Tag Archive: Ricardo Villalobos


The 2000s saw techno tangle with pop music with many artists incorporating directly pop-influenced melodies and harmonies as tracks evolved into songs. Meanwhile minimal techno and its main purveyor M-nus continued to blossom and Kompakt’s rich techno hallmark garnered critical acclaim. The end of the decade also saw the rise of the Berghain and Ostgut Ton artists who have captured the imaginations of many by reinvigorating the ‘Berlin’ sound that some had perceived to be stagnating. Similar to the Three Decades of Techno: The Second Chapter, I will focus primarily on the genre’s development in Germany throughout the last decade whilst covering other European and South American artists who have shaped the sound of techno’s future.

Growing into an empire of distribution with an incredible record and download shop, booking agency and a number of sub-labels (Immer, Profan, Kompakt Pop, Kompakt Extra), Cologne’s Kompakt has a near mythological quality in the techno world, is admired by virtually all techno fans and can be pinpointed from the start of the 2000s as the beginning of techno’s cross-pollination with pop music. Wolfgang Voigt has described the label’s signature as “honest, simple. It is adult techno, cultural techno” and has also frequently spoken about the importance of the “boom boom boom” that underpins all electronic music, something the label has explored by releasing boundless variations of techno, tech-house, ambient, ambient-dub and pop music. In essence the famous “Kompakt sound”, which is mentioned in almost everything written about the label, is the incorporation of traditionally pop music melodies and harmonies into that fundamental pulsing 4/4 bass drum and looped, textural ambience: firm but supple.

Despite first making its reputation as a sponsor of minimal techno Kompakt’s trademark has always been a full and distinctly, a lovingly intimate sound. Thomas Fehlmann’s “Honigpumpe”, the “Nah Und Fern” compilation by GAS and The Field’s “From Here We Go Sublime” embody this eloquently. Its core artists Voigt, Michael Mayer, Superpitcher, DJ Koze, Reinhard Voigt and Justus Köhncke have been with the label for a decade or more. Though they have often released projects under pseudonyms covering different styles these artists have helped the label achieve its distinct and renowned identity. Kompakt has played a remarkable role to techno over the decade with music critic Simon Reynolds crediting it as the “label that’s contributed more than any other to Germany’s dominance of electronic dance music this decade [the 2000s].”

Chilean-German DJ and producer Ricardo Villalobos is one of the most revered names in techno. Though usually described as minimal techno, his productions are too singular to be part of one genre. His critically celebrated 2003 debut album “Alcachofa” from which the seminal ‘Easy Lee’ and ‘Dexter’ were cultivated is a unique collection of intricate and highly detailed tracks; keywords in Villalobos’ discography. Included on several compilations and mixes curated by his peers Richie Hawtin and Michael Mayer and others that year, ten minute opener ‘Easy Lee’ builds slowly with delicate percussion pattering under an uneasy vocodered vocal refrain and showcases Villalobos’ expert hand in creating subtly composed sound-designed tracks. Writing for All Music Guide, Andy Kellman observed “Alcachofa”‘s (artichoke in Spanish) appropriate title, “If the kind of vivid house you hear blaring in the hip clothing store is an apple, giving the mouth an instant burst of flavor the moment the teeth puncture its skin, then the microhouse of Ricardo Villalobos is more like an artichoke – a more subtle fruit that’s consumed by peeling off its fleshy leaves and delicately skimming the pulp off the inner surface.”

An exceptional feature of Ricardo Villalobos’ work is that his productions truly feel equally perfect for both home listening and DJ sets, something that many artists have tried to achieve, because despite the elongated grooves and naturally evolving structures that are suited to the dance floor the microscopic details and the queasy feeling of nervousness that permeates his material, especially “Alcachofa”, can only be detected when listening in stasis.

His bespoke speakers that resemble a gramophone which use every frequency across the spectrum, his passion for audio fidelity and sound design, his immersive Fabric36 mix and the sheer complexity and amount of work that Villalobos puts into creating his productions display why he is such a highly regarded figure in techno who is continuously mentioned by critics and artists. The influence of his work on new producers going in to this decade like Nicolas Jaar, Shackleton and The Field in such a short space of time is a testament to his talent and individual material.

Just over halfway in to the decade The Knife released “Silent Shout” and Ellen Allien and Apparat released “Orchestra Of Bubbles” in 2006. “Silent Shout” is an ideal example of the blurring of lines between techno and pop seen in the 2000s, due in part to The Knife’s conceptual, theatrical heart. The Swedish pair’s music is as much techno as it is pop: it has narratives, chord changes, even sing-able choruses. Karin Dreijer Andersson, singer and co-producer, manipulates her voice to become the songs’ protagonists, enabling her to sing in the first person; making the songs far more personal and significant. Yet they are also distancing – as if the listener is an audience member in a macabre play where each scene introduces a new character – the lyrics are skeletal and leave the subject matter open-ended. Dreijer Andersson has explained that the films of David Lynch, in particular the scene from Mulholland Drive in which the lead characters go to a midnight concert where the music is generated from a playback tape, are a great influence on how she presents the songs.

The nightmares of the title track, ‘From Off To On’’s whispering voices, the naïve character in ‘Forest Families’ who, shamed for having “a communist in the family” and told their “favourite book was dirty”, sings about the particular and the universal as the song rises and falls, the furious sexual equality sea-shanty ‘One Hit’ and the schizophrenic voice in ‘We Share Our Mother’s Health’ going hysterical with fear all create the haunting and uneasy mood of “Silent Shout”. Yet it also offers easy to miss humour in the sly  hip-hop beat that announces the arrival of ‘We Share Our Mother’s Health’ and ‘Marble House’’s ‘singing whale’ synth. The album pushes what we can consider to be ‘techno’ and it is The Knife’s ingenious use of pop melodies and characterisation which play against the techno landscape of rippling filters, de-tunings and thunderous 909 claps that makes “Silent Shout” compelling and musically momentous.

Berliner Ellen Allien, acclaimed DJ, producer, graduate of leading ‘90s club Tresor and chief of the record label BPitch Control has spent the last decade releasing five albums and numerous DJ mixes that showcase her distinctive blend of pop-indebted melodies (she claims to have learnt to speak English by listening to David Bowie records), thick bass lines and techno-fied breakbeats. Apparat who co-runs the record label Shitkatapult has released a handful of albums and EPs which combine his understated voice, not unlike Thom Yorke’s, with home-listening designed intelligent dance music (IDM). Their album “Orchestra Of Bubbles” is perhaps the pinnacle their careers. Their differing electronic music styles: Allien’s sweet, dance floor techno and Apparat’s melancholic IDM make the release a thrilling album where the tracks pull and push against each other. It ascends and descends, the glide of techno is resisted by jerky IDM beats, misty pads contrast oomph-ing bass lines, rippling arpeggios swirl around Ellen Allien’s dreamy, accented voice. The songs present a guessing game of which part belongs to whom: interlocking sections shine through as Allien’s as her huge analogue synth leads go head-to-head with Apparat’s grainy crunches and snapping beats, as presented in ‘Turbo Dreams’ and the gorgeous ‘Jet’.

The triangle on ‘Metric’ and ‘Way Out’’s ride cymbal that quietly pushes the chorus along are hidden gems that mark out “Orchestra Of Bubbles” as something that has being meticulously composed. Every aspect of the album sounds considered yet effortless: the vocal stutter that bridges the two sections of ‘Floating Points’ and builds to a demanding SH101 bass line, to standout ‘Do Not Break’, which breathlessly speeds for 5:13 minutes. Its entirety is full and encompassing, even in comparison to Allien’s effervescent “Thrills” released the previous year, and is brimming with the blending of digital and analogue timbres which are so richly textured they are nearly physical. Those looking for an essential song-based techno album and a microcosm of techno in the 2000s will find it in “Orchestra Of Bubbles”.

Ostgut Ton, the Berlin-based label launched six years ago to provide a base for Berghain and Panorama Bar residents, has become the name du jour in the past 18-24 months. ‘90s pioneers Basic Channel’s unique dub-techno sound architecture has left an indelible mark on the productions of Ostgut Ton’s main artists: Ben Klock, Marcel Fengler, Norman Nodge and Marcel Dettmann. Perfunctory, mechanical, cold: adjectives used to describe Ostgut Ton’s output contradict the productions’ true sound. On closer listen they are clearly imbued with a womb-like warmth and depth. Typifying this is Marcel Dettmann’s debut album “Dettmann”, which is filled with immersive atmospherics and bass frequencies that embrace and surround; more akin to Basic Channel and early techno like Model 500 than the icy, driving beat that is associated with Berlin techno. Despite murmurs of a backlash Ostgut Ton have entranced many with its pure stylistic signature and this with Berghain’s infamously strict door policy give the label an exclusive nature that harks back to techno’s beginnings in elite parties for only the most dedicated. Hopefully this limitation will stop the popularity and hype of Ostgut Ton/Berghain been its downfall.

Ahead of his performance at Coachella last year Richie Hawtin was asked in an interview with LA Times: “You’re based in Europe now, where everyone seems to think the edgiest electronic music is being made today. How do you think the American scene can catch up?” To which he replied, “Well, to catch up would be hard in a way because it’s been sustained for so long there. It’s not about catching up; it’s about following your scene and your location’s individual path. And that’s what electronic music’s about. There shouldn’t be one electronic music hit everywhere, like Jay-Z is everywhere. Electronic music is like a snake that you can’t grab. So it should be different in different scenes. That’s what makes it interesting.”

Hawtin’s point encapsulates what techno in the past three decades has been about and done.  It has mutated and flourished in numerous countries, evolving into different breeds independently and yet the genre’s founding ideologies have remained: emotive and human, pushing the limits of technology, valuing music for head as much as the feet. Techno is so adored and indestructible it will continue to be a dominant force for decades to come.

Sonic Fiction is proud to introduce the new bi-monthly column Music Is Improper, which will focus on electronic music brought to you by our columnist Vier.

Minimal Techno: a discussion of the most criticised genre in electronic music

When house and techno grew in exposure in the mid 1980s productions were minimal out of necessity. As sampling and programming technology developed, the music grew increasingly layered and clean. Evolution to some, unnecessary commercial crossover moves to others. Reacting against these increasingly dense productions, minimal techno artists subtracted from their productions almost everything except sharp drum rhythms and stark sequencer or synthesizer patterns and yet of all the electronic music genres, none are more maligned and misunderstood than minimal techno. It is criticised for a lack of depth and lacklustre, monotonous repetition, a disparagement that has been levelled at electronic music in its entirety, with fans of other electronic music genres quick to invalidate it, viewing it as calculated affectation. Fans of minimal (an adjective so powerful it seems to negate the need for a noun) can get it wrong too, valuing it as being thoroughly innovative and progressively new above other, busier genres, forgetting that minimalism, in its original sense, played a key role in the invention of electronic music.

Without the repetition and phrasing of minimal music and the rejection of traditional compositional, notational and tonal language by its leaders Steve Reich and Philip Glass et al techno and house as we know it would not exist. Neither would electro and hip-hop – spinning the same two records to infinitely extend a loop is as minimal as it gets and yet the minimal tag is a misrepresentation. Vacant they are not; the tracks brim with colour, shade and moods, neither are artists lazy; they sculpt sounds: moulding tone, pitch and timbre. With fewer elements each is more exposed and thus must justify its existence. Sparseness permits emotions to move to the foreground, absorption of the atmospheres and textures is encouraged by repetition, rejecting traditional song structure allow the listener to enter a trance-like state, purging late night excesses. After years as the black sheep and enduring a creative slump, minimal techno found its way into the hands of a generation of artists like Ricardo Villalobos, Gui Boratto and Click Box who have reinvigorated it with incorporations of Southern American instruments and rhythms and a new generation of listeners, who were children when many seminal albums were delivered, are discovering exciting records past and present.

As for the genre’s supposed lack of depth, Plastikman’s influential, and greatest, album ‘Closer’ is the sound of someone in the pit of depression; disconnected, exhausted and unemotional. The music is distant, as if approaching from outside, a place the voice is crawling to reach. Crunches, snaps and rips creep up on the listener, encasing them inside the protagonist’s oppressed mind; the microscopic variations amplify the tension. Dystopia: techno stripped to its inner core. Not exactly limp.

A key text in the genre’s history is Basic Channel’s ‘BCD’ from 1996. Redefining the standard of stripped music further than their peers, the duo of Moritz von Oswald and Mark Ernestus subtracted percussive elements, leaving only reverb to swirl and decay in the vacuum created. Journalist Simon Reynolds noted that listening to Basic Channel was akin to hearing a pounding nightclub from miles away. Most of the tracks on ‘BCD’, which is a compilation of single edits rather than a true album, are without drums, aside from the occasionally-occurring propelling bass drum and melodies are replaced by weightless chords. Synthesisers replicate the codes a listener would expect to hear in techno. The intricacies are the focus rather than pumping drum patterns yet Basic Channel songs sound like techno tracks. Closely related to Basic Channel is Pole, whose trio of albums, ‘1’, ‘2’ and ‘3’, demonstrate a detached austerity, even in full-colour covers.  Compositionally, Pole’s albums are kept bare; tracks are tethered by dub-specked held bass lines and an effervescence of high end. By reducing the elements so severely Pole reveals the similarities of dub and techno. Both share repetitious loops and the smallest of modifying steps – filter cutoff sweeps, hissing tapes, bouncing delay – are to be zoned in on and the clicks, pops and squeals present are now the foundation of minimal techno. The Cologne label and distributor Kompakt is considered synonymous with the genre and founder Wolfgang Voigt’s GAS pseudonym can be thought of as worship to Basic Channel. Purportedly a contemplation of German identity, GAS mutates samples of German classical music into dark arrangements held down by a simple bass drum. Sections morph and counterpoints dissolve, building an oppressive atmosphere where pops and clicks resemble stepped-on fallen branches while lost in the black forest. Although GAS’ sound isn’t overtly techno and is much bigger in size than Basic Channel, the stripped production and its rejection of structural norms is evidence of how malleable minimal techno is, which can therefore lead to misunderstandings of what it is.

The genre is also maligned because perhaps its philosophy is not understood due in part to the traditional reluctance of many electronic music artists to permit press meetings though these can often be enlightening. In an interview for Resident Advisor, Hawtin responded to a question about the aesthetics of his record label Minus, which has minimal techno artists such as Magda, False and himself on its roster, with: ‘I think the Minus aesthetic has always been about finding a balance between music and technology and art… when it’s in sound, whether it’s a Gaiser record or a Plastikman record, you’re fighting to get your point across with just the bare essentials of timbres, of sounds, of effects…all of that goes into the whole Minus aesthetic. It’s minimalistic, but it’s also futuristic and progressive at the same time.’

This ethos coupled with Minus’ nine date, nine country AV tour Making Contakt, which set out to explore themes of security, privacy and communication, blurred the lines between performer and audience by actively encouraging audience participation and interaction via technology summarizes what minimal techno is; an evolving and engaging form that is true to the founding ideology of electronic music: to push musical and technological boundaries and defy audience expectations. To progress, to challenge, to be the vanguard.

Vier

Minimal techno playlist

Minimal techno playlist

The theory of cultural tourism will be explored by discussing a selection of Western artists who employ Eastern and world music compositional elements in their albums and vice versa. We will examine the critical reaction to these practices, the possible reasons why and if the argument is relevant.

Sting vs. Bjork

Sting and Bjork both use instrumentation, sounds and rhythms and take influence from varied genres of music but why is one derided and the other applauded for this? Both are wealthy Western musicians and have enjoyed decades in the music industry creating ethnically-sourced music yet through perception, marketing or fate Sting appears as a tasteless imposer financially gaining from Spanish/Portuguese language music while the popular consensus of Bjork is one of critically acclaimed innovation.

She is viewed by a great proportion of critics as an easily-bored pixie that flits around taking pleasure in working in different genres of music. Why is that more acceptable than Sting?  Perhaps their countries of origin reveal why they receive opposite critiques. On the periphery of Europe, Iceland is self-contained with almost magical connotations therefore Bjork can be interpreted as an innocent elflike woman while Sting appears as a modern-day colonialist because a mere scratch of England’s history uncovers an imperialist state leaving others bereft in its wake.

Throughout her career she has worked with diverse musicians like Konono No.1, The Icelandic Choir, Sureh Sathe, Talvin Singh, Rahzel, Timbaland, Matmos and RZA.  There is no question that she integrates these artists into her overall sound and they aid her elevation yet it is unlikely that Bjork would flutter around in collaboration with others if she cared more about a strong identifiable brand than creating a mood that changed from each individually crafted album and, certainly, collaboration is the operative phrase. She regularly mentions who she has worked with, acknowledging their involvement. The cynical may interpret it as simply name-dropping but these artists are being recognised by an international performer and introduced to wider audiences. Sting, however, does not often name who has partnered with him and though he desires for it to be known that he is a fan of Latin music there are no substantial specifics of why. ‘Songs From The Labyrinth’, Sting’s 2006 album of Elizabethan lute music was critically derided as the zenith of Sting’s pomposity. It came from such an intangible place it didn’t seem real. It was a futile fusion of a style aged centuries and an unbearable personality targeted at a very, very specific audience.

Bjork and Sting are brought together because each of their albums are diverse affairs but where Bjork sows her influences into the albums’ sounds and champions her guests, Sting’s stand alone and constricted because he is a world music dabbler not a devotee. And that is the problem. Chilean producer Matias Aguayo believes, “…adding a few congas and a ‘Latino’ vocal does not reflect a willingness to learn from other cultures…” Sting’s use of world music is beneficial solely to him and doesn’t demonstrate a respect for the countries he borrows music from because Sting is always the star.

Ethno-techno

Acclaimed South American electronic music artists Ricardo Villalobos, Matias Aguayo, Dinky and Gui Boratto employ the rhythms and sounds from their native countries, Chile and Brazil respectively, for use alongside that very European product, techno. Is it right for them to melt sounds which are not their own into those from their country and should it be accepted when European artists such as Sven Väth flavour techno with South American music?

Matias Aguayo thinks that European artists’ appropriation of ethnic music is cheap “exoticism” and “in most cases, putting samples of traditional songs on a techno beat is in very bad taste… it doesn’t seem very ‘free’ to me.” and rejects the idea that musicians do it because they feel a deep respect for the music. He hears a Western techno producer enforcing order where others hear an exciting cross-pollination of influence. This raises the question: why the double standard – why is it acceptable for Agauyo and others, especially Villalobos, to use electronic music production techniques and sounds in their compositions but objectionable when, for example, a German artist uses South American percussion?

An answer may be found by viewing the relationship history of the two hemispheres. Central and South America were colonised by European invaders. New religions and power structures were imposed, their languages and cultures all but destroyed in the process and poverty is still a factor in the lives of many inhabitants while the first world develops further from them so it is understandable that when Europeans adopt the music of their continent people get edgy. Perhaps, put simply, due to South American history as the subordinates when these artists use North American and European sounds it isn’t considered theft whereas due to these continents having a past of subjugation and suppression it looks again as if they are being exploitative when artists take influence from the places of previous conquests, as Aguayo feels.

The new rush of Western artists maintain they have a deep engagement with the source material and they are not just using a library of samples. The producer who has inspired much of the ethno-techno style is Ricardo Villalobos who employs it to reclaim his lost traditions after his parents fled to Germany after Pinochet’s overthrow and generate audience awareness, while retaining a respect for the music’s spirit.  Respect is a word that appears repeatedly in this argument between the continents. Their histories and ownership dilemmas are important factors to consider in the ethno-techno discussion yet Agauyo and others cannot fairly judge whether or not Western artists truly respect and understand the cultural and musical heritage they are interacting with once they incorporate South American instruments, rhythms and moods into their music. If they utilise them because of a respect and love for the music and culture and want to raise consciousness of it albeit through a techno perspective then it should perhaps be accepted.

The East adopts Western influences

It isn’t Westerners alone who adopt ideas, sounds and rhythms from African, Asian and South American culture. Since the 1960s artists, bands and composers living on these continents have taken elements from Western cultures. Fela Kuti (Nigerian band leader and inventor of the Afrobeat genre), Mulatu Astatke (originator of Ethio-Jazz, a fusion of jazz and traditional Ethiopian music) and A.R. Rahman (critically acclaimed Indian composer who introduced Bollywood and India to Western sounds) have studied music performance and composition in America and the UK and adapted and incorporated Western disciplines, ideas and sounds into their music.

Kuti, like many Nigerian and Ghanaian musicians, adopted the strong African-American musical influence of jazz and funk and married it to high life, a popular regional genre that is composed of a diverse range of styles like waltz and swing music, Trinidadian calypso and Liberian sailor songs. Astatke applied his jazz teachings and the American psychedelic funk heard in America to traditional Ethiopian melodies, harmonies and dusty atmospheres to create a deeply unique style. After becoming fascinated with a synthesizer his father, a composer, arranger and conductor for Malayalam films, had bought when Rahman was a young child he studied at Trinity College of Music (part of Oxford University) and combined his love of technology, music studies and traditional Indian upbringing to revolutionise Bollywood soundtracks.

Why does it appear that there is no criticism of these musicians and their contemporaries’ practices? Is it acceptable for them to raid Western music? Other than the odd disapproval levelled at some world music adaptations for sounding clichéd, criticisms of Third World musicians utilising Western musical forms are rare. I could suggest this is because critics believe they will be barracked into withdrawing their points and white guilt may play a part in their decision whether or not to critique works yet though this may be a factor, the problem is more complex.

Lost in a web of misconceptions and expectations about ‘world music’, it is difficult to approach and truly understand. Even when world music ideas have been simplified, unravelling the myriad of musical forms is challenging. These cultural traditions and musical forms often stretch back hundreds of years before Western civilisations formally documented their own and are further complicated by most only being passed down generations through word of mouth. Critics face an uphill struggle negotiating the complications and restrictions to tackle the music and understand it sufficiently to make a qualified summary.

Intimidating mountains of research and history aside perhaps the biggest problem is awareness. Do we still perceive these artists as people crouching in the dirt playing skin drums, sitars and other traditional instruments? I would like to think I am an intelligent and open minded person but I was disappointed with the music and myself when after a great deal of reading I finally listened to afrobeat music, particularly Fela Kuti. I had expected to be greeted by tribal drums accompanied by funk bass and searing brass, what I got was akin to jazz fusion. However, after further reading and exposure to African music old and new my ideas changed and I am now not dissatisfied as I understand what afrobeat is and how it came into existence. The ‘afro’ in afrobeat refers not to ancient tribal rhythms but subtle incorporations of high life guitar melodies, chanted lyrics and Afro-Caribbean calypso music influences. This is an example of the kind of misperception that can hinder world music, which stems from an ideological colonialism meaning we impose ideas of what it should be instead of what it actually is. World music is at our mercy, an obedient slave to outmoded cultural notions.

So this realisation renders us unable to level criticism at the world music genre and all that it histrionically represents. White guilt, misperception, false expectations and prejudices become our undoing. Add to this, well meaning misconceptions about its musical purity and authenticity compared to Western music yet it and Eastern music can be equally amazing and unequivocally shit, where an artist is born and which culture they come from bears little importance on whether they produce great music or not. Similarities can be drawn between Eastern and Western music, which bands such as Vampire Weekend have seized upon. They saw a link between the jangly guitar of American and English alternative rock and that of Nigerian high life and they knew they were not risking alienating their hipster fanbase while creating a neat Unique Selling Point for themselves. Links and similarities prove how ridiculous it is to suggest that world music has a greater sense of authenticity or rootsiness and that it is not an alternative to Western popular music but the non-Western equivalent. That isn’t to suggest that either is worth less than the other but they are in fact equals and thus should be treated as such critically.

As evidenced by the complex and moral problems explored in this piece it’s easy to become over-involved in these ideas and forget about what’s really important… the music. A vital function of music is the enjoyment of discovery however that is made, accidental, recommendation, record company marketing or otherwise and wherever it originates. There is definitely a discussion to have about the (mis)appropriation of music influences and fundamentals by Westerners whom often have a colonial history in the countries and continents their musicians mine.

But set aside those sceptical opinions and regrettable events that happened before we were born and able to object. We live in world where we can experience these musical hybrids and the increased awareness and cultural prominence of world music allows us to interact with other cultures if not fully appreciate and understand them. We don’t disrespect them by listening to and enjoying them, our life experience and that of Easterners, South Americans and Africans can be enriched by engaging with a diverse range of cultures from the past (Kuti, Astatke, Rahman, etc) and the present (Omar Souleyman, Konono No.1, Ricardo Villalobos etc) and through collaboration we can be introduced to these genres with brilliant results like Bjork’s ‘Earth Intruders’.

Getting lost in the murky waters and twisting tunnels of morality will never replace that feeling of experiencing a new piece or style of music so turn it on, turn it up and open yourself up to all the possibilities the world of music offers.

By Liam Flanagan and Vier (first collaboration for Sonic Fiction)

Spotify playlist (HTTP link, then Spotify link):

Cultural Tourism playlist

Cultural Tourism playlist

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