meant a chase scene, several whiz-bang gangland sequences (Harlem in the 1930s through the 50s plays big here) or slowly simmering crescendos rising to either sheer terror, exhilaration or triumph. Alto saxophonist Dieter Lembourg’s cinematic Bird As Told to Miles the Cat traced the doomed trajectory of Charlie Parker’s up-and-down final years dynamically and energetically via Miles Davis autobiographical narrative , with frequent allusions to Bird repertoire. Likewise, trumpeter Pierre Drevet’s Louis mashed up a sequence of Satchmo riffs and themes against a backdrop of Louis Armstrong’s hardscrabble New Orleans upbringing and eventual rise to star status in New York. Trumpeter Nico Schepers made the most of one opportunity after another to voice both the vaudevillian and soulfully plaintive sides of Armstrong’s music. The group concluded with Bert Joris’ sweeping noir suite The Portrait, in tandem with a rollercoast ride of a script illustrating the confluence of mob violence and avant garde art in late Renaissance era Harlem.

Those lucky enough to be in Brussels at the beginning of next month can see the Brussels Jazz Orchestra playing live scores to silent films starring Mary Pickford and Harold Lloyd on April 1 at 8:15 PM at Flagey at 27/5 Belvédèrestraat; cover is €20.

Literate New Soul and Erudite Organ Jazz Cross-Pollination at the Delancey

Fun and interesting show this past Thursday night at the Delancey with tantalizingly brief sets from soul singer/bandleader Amana Melome and paradigm-shifting jazz organist Brian Charette and his Mighty Grinders trio with Will Bernard on guitar and Eric Kalb on drums. Melome has Ellington band royalty in her veins – her bassist grandfather Jimmy Woode was a member of the Ellington orchestra and played with many other golden age jazz names as well. The Stockholm-based chanteuse maintained a low-key vibe, drawing the crowd in with her simmering, jazz-inflected downtempo and soul grooves. Backed by an electric pianist who varied his textures from song to song plus a tersely swinging acoustic rhythm section, Melome aired out a mix of tunes from her latest ep Lock and Key. Like her music, her misty mezzo-soprano vocals build a mood and explore its intricacies and secret corners rather than wailing or pleading. Her most intriguing and original number was Icarus, which recast the myth as a tribute to thrill-seeking rather than cautionary tale. Other than emo and grunge, neosoul may be the unsexiest style of music on the planet, but Melome keeps it real and could elevate a lot of people along with her.

Charette is an intrepid player, as influenced by classical music and dub as he is by the icons of jazz organ. And he can be awfully funny – he’s the kind of guy who will get a crowd grinning and shaking their heads and asking each other, did he just play that? Uh huh, he did. As usual, he couldn’t resist throwing in a handful of droll quotes when least expected – and he’ll play anywhere. The Delancey is a rock club, but Charette was clearly amped to take the gig. He opened with the shapeshifting Yue Fei, from his Square One album and then followed with the LOL faux-operatic bombast of the tongue-in-cheek Not a Purist: welcome, my friends, to the show that never ends, step inside, step inside, he seemed to be telling the crowd.

Then he flipped the script with Hungarian Brown, a trickily rhythmic, haunting Romany melody fueled by Bernard’s searing slide work: who knew he had that up his sleeve. Charette and the band wound up the night with an expansively funky take of Jimmy Smith’s 8 Counts for Rita, leaving no doubt that was where James Brown – who got his start as an organist – found his first inspiration.

Charette’s next gig is at 8 PM this Friday, March 27 at Jules Bistro on St. Mark’s Place with Matt Chertkoff on guitar and Jordan Young on drums, his last New York show before heading off to the Czech Republic where he’ll be touring next month as part of powerhouse saxophonist Mike DiRubbo‘s trio.

Piano Luminary Myra Melford Returns to Her Old LES Stomping Ground

Is it fair to call pianist Myra Melford a cult artist? Her music is so full of life, and tunes, and ideas and color that spans the emotional spectrum. In the NYC downtown jazz scene, she’s iconic, a status she earned in the 90s before she hightailed it for a UC/Berkeley professorship. She’s got a weeklong stand at the Stone starting this Tuesday, March 24 with sets at 8 and 10 PM and continuing through the 29th; cover is $15. There are too many enticing sets to list here: the 8 PM duo shows with whirlwind drummer Allison Miller on the 24th and then with clarinetist Ben Goldberg on the 25th ought to be especially good for completely different reasons. There’s also a reunion of her playful Be Bread sextet on the 26th at 10 and a quintet show with trumpet luminary Dave Douglas the following night, also at 10 – and that’s just for starters.

Melford’s latest album, due out on the 24th, is Snowy Egret with the band of the same name: Ron Miles on cornet, Liberty Ellman on guitar, Stomu Takeishi on acoustic bass guitar and Tyshawn Sorey on drums. For a taste of the album – since it’s not out yet – give a listen to the final cut, The Strawberry, which hints that it’s going to be a boogie-woogie number before Melford takes it to Havana – and Sorey’s drumming is funny beyond words in places. Ellman’s biting circularities kickstart a series of divergences before Melford pulls everybody back on the rails.

As for the rest? There’s humor and irony, and a frequently dancing pulse. A handful of numbers seem to allude to the first age of imperialism in the Americas and the centuries of havoc in its wake. The first track, Language, pulses along as shuffling variations on a fanfare riff bookending a typically soulful, clear-as-the-Denver-sky Miles solo. An expansively spiky, spare Ellman solo opens Night of Sorrow, the band plaintively filling in around Melford’s spaciously elegaic, bluesy motives. Promised Land delivers some wry shout-and-response and divergent tangents within its syncopated staccato bounce.

Ching Ching For Love of Fruit – a slot machine reference, it seems – moves from a mournful muted trumpet/melodica duet between Miles and Melford to an unexpectedly carnivalesque theme, Takeishi mimicking a tuba and Sorey rattling his hardware. Likewise, The Kitchen opens with picturesque pots-and-pans drollery from Sorey, Miles and Ellman having lots of fun spinning plates and such before Takeishi makes it funky, then Melford takes it on a clenched-teeth, uh-oh trajectory.

Takeishi’s growling attack and Ellman’s fluttery unease pair with Melford’s lingering foreshadowing and Miles’ resonance throughout Times of Sleep and Fate, a tone poem of sorts that builds to a brooding, AACM-inflected majesty. Little Pockets – Everybody Pays Taxes sees the band taking some aptly squirrelly cinematics in a considerably more ominous, insistent direction: whatever you do, don’t answer the door!

First Protest works a rhythmically dizzying marionette theme, Sorey and Ellman leading the charge along a twisted second line parade route. The Virgin of Guadalupe, the album’s most expansive and moodiest track, pairs Miles’ funereal lines with Melford’s understatedly plaintive neoromantic precision, building toward a bitter bolero. Of all the cuts here, it comes closest to being the definitive one, spacious and pensive and quietly packing a wallop.

Vivid, Smartly Intense, Individualistic Art-Rock from Singer-Pianist Joanna Wallfisch

Singer/pianist Joanna Wallfisch has a refreshingly smart, darkly individualistic new album, The Origin of Adjustable Things, a duo recording with pianist Dan Tepfer, due out soon and an album release show on March 24 at 8 PM at Subculture. Advance tix are $15. Because it’s not out yet, the album isn’t up at the usual places, although there are a few tracks at Soundcloud and at Sunnyside Records‘ site.

Wallfisch likes waltzes; she has a serious edge; she defies catagorization. Art-rock serves as a foundation for her songwriting, although there are echoes of jazz, cabaret, minimalism and classical art-song in her terse, plaintively lyrical tunesmithing. Her voice is strong, clear and unaffected: on the album, she prefers nuance to high-voltage theatrics, although she can really wail when she wants to. Among current New York artists, Carol Lipnik (the gold standard for this decade), Serena Jost and Karen Mantler are good comparisons. The new album, Wallfisch’s second, is solid all the way through, one of the year’s ten best so far: it portends great things for the British expat relocated to this city. One wonders how she found an affordable apartment.

Wallfisch playfully intersperses jazzy scatting within Tepfer’s steady, baroque-tinged lines on the opening track, This Is How You Make Me Feel, a sardonic look at both extremes of an intense relationship. The first of the waltzes, Satin Grey, paints an indelible picture from multiple perspectives: the yuppie taking selfies, the girl randomly caught in the flash, the narrator hiding in a doorway and then a cafe as the summer rain, revealing the curves in her rain-soaked dress.

Satellite, another tesrse waltz, works its way to an ominously surprising ending, a cautionary tale for tech-obsessed futurists. Wallfisch’s cover of doomed junkie songwriter Tim Buckley’s Song to a Siren offers a minimalist take on McCartneyesque balladry. By contrast, her low-key take of Radiohead’s Creep underscores the song’s menace, channeling an untypical femme fatale.

Time Doesn’t Play Fair delivers a regret-laden angst over Tepfer’s Asian-tinged, resonant Fender Rhodes piano lines. The stark, brooding waltz Anonymous Journeys might or might not be about a pedestrian murdered by a car – in NYC that’s how it happens in 2015. A license to drive is a license to kill, and all the yuppies and their hired-gun drivers who kill pedestrians are never charged. After all, that would raise the crime rate – and who wants that, when there are luxury condos for sale?

Wallfisch plays piano against Tepfer’s organ on the playfully vaudeville-tinged Brighton Beach: it’s a slightly less ominous counterpart to Matt Keating’s 1913 Coney Island. She follows the opaque title track with a wispy, creepy noir cabaret take on the jazz standard Wild Is the Wind, then the similarly uneasy Rational Thought and its offcenter harmonies, then closes the album with a low-key version of another standard, Never Let Me Go. Walllfisch brings serious chops and a welcome individualism to these songs and these parts: let’s hope she sticks around awhile.

The Spectrum Symphony Bring an Exciting, Eclectic Program to the West Village

Orchestras are like restaurants in that new ones usually take awhile before they work out all the quirks. The Spectrum Symphony, on the other hand, have a lush, experienced gravitas, and sound as if they’ve been around a long time, even as they’ve taken a promising role in advocating for new music. Their previous concert in the comfortable, surround-sound sonics of St. Joseph’s Church on 6th Avenue in the West Village was a characteristic mix of ideas and emotions from across the ages, delivered with meticulous detail under the baton of conductor David Grunberg. The group’s next concert is this Wednesday, March 25 at 7:30 PM, with an auspicious program featuring Anthony Iannaccone’s From Time to Time, Fantasias on Two Appalachian Folksongs; Schumann’s Piano Concerto in A minor, with soloist Victoria Mushkatkol and Sibelius’ Symphony No. 3 at St. Joseph’s Church, 371 6th Ave. south of Waverly. Cover is $20.

The ensemble’s previous concert here featured a dreamy diptych of Elgar’s Sospiri paired with Massenet’s popular Méditation (from the opera Thaïs), Susan Heerema’s terse, masterfully nuanced violin imbuing it with both lullaby calm and a distant restlessness over pillowy strings. By contrast, the world premiere of Jun Yi Chow’s Serenade mashed up a lively neoromantic drive, a big, acidic fanfare and an austerely otherworldly, circular string conclusion, in the process channeling a hundred years of orchestral music.

Soloist Gerard Reuter’s alternatingly dancing and richly resonant oboe fueled Mozart’s Oboe Concerto, K.314 over a lush backdrop equally infused with stateliness and joyously precise teamwork. The concert concluded with a Haydn masterwork, Symphony No. 101, “The Clock,” which earned its nickname from the playfully metronomic rhythm of its second movement. Obviously, there’s a lot more to it than that. The orchestra brought out all the earnestly driving, singalong bustle in the opening movement and its waltzing reprise in the third, a balletesque, goodnatured precision in the famous second movement, and eventually a conclusion rich with color and attention to dynamic shifts. This week’s concert promises as much or even more, considering the program.

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