12 Excellent Reasons Why I Should Be Able to Post Your Stuff on YouTube

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Tom, you prick, you took down MY damn video just because you made it.
This is wrong as you will plainly learn from this list.

  1. Everyone else is doing it so why can’t I be the 33rd person to post up another “Dead Eyes Opened Spook Mix”?
  2. No one else is doing it so I think it justified that I be world leader in going through your garbage bins.
  3. It’s not as if you’re posting the material yourself. Well maybe you did, I didn’t look hard.
  4. I am a Curator! Your work is simply a small part of my vision, which presents a culturally significant view of media I remember from 30 years ago.
  5. None of the other bands have complained so I’m pretty disappointed that you’re making an effort here.
  6. It’s Fair Use for Educational Purposes, as I’m a Professor of History and my course is the period before I was too fat to go to the disco.
  7. I played it faster/slower/backwards/wearing a funny hat so it’s now my work.
  8. I’ve incentivised the product through agile redeployment in a way that you will never conceptually grasp.
  9. Did you see the video where the record label spins around? Did you do that? No, you didn’t. So now it’s just a soundtrack, feel lucky I chose you.
  10. Gift economy (if you buy YouTube Red).
  11. All your efforts: live shows, videos, streaming, objects – all of that achieves nothing. It’s my YouTube VHS that keeps you from obscurity
  12. The viewers prefer my ancient capture off TV to your elitist ‘master copy’. It’s like Stranger Things.

See also (from 2011) http://tomellard.com/wp/2011/03/audio-mouth-breathers/

A completely biased guide to DAWs

Your DAW (Digital Audio Workstation) is a matter of taste. As you have appalling taste, you are lucky that I have found time to instruct you in the matter.

Ableton Live.

Notably not called Ableton Compose, because trying to write actual music with this tool is like keyhole surgery, one little box at a time. Live was first developed for deejays to string together bits of other people’s music to a click track. Since that time, it has been encrusted with a tower of technical jiggery pokery that makes Live the premiere tool of ‘barbeque boys’ the world over. If you want to synchronise two machines, or write code that burps every third bar, or run a bassoon through a duct simulation you are well served. But the vast forehead of this thing remains built on the reptile brain underneath, and it fails at facilitating any attempt at flowing empathic music.

If you have live performances where you need six of this followed by seven of that and the whole thing must be panned just so – you will use Live. If you want to surprise yourself with a tantalising melody you will not.

Bitwig.

See Ableton Live.

Pro Tools.

If you have an uncle with a large recording studio; custom furnishings, several thousand dollars on each microphone, grand piano in room C – you may be a candidate for Pro Tools. It will slot nicely into this high-end milieu, easing your work up to the top shelf. But buying Pro Tools, in itself, does not manifest this uncle, any more than red Ferrari brings forth a trophy wife. There are many tools that will do exactly same thing for much less.

True, Pro Tools is well made. Most of their stupid bullshit such as real-time mix downs and forced hardware is gone, but there are still AAX plugins –  an industry standard unused by anyone else in the industry. They cost an insulting amount, which can be paid off every month. Or you know, you could just go elsewhere.

Reason.

The curious thing is that Reason’s illustrations of hardware racks appeared just when real hardware racks were going in the garbage. Such that many Reason users are convinced that actual hardware is a clever manifestation of the GUI (and if you don’t believe that you’ve never met a child amazed that ‘wow you have a collectable of the save icon!’).

I grew up with racks and damn, I like them in Reason. They are cheerful. I like scrolling up and down and hitting the tab key to plug wobbling cables in the back, and hitting the tab and scrolling up and down and actually… that cable thing gets tedious. You need a really big screen to see what you’re doing, and then a magnifying glass to read the controls on all those boxes you’re trying to navigate. Reason completely fails at scale, being too small and too large simultaneously.

Now I must admit I’ve never bothered to use Reason as a DAW. It’s my modular synthesiser which I plug into real DAWs and in that respect, it’s a damn fine thing, better than any eurorack.

Logic.

Platform limited is bullshit. Same goes for Sonar.

Cubase.

Like if your grandad got a hold of monkey glands or something and kept living way beyond a natural span of existence. I had CARD32 on a Commodore 64 way back in dinosaur times. Then it was on the Atari and it still gets out of the coffin every night. I guess I am Grandma, and got used to Cubase and throw my hands in the air and go “Whelp! That’s Grandad For Ya!”. (Actually, at one time I tried using Logic back when it was on PC. That was foul, like ‘locked in some taxation consultancy for weeks on end’ foul. The Environment – what the fuck.)

You are not ever going to get super excited about Cubase, but like Microsoft Excel it is going to do the job well enough, and in software that’s probably all you can hope for.

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Traction.

They changed the name to Waveform and added a mixer and MIDI editor. In version 8. Yeah.

Renoise.

No, typing hexadecimal into a grid is not cool, it’s the antithesis of music.

Reaper.

There’s a lot to like about Reaper as a sound editor. In an age where ambisonics is taking on increasing importance, restricting waveforms to 5.1 or stereo is shooting yourself in the foot, and the only competition are the overpriced Nuendo and Pro Tools HD. It makes serious attempts at reducing bloat, embracing formats, and providing a range of useful tools in the box. And it’s CHEAP.

But you’re not out of the woods. Once past the basics it’s got a lot of idiosyncrasies, not cute ones, but mind numbingly painful ones, the sort that drives you to scream WTF and to curse the manual which is (a) a fan written wiki and (b) always out of date with the five new versions a week. Reaper is not open source, but it sure smells like open source.

And MIDI handling is not handled well at all. It’s an audio editor with some MIDI tacked on, and you’ll need to buy a real MIDI tool alongside Reaper.

FL Studio.

I used FL Studio for ages. Then I stopped for a while, to try change my working methods. When I tried to go back to it, I found myself outside a mental wall. All the things that seemed normal before seemed weird and twisted. I could still get old projects up and running, but the thought of doing anything new with it was perverse.

Then I realised I’d been in a cult. I’d since become deprogrammed.

FL is like if you put a drum machine on steroids, lots of steroids, INSANE levels. It’s a drum machine levelled up a billionity-billion times. I mean, I scored a motion picture on FL once upon a time. It can do it, hell – it can probably do anything, but it will do it in a way that makes no sense anywhere outside the cult headquarters, because it’s built on layer upon layer of feature additions. Things rarely get designed in a holistic manner in FL, they get layered on top. Like if you want to freeze the audio on a track, there was some convoluted procedure with placing an Edison plug in on a mixer track… these days I just freeze the track.

I can’t hate on it, and hell, you might even be enthralled by it. See you when you get out.

Put up or shut up.

It was nice to have a talk about subscriptions. Seems that people like to pre-pay for a particular project. We’ll think about that when we have an expensive thing in mind for which we need help. Until then we have enough resources to make first, and only then bug you for funds. We put up or shut up.

We are going to be performing in the USA in about three weeks, so any product is going to be after we get back and sleep off the lag.

Here’s one of the things that are happening. I intended to get an album called Aversion out last year, to be cover versions of classic rock songs and psychedelia. It followed the old truth that a new band, especially electronic or weird, have to make cover versions before they get any attention (we did Strange Brew). It’s about demonstrating exactly how you differ to the mainstream. Aversion was mostly finished by late 2016 but I had a really good listen, and admitted that it just had nothing to offer that hadn’t been done better before. The classics include the Residents Third Reich and Roll, and Laibach’s Let It Be – you probably have some others you could add to that list.

Aversion is not bad, it’s on the level of Strange Brew which people seemed to like. Maybe it will arrive later. Meanwhile I decided to start on Aversion 2, which is subtitled Classic Rock Simulation. In this case it’s existing rock music that’s been edited and processed to make new songs. For example I took the first bar of a very famous 60’s song and processed the individual notes to play a variety of riffs at both normal and half speed. I added bass and drums and some vocal samples that have been tuned a word at a time to sing a melody. The result is a kind of Soul R&B number akin to these weird images that Google AI spits out.

google-ai-dreams

It sounds like rock but only a memory of it, or an approximation made by an algorithm. I like some rock music, and there’s no criticism implied, just some curious misrepresentation which allows me to practice some heavy psychedelic production.

Because we’ve found that people like to buy a physical object, like Blubberknife*, or Showbag, we’ve been working on a neat little package for you that also might be expanded to other titles. The theme is lab rats, experimentation, the work of Harlow on infant monkeys. My partner creates wire forms of the sort that have already appeared on Donut. She has worked hard to not only create a complex wire rat for the cover, but has so far made over 100 wire rats to go one inside each of the packages.

mockup

This mockup has the wrong art showing inside, but gives the feel of it.

The music is on a credit card USB and there’s also a stack of credit card sized artwork. We think it’s going to be light enough that postage won’t be too harsh, but as always you have to expect it’ll cost at least the materials, the postage and something to repay the eventual 200 rats that will be needed.

I’ll be posting some examples of Aversion 2 soon, but meanwhile here’s a bit of a making of.

wire1

rat

* Does anyone have a 1982 Blubberknife in the TV set innards? We have no pictures 🙁

Europe Endless Part 4.

Sunday.

Rescue came in the form of Peter, our Belgian host in both 2005 and 2011. He was ferrying Crash Course In Science about in a van with room for two more, and first stop was our pop art hotel room, oblivion and eventually eggs. This was Stewart’s first sleep since New York and I imagine you could have held a sousaphone party next to his head with no response.

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A mere drive around the block to play Antwerp. On the trip we chatted with CCIS about the dying fun fairs in Sydney, Santa Cruz and New York. Our destination and default home from home – the Hotel Ibis at the train station, also used as a training ground for aspiring astronauts.

Space Station Ibis

Space Station Ibis

Antwerp has been kind to us over the years. Where Amsterdam has shown no interest, Antwerp has always been willing to fly us up the gravity well for a show or two. I’m not able to explain how two cities so near-by can have such different cultures, perhaps its simply the New York effect, where you have to constantly remind them that you exist. The venue was a new one and the Sunday audience was ‘discerning’ in the Spinal Tap sense – the only audience of the sort I expected to meet – male listeners from the old days – whereas most other audiences were unexpectedly diverse. Probably the only troops willing to deploy on a cold Sunday.

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Monday.

From Antwerp we drove on to Brussels. For Australians and Americans the distance is disturbingly small, as if a trip cross town. Brussels airport has recently been attacked with a car bomb and is currently encased in concrete and men fondling their machine guns. Belgium was the only place we passed through where the population seemed divided into cultural enclaves – probably true of France as well, but our visit there was too limited to see the evidence. It didn’t seem as if recent arrivals had integrated and one wonders what the future is for Belgium’s multi-culture.

When I book flights I book afternoons, none of this 4AM rubbish. The advantage is to sleep, the disadvantage is in airport lounges. We got to know Brussels Airport pretty well. In keeping with the whole region being HO scale the international plane to Bristol was about the size that does hops in regional NSW.

All of Europe in one photo

All of Europe in one photo

But it was at Bristol I first realised my error in scheduling entry to the UK three times. Europe is essentially laid back about people coming and going. The UK, like the USA and Australia, is paranoid as all hell. Each time we’d arrive in the UK they’d start up a fuss and bother like a child with toothache and we’d have to pull out names, dates and bits of paper to calm them down. (For the record the chances of me staying and working in the UK is the square root of fuck all, thank you.)

Outside the airport the cold English rain piddled on our heads as we found that no taxis would be available for 45 minutes, if that. The bus struggled through a traffic jam more suited for Los Angeles, at times by rolling over the top of cars (as much as you could work out from staring out the windows) and we got out at the wrong spot as everything was called something like Angel And Parsnips or Lady Fogbottom’s Hallway or Winking Nun Way. A second attempt by taxi inched (not centimetered) through the morass to our anxious host.

Jolly Olde Englande

Jolly Olde Englande

Europe Endless Part 3

The schedule said Amsterdam. The boarding pass said Amsterdam. At 4AM we set sail across Europe, with a limited but complete confidence that Amsterdam was at the other end, only questioning the details on arrival. ‘So now what happens?’ asked Stewart. ‘There will be a man with a sign’, I lied with utter confidence.

There was a man with a sign. SEVERED HEADS. Once cruising along the highway in the Mercedes, Stewart asked if he felt odd holding up a sign in an airport with SEVERED HEADS on it. He said there were worse things.

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Now if you know anything about travel you know that hotels won’t have a room ready until about 2PM, and here we had been dropped there at about 9AM. I’m not a tour manager, but I’m smart enough to know that booking early morning flights is A Really Dumb Thing To Do To A Really Tired Band. There was nothing for it but to hang in the city, and look, it’s Amsterdam, surely that’s a nice bit of touristing, but perhaps not quite the right timing.

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The hotel was pleased to have our Deluxe Room ready. God knows what their Crap Room was like, as the Deluxe Room was next to the car park and a bit Pop Art.

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Stewart took one look at it, declared he would have none of it, nor my snoring, and went in search of a Room With Bath (Uber-Deluxe?) which he found, only to be told that the hotel had run out of bath plugs or some bollocks that really didn’t wash. At this point the members of Crash Course In Science arrived, and some trade in bath plugs was worked out, hell I didn’t care I was still in the car park room.

Two interesting facts about Crash Course In Science should be mentioned here. The first is that they come from the East Coast of America and therefore have a much smaller hop than we did, dragging what seemed an enormous pile of equipment with them, not Skinny Puppy enormous, but still looked a bit pain in the ass. They’d just come from Madrid, with the gastronomical consequences that go with that (note to self: do not eat in Madrid). Now we hadn’t actually anticipated sharing a tour, and so were pleased to find that they got put on late each shared night, meaning we got to perform and be tucked in well before dawn each time – win.

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The Oedipus Brewery was not the gruesome beer barn I’d feared – in fact a very sunny and pleasant backyard with giant beer vats and an easy atmosphere. The Dutch can be easy going in such a manner that causes other nationals to lose their marbles, and it was never very clear what was going to happen when.

The night was on. 11PM loomed. I had stayed at the venue for dinner, but Stewart had tried to get a bit of rest back at the hotel. 5 minutes to start. No Stewart.

Time. No Stewart. I started to negotiate how we could shorten the set.

15 minutes late – the promoter, the tour manager, myself peering out into the night having stomach kittens – Stewart! At the end of the gig, expecting to be arsed off, they wanted an encore. The poor bastard had closed his eyes for the merest moment and passed into unconsciousness, and he quite rightly pointed out afterwards that 4AM flights were the cause, so there.

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The night went on. CCIS played. The night went on. I started to think of how to escape. The night went on. I wondered who I was supposed to meet for the money. The night went on.

Europe Endless Part 1.

Prologue.

Each time I confessed to a promoter that we’d last played their city a neat 30 years ago, you could see their eyes do a little dance, like – had I been sent away for murder? Did I go on a secret mars mission? What in god’s name puts a band back on stage 30 years later? Not a bug, but a feature of contemporary music – the complete collapse of new talent – perhaps faith in new talent, I am no judge. We were not nearly the only bunch of elderly crisscrossing Europe.

It must be said that our last extensive tour of Europe was a debacle. No fault of our own – the fates attacked on every level – sickness, equipment failure, thievery – the toll was awful and I recall trying to entertain 800 people in Zurich alone with TV set for visuals – would you book that twice? No, you would bury that as long as it took to forget.

Only BodyBeats in Antwerp risked the airfares on exclusive appearances, much to our mutual benefit in 2005 and 2011. This time it was Unsound in Krakow that wanted the exclusive, but a change of government funding in Poland meant that we had to find other income. Our recent collaboration with Dark Entries records provided a network of DJ entrepreneurs that were able to take the risk.

The shows grew organically, a bit haphazardly, with no one person in charge of it. From Krakow, we added Amsterdam. Glasgow was keen. Berlin also. Slowly a network of dates came together covering two weekends, with London suddenly wanting a third and Paris very late to the party. At no stage did we have a master plan or even a sense of profit versus loss. It was enough that a second chance had come and surely – surely it couldn’t be anywhere as awful as the first.

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En Route.

The first time a record label brought us to London they used the cheapest fare possible – a Garuda bus that bumped up and down for 36 hours at every plausible refueling point. These days you have a lot more choice and the metric is one of:

Potential of catastrophic death vs. Price vs. Misery.

  • Potential of catastrophic death: Garuda not an option, Aeroflot not really big on my wish list either. You want QANTAS, it doesn’t fall out of the air much. Nor does it fly into war zones like Malaysian.
  • Price: under a grand. Can be done but requires attention to the other metrics.
  • Misery: To get to Europe from Australia you need to hop somewhere near the equator. More hops, more pain. Too fast, miss the plane. Too slow… read below.

I can remember as a small child arriving at Dubai and not being hit by a missile, and found an Emirates/QANTAS flight through Dubai to Warsaw under a grand. That seemed a great idea with only one teeny weeny problem – the connecting flight left 7 hours later.

Seven Hours at Dubai Airport.

The flight from Sydney was in fact the venerable QANTAS QF1 flight to London that has operated as long as I’ve been alive. Probably since Captain Cook. Stuff of legends – so many Australians have hopped on QF1 hoping to make their fortune in the mother country. Not so many in 2016 as I had three seats to myself. Felt smug until I saw the lady next to me had five of them.

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Dubai is alleged to be the busiest international airport in the world, spanning three main centers linked by train, each with four terminals. After 14 hours I arrived at A, not knowing where I would depart. I walked in circles endlessly, a kind of Arabic Ballardian miasma. No place was better than any other – it could be here – it could a kilometer away.

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It turned out to be the gate next to the one by which I arrived. Or an identical gate reached by traversing the infinite bounded space of Dubai airport.

Warsaw.

The 7 hour flight to Warsaw was by Emirates proper, and the announcements made in Arabic. The staff were dressed in the mock Arabic costume you would expect, but spoke excellent Polish – as after all they were all Poles. (This weird costuming reached a pinnacle in Glasgow where a large Scottish lady of advanced years sat behind the counter dressed as if an extra in Aladdin, but I’m ahead of myself here).

At Warsaw a firm lady in military uniform asked me where I was going and seemed to find that amusing, stamp stamp.

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Built wide for ease of access by Soviet tanks.

The young man that guided me to the train station spoke impeccable English with an accent that would have suited a Gentleman’s Outfitter of 1800 and something. That is, it was all rather smashing and I do say old chap. Seems that if you learn English at a university level in Poland you end up with sounding like Lord Haw Haw. He wanted to show me Warsaw. I was extremely grateful but the further we got away from the train station the more visions I had of running frantically down the platform after the departing carriages.

A gift from Stalin. Better like it.

A gift from Stalin. Better like it.

But once prompted he delivered me back to the station on time and pointed at the right platform. ‘Make sure you don’t get on the train to Unpronounceable Destination’ he warned me. The train pulled in. It went to Unpronounceable Destination. But the station sign said Krakow. I asked the guard. He pointed to a carriage. I climbed in. The train departed. I was either going to wake up in Dubai airport or the train was going to end up in Krakow and by this stage, either seemed just as good as the other.

Treasure Map is out.

That’s all for now, I’m tired.

Baggage and Luggage.

Baggage. Luggage. The shit you cart around with you – stuffed in your wallet, falling out of your backpack, shoved into drawers and cupboards. That’s bad – but I’m not talking about that now.

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There’s the stupid thing you once said to somebody you cared about 10 years ago, that pops into your mind at 2AM and sets you upright, thinking how different things would be if you hadn’t fucked up … bad too, I’m not talking about that either.

There’s also the baggage that we’re blithely collecting right here, right now, weighing down you and me. The encrustion of online life. Photographs and texts and fuck knows what else the machines have pieced together about you. If you were born since the Internet then there’s probably not much hope for you, you’re in your own little Truman Show and everybody is getting a good look. You might even think that’s normal, bless you, hope that job interview goes well a few years from now.

Somehow there is a rule that goes like this: the worse the photo, the more likely it will show up in online searches. It’s true isn’t it? I spend months getting fitter and happier and yet will be forever a photo The Guardian once took of me flopped and miserable, sweating with a bad flu. You might think that’s a small thing, but consider the impact on resolution, on positive feedback – do what you want, try harder, it’s not going to change a goddamn thing in “society”.

Oh and of course I can make new hi resolution videos, put heart and soul into them… but then somebody will post an old VHS on YouTube and erase everything I’ve worked on. Improvement – personal or professional – is negated by some goddamn algorithm.

Catalyst: I recently saw this band photo again –

October 1983

October 1983

on Facebook for a gig that’s happening in 2016. Like it’s a photo from 33 fucking years ago and it’s still doing the rounds. OK, so that’s tragic, but the main thing is Simon, on the right there. He’s dead. He’s been dead for years, and there he is, still staring out of the screen, freshly dug out of the grave. For pity’s sake – isn’t it time we did better than this?

Part of the culture of indigenous Australians has to do with people who have died – it is not right to display their likeness. I feel there is some justice in that for all of us. But go further. Let all the baggage evaporate, let it fade away. Some time after the event, wipe it, wipe all of it, and if it matters so much to somebody they can place it back again.

History? History is not what happened, as it happened. History is how we falsely recall from now, refurbishing the past. History is baggage. Drop it.

Be an eBay Folk Artist for Fun and Profit.

Walking the hallowed halls of eBay you will be struck by the quantity of fine folk art on offer. Something for every taste, from UFO aliens to Ronald Reagan to What Is That Shit I Don’t Know. And the prices are pretty fine for a lazy afternoon’s work. Don’t fear your next phone bill – phone in something pricey a financial planner will cherish.

s-l1600

$400.00

It may look pretty simple. It’s not. Just being incompetent will only get you halfway. An extra spark of divine madness is needed, so best to get your Oxycontin habit up and running right now. Think of it as an investment, both for you, and the local Doc-In-A-Box.

The first step is to hoard some old bits of wood. True, you can work up some pretty fine folk art just with toilet rolls and cotton balls, but wood is the royal road to success. Old planks, toilet seats, fence posts all good. A bit of glass is OK so long as it’s cobwebbed. Never ever use a surface designed for artistic production. That’s something for city folk.

Now you are probably city folk yourself. That’s fine. All you need is to take on a hobo otherkin. No longer Royce Cigarillo of suburban dolor, you are now Betty-Hank Barnhouse, one armed midget with a career in chicken hustling. A carney ID is always a good one. Maybe a clown. Have to be from the country, have a dusty cowboy hat, and half breed. If you have some trouble maintaining this identity try adding some spirits on top of the Oxycontin. Feel your otherkin taking over. Practice a few yodels.

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$2,500.00

Get some house paint and ready to go. Slap it on. We’re going to struggle through the haze of booze and drugs to approach something vaguely resembling one of:

  • A desert scene.
  • Clowns having a laff.
  • A right wing politician.
  • Our savior Jesus Christ who died on the cross for our sins.
  • Self portrait of Betty Hank.
  • Aliens.
  • All and none of the above.

Do not worry if it seems to be going horribly wrong. You’re on track. Feel the divine guide you. You are the outsider. Say it. “I am the outsider”. Keep going until there’s no room left.

The paint fumes will have brought you to a place where others fear to tread (if not try huffing the fumes from a bag). You see further, higher than the rest of humanity. You also need to vomit. Quick, before the spirits leave you – take your pen and write whatever words come to mind, in round childish capital letters. Do not pause to think, or form coherent sentences or even words that other people can recognize. Just write. Throw down the pen. Vomit. You are done.

Don’t forget to date it at least 30 years ago. Put it up on eBay and wait for the acclaim that only a half-breed one armed midget clown could expect.

!B+qgLggCWk~$(KGrHqV,!gsEzr1oUH+OBN!Vv222ng~~_12

$3,000.00