Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd

 As far as Pink Floyd albums go, Wish You Were Here is different from the other albums which surround it in their catalogue, but they were all in their own ways expressing a disillusionment with the zeitgeist, the way the world, in particular the business world, and more specifically in this case the music industry, were developing during the 1970s.  The idea of a 'tribute' to the departed Syd Barrett was also a good vehicle for projecting discontent about the power structures which underpinned and sustained "the system".  Was what happened to Syd merely a symptom of a more profound malaise afflicting Western civilization, his fate a microcosm of what our society does to so many?

Musically I think that Wish You Were Here treads a fine line between sublime confidence and self-assurance, and charges of appearing contrived and over-bearing.  On balance, I think they remained on the 'correct' side of the line, and the resultant record is thoroughly fresh, credible and vital. The messages and themes which it explores remain firmly relevant to twenty-first century audiences.  In some ways Floyd were prescient in their estimation of the forces which oppress and manipulate us. If people were listening to the message, they didn't act on it, or heed it with sufficient vigour or honesty.

One thing which occurs to me is that of Floyd's momentous sequence of albums, spanning the period 1973 until 1979, two of them (Wish You Were Here and Animals) are what I would call "modernist" or "post-modernist'.  The Wall, for all its supposedly uncompromising force, is in places quite traditional, retro even, in musical terms. The Dark Side Of The Moon is a concept album, and I feel that it lacks the hard edges and driven anger of the two studio sets which followed it.

Of course the work is 'bookended' by the two sections which make up the epic 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond', the first part's more conventional structure and tempo contrasting with the more chaotic and free-form nature of the closing 'reprise'. Despite their length, both sections maintain the interest due to the excellence and vitality of the instrumentalists' playing, and the arrangements are cleverly put together. The lyrics of the song, and the passion and sincerity of the singing, also serve to carry it along. In a feature which is characteristic of much of the album, the sound retains an organic hue, partly due to the use of 'non-electronic' instruments (acoustic piano, organ, saxophone etc), and partly because of David Gilmour's expressive, blues-inflected guitar work.

'Welcome To The Machine' harks back in some respects to The Dark Side Of The Moon, with its portentous, effects-laden opening, but soon develops a life of its own. A track which is perhaps ahead of its time, and although some might be tempted to deride it as 'Pink Floyd by numbers', the drama and grandeur of the musical backdrops and the undeniable validity and importance of the sentiments expounded here make it a compelling and gripping musical spectacle. The music, the words and the vocals combine to paint an unsettling and, one would hope, thought-provoking picture.

With its 'funkiness' and general mien , 'Have A Cigar' anticipates some of the material to be found on the later Animals LP. Another sardonic take on the absurdities and "evils" of the music industry, I don't find it as interesting or as inspiring as the other numbers on the album, and it never really goes anywhere, exuding a rather airless lethargy. OK, the song's subject matter is crucial and central to the album's 'concept', but I think people who eulogise about the song are indulging in some wishful thinking.

If 'Have A Cigar' is comparatively turgid, then the title track is a refreshingly uplifting and invigorating, the poignant lyrics notwithstanding. The sincerity and heart-felt nature of the song comes shining through. Again, the utilization of 'ordinary' instruments, such as acoustic guitars, mixed with some tasteful synthesizer work, means that the component parts have space to breathe and thrive, and something rather marvellous is what emerges.

One of the elements which comes across loud and clear to me is that this is an album which has conviction and polish. The Dark Side Of The Moon examined some Big Ideas, but its general impact was to some degree ameliorated by its format, in that many of the songs were almost vignettes. Wish You Were Here is less cryptic or abstract in its approach; the social critique is more channelled and the tone is harsher, more bitter and angry.  The group deserved credit for showing the courage and assertiveness to persist with this project, and their determination and belief is crystal clear in the quality and the cohesiveness of the finished work.

I would even go so far as to say that Wish You Were Here is the point at which Pink Floyd came into their own, and found their real voice. This "voice" only really remained vibrant and consistently intense for another two studio albums after this, but what a legacy was left behind. 

Wish You Were Here remains compelling and important.

Come Taste The Band/Deep Purple Mk IV

The 1975/76 "twilight" period of the original Deep Purple is customarily deemed to be most noteworthy, by many people, for the extracurricular antics of certain band members, and the setbacks which afflicted the group. The Mk IV line-up (signifying the arrival of Tommy Bolin in the line-up) only released one album, Come Taste The Band, in October 1975.

While it is fair to say that the post-1973 output of Deep Purple lacked the eclectic quirkiness and humour of the Mk II line-up, mostly due to the loss of the Gillan/Glover songwriting input, it would be unfair to universally denigrate it as meat-and-potatoes hard rock. Come Taste The Band has a certain energy and intensity about it.

I have heard it said that this is not a "real" Purple album.  This notion possibly stems from the absence of Ritchie Blackmore, and the fact that much of the creative strength on the record comes from David Coverdale, Glenn Hughes and Tommy Bolin, thus bringing about a different sound.

In tone the LP is very much of its time, exuding some of the ennui and hedonism of the mid-Seventies. The active participation of the newer members of the band, and the shrinking input of the Purple "old guard", gives the album its feel, with soul, funk and blues influences more to the fore.

David Coverdale's vocals are agreeably soulful and bluesy in the best bits, with the song "I Need Love" springing to mind in this respect. That song also has a strong R&B component, with a funky interlude in its middle section. "Drifter" has a contemporary, frenetic style, and "Love Child" prefigures later hard rock in some ways.

It is also pleasant to hear Jon Lord's organ actually sounding like a proper organ, and not constantly seeking to imitate guitars. It adds a classy and welcome sheen and texture to several of the tracks here. Ian Paice's drum work is inventive, unorthodox and excellent as always.

"This Time Around/Owed to 'G'" has attracted much comment, and it represents something different in its dreaminess, with some detecting the influence of Stevie Wonder.

Another intriguing number is "Keep On Moving", with its menacing beginning and its harmonies. A strong and atmospheric way to close out the record, and strangely apt when one bears in mind that the band would fold within a matter of months.

Approach this album with an open mind, and it is a surprisingly enjoyable record, especially considering the backdrop to its recording. Some inventiveness and imagination is evident if one looks and listens hard enough.  It might not be the "true" Purple, but it is by no means a bad album.

The Lost Honour of Katharina Blum - (1975 film)

A little while ago, I wrote an article about Heinrich Boll's novel, The Lost Honour of Katharina Blum. I have seen the 1975 film adaptation a few times, and thought it was time that I committed my thoughts on it to blog form.  My review of the novel is here:- The Lost Honour of Katharina Blum.

The direction and screenplay for the movie were handled by Volker Schlondorff and Margarethe von Trotta. The plot concerns a German woman who spends the night with a man who later turns out to be a suspected bank robber and political militant. She finds herself persecuted by the police, media and public.

One of the things about the picture which I find appealing is its visual flavour, which evokes the modernistic West Germany in the throes of its economic miracle. Expensive cars, stylish clothes and fashionable furnishings abound throughout, forming a kind of clinical vibrancy.  The story says, however, that dark and unsavoury tendencies lurk beneath the veneer of prosperity and progress.

Themes of press intrusion and freedom, as well as hysteria and anxiety about terrorism, are the main concerns. Of course, this film was made at a turbulent time in the Federal Republic's history, as the country wrestled with political violence.

I can't really make my mind up about Angela Winkler's performance in the role of Katharina, whether it is bland, or whether it sensitively and subtly conveys the confusion and innocence of the character as she attempts to cope with the maelstrom which has suddenly enveloped her.

For me, the film is exaggerated, even mildly cartoonish, and the dystopian overtones come over more acutely than they do in book form. The police raid on Katharina's apartment exemplifies this. In some ways, I think that the social commentary has more merit than the movie as a whole, troublesome though it is to separate the two.

If there is a lack of restraint in how some of the film's topical concerns are addressed, they are topics which are still immensely relevant four decades later. Press hysteria, collusion between state and media, self-interest masquerading as concern for order and security, and the appeal to the base sentiments and instincts of the populace, all form part of the mix.

Although this film has some of the attributes and tension which make the cinema of the 70s so absorbing, it has never really grabbed me as perhaps it should. In saying that the points could have been made with more delicacy or finesse, it is true that the air of unreality and dislocation is integral to what it is being asserted.

The denouement, whilst no doubt very "poetic" in its way, and highly dramatic, is rather silly. I sometimes think that if the journalist had met his end in some other, accidental, way, the point would have been made almost equally as well, unless the novelist and writers were insinuating that the methods of state, press and public drive people to desperate and irrational measures?

A movie worth watching, but not as satisfying or convincing as later films made, separately, by the two directors/screenwriters involved here, on similar subject matter.

French Connection II

A little while ago, I wrote a review here of the classic 1971 movie The French Connection. The sequel, French Connection II, released in 1975, is a creditable effort, if lacking some of the magic of its predecessor. Of course, direct comparisons have to be qualified, as the second picture was entirely fictional, and had different writers and a different director (John Frankenheimer).

The story carries on from where The French Connection left off, Popeye Doyle travelling to France on the trail of the Charnier character, who it transpires had eluded capture. Naturally, there is more of a French or European flavour to this one, and I like the fact that bits of the dialogue are in the local lingo, adding a touch of authenticity. Much of the early part of the film deals with Doyle's difficulties in coming to terms with the French culture and addressing the language barrier.

As a matter of fact, Doyle's struggles in dealing with the French police, and in particular Barthelemy (Bernard Fresson), form a sizeable portion of the narrative. An uneasy relationship prevails, with Doyle's abrasive personality and pugnacious approach clashing with French methods. The more seedy parts of Marseille, and also the waterfront area, make for good settings. The chase scenes (on foot) are also impressive.

For me the heart of the film is Doyle's capture by the villains, and his subsequent agonies as he experiences drug withdrawal under the supervision of Barthelemy. Some of the scenes are quite harrowing and disturbing,  Doyle's ordeal being inter-cut with the frantic efforts of the French police to find him. Even more than the first film this one starkly illustrates the pitiless nature of the drug trade, and the extreme measures to which all parties are prepared to resort.

It seems to me that the nature of the storyline in this picture permits greater scope for Gene Hackman to display his acting range, especially the "cold turkey" sequences. There may be less grit and suspense here than in the original movie, but the "human" aspects largely make up for this, particularly the often bizarre and acrimonious exchanges between Doyle and Barthelemy.

The scenes which happen towards the close of the movie are spectacular, exciting and action-packed.I really enjoy this movie. All things considered, a worthy sequel.

One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest (film) - movie review

When the iconic movies of the 1970s are discussed and evaluated, one that is sometimes unaccountably left out is One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, released in 1975, starring Jack Nicholson, and based on the novel by Ken Kesey.

Due in part to my interest in mental health issues, criminology and "counter-cultural" topics, I recently watched the film for the first time in many years. I found that some of my perspectives had changed because of my own experiences.

The plot revolves around the battle of wits between McMurphy (Nicholson) and Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher). Naturally, such a struggle between the anti-establishment patient and a figure of authority can be seen as symbolic of wider societal tensions, but this story has a lot of guile and finesse to it. It never overtly descends into straight "system vs the people" territory, and it is seen that the methods of control and oppression are more subtle and insidious. The fact that I didn't see Nurse Ratched as particularly tyrannical in the conventional sense clearly shows that these techniques were "working"!

It took an outsider, in the form of McMurphy, to recognize what was going on, and to begin to challenge the apathy and subservience of the patients. the rigidity of routine and procedures, how they had become institutionalized, and how "divide and conquer" was a central plank of the regime. A striking aspect was the suggestion that the "voluntary" and "committed" patients thought in very much the same way, even when the former had the right to get up and leave.

A secret to watching One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest is to refrain from reading weighty symbolism into every scene, as by doing so the quality of the acting and the writing can be obscured. The fishing trip sequence is particularly entertaining, the more so because it represents a break from the confines of the hospital (the references to "big fish" and "little fish" did register), as are the various basketball games.

Among the sub-texts, the most prominent is the issue of young males being domineered by female authority figures, viewed via the character of Billy, and McMurphy's efforts to help "liberate" him. Perhaps this is all more about individualism and self-realization than broader socio-political conflict. The fate of both McMurphy and Nurse Ratched at the close of the piece maybe conveys to us that nobody wins....

Physical Graffiti - Led Zeppelin - album review

When people are asked what Led Zeppelin's finest album was, I suspect that most people plump for Led Zeppelin II or the "untitled" fourth album.  My preference is for either the 1969 debut (my review here) or the 1975 double-album Physical Graffiti.

This is not my favourite because of the famous "marquee" tracks, which can become tarnished by familiarity anyway. No, Physical Graffiti appeals to me because of its sprawling and diverse character, epitomised particularly by Disc 2 of the CD (sides 3 and 4 on the original vinyl?).  This feel and character may have come about partly because of the timespan of the recording sessions;some of the material dates from as far back as 1970.

This record also still has the very agreeable mixture of blues and folk-inflected material, the last time that this would occur with Zeppelin, before the more "synthetic" and contemporary feel of the last two original studio albums.  The set may have the reputation with most people of being something of a monolith, but to me it is full of subtlety, variety and surprises.  It has been remarked that Robert Plant's voice is not at its strongest on some of the numbers recorded in 1974, but in a curious way this only adds to the album's appeal.

The first two sides of the original vinyl LP are more what would be termed straight-ahead Zeppelin music, with the remaining space occupied by more experimental and quirky creations. The album starts strongly with the feisty and uncomplicated "Custard Pie", underpinned by a gutsy riff and the always welcome sound of John Paul Jones' keyboards, in this instance the clavinet. Beginning a trend which would span the entire record, John Bonham's drums sound mighty.

The standard is capably maintained by "The Rover", and then by "In My Time Of Dying", a bluesy epic on which Page and Bonham once again excel in their respective departments.  Keyboards once again enrich the recipe on the driving and infectious "Trampled Underfoot". 

"Disc 1", as it were, is rounded off by "Kashmir". Now this is commonly referred to as a "classic", but I must admit that these days I find it a bit ponderous and even flat.  Familiarity may have led to my weariness about the song. To me it just lacks vitality and energy, and this opinion is accentuated by some of the material surrounding it here.

"Disc 2" is a veritable box of delights, kicking off with "In The Light", yet another song embellished by keyboards, in this case the "exotic" introduction, and what sounds like electric piano later on. Some nice sounding guitar solos also enliven proceedings.

It is now that the album becomes most intriguing.  Following the acoustic gem "Bron-Y-Aur", we come to the reflective "Down by The Seaside", in some respects a most "un-Zeppelin" track, even featuring some country-esque tinges, but fitting in perfectly comfortably here.

"Ten Years Gone" is a most powerful yet musically sophisticated number, with lovely layered and delicate guitar parts, an atmosphere of light and shade, unexpected twists and turns and poignant lyrics. Of all the longer "epic" songs contained on Physical Graffiti, this one has definitely stood the test of time.

Next up is the very likeable and rootsy "Night Flight", one of the most downright enjoyable items in the whole Led Zeppelin catalogue. Yet again the variety and texture imbued by keyboards is a contributory factor in the experience, in this case the organ. Significantly, it sounds like the guys had a whale of a time recording this song.

Eventually the record is rounded off with two more strong songs. "Black Country Woman" in many ways harks back to the informal and semi-humorous flavour of Led Zeppelin III, and is in my opinion one of the more underrated of their acoustic numbers. Another track which evokes the sense of what fun it must have been to be a member of Led Zeppelin.

The closer is "Sick Again", seemingly a slightly jaded commentary on the rock music scene or life on the road. A strong song, but it seems to me that it might have worked better live than on this version. The backing track sounds quite fuzzy and indistinct; maybe that was intentional, but one is left with the feeling that the song could have sounded better.

Physical Graffiti was the personal favourite of at least one of the musicians in the group, and I can see why. This is the culmination of all the various strands of "Zeppelin music" which had flourished since the late 1960s, polished in some areas, but also with some of the spontaneity and rough edges intentionally left in. A real summation of the band's strengths and idiosyncrasies.

Jaws

I was a little too young to get caught up in the original hysteria of 1975, but Steven Spielberg's Jaws remains an entertaining if slightly disturbing viewing experience.

 

 

One thing which I am reminded of when watching the DVD is the distinctive "aesthetic" of this movie. The light is baleful and gloomy. Whether this was intentional or not, it does accentuate the darkness and menace which pervades the movie. It is unsettling to watch, with little of the levity to be found in other works of this director. 

 

Another feature which stands out is the quintessentially mid-1970s look and feel, when one considers the fashions, hairstyles and overall cultural ambience. In this respect, Jaws is perhaps less "timeless" than some other Spielberg pictures.

 

I have not read Peter Benchley's book, on which the film is based, but it seems to me that the police chief Brody , played so ably by Roy Scheider, has some parallels with the Roy Neary character from Close Encounters Of The Third Kind. A conscientious, believable "everyman", who has to juggle his onerous professional responsibilities with those of being a husband and father. In making the Brody/Neary comparisons, of course, it is ironic that Richard Dreyfuss turns up here too, as the likeable oceanographer Hooper.

 

As well as depicting the havoc wrought by the dreaded shark, and the efforts to tackle it, this film also poses the odd moral or philosophical question, particularly those of commerce v safety, science v well-meaning amateurism, and bureaucracy v common sense. The world has changed in the past four decades, but these issues were very pertinent in the climate which prevailed in the mid-Seventies.

 

The chilling "shark attack" scenes are superbly inventive and well executed, with a perfect building-up of tension and suspense, and numerous minor"false alarm" scenarios to maintain the trepidation and anxiety. What is not seen on the screen, and merely implied, is as important and as potent as what is overtly displayed. The underwater shots are also presented with great finesse and impact, and who can forget the infamous "leg" shot....?

 

One of the more pleasing aspects of Jaws is the dialogue and rapport between Scheider and Dreyfuss. The latter is especially impressive and engaging in the scenes where he displays growing exasperation in his attempts to convince the local mayor of the gravity of the situation! The clash of cultures between the scientist and the grizzled Quint (magnificently portrayed by Robert Shaw) is great value too.

 

On my most recent viewing, my predominant sentiments revolved around the helplessness of man in the face of this unbridled force of nature. In the end, courage and ingenuity won the day, rather than technology or material plenty.

 

Jaws retains its capacity to enthral and disconcert........

 

 

 

 

1975 European Cup Final

Even now, the 1975 European Cup Final in Paris, contested by Leeds United and Bayern Munich, has quite a surreal, nebulous aura about it. I was only five years old at the time, and it was shortly after this that my boyhood interest in the beautiful game began to blossom. Re-watching the game, one senses a kind of pallor over the whole event, as if it was presaging the dark days ahead for Leeds United, and in a sense for the game in general.

Leeds were already in decline, and looking towards a rebuilding process, only finishing ninth in the domestic league table in that Spring of '75. The team had moved on, but there was still unfinished business for the players schooled by Don Revie. Retrospectively, it almost resembles a ceremonial obligation which had to be staged before the club could truly move on.

It has been suggested that Jimmy Armfield felt obliged to give the Revie players the chance to play in this match, with the result that the talented young Duncan McKenzie was restricted to a place on the bench. Who knows whether this was pure sentiment, or a case of going for experience?  It is undeniable that several of the key players of the Revie era were showing the signs of ageing and wear and tear, and that the dynamism of yore was lacking, especially in the midfield area.

The notion that the choice of the starting eleven was based on tactical considerations is strengthened by the presence of Terry Yorath in midfield, to the exclusion of Eddie Gray. Justified in the context of this particular match and the opposition, but somehow out of kilter with the tenor of the evening from a Leeds supporter's viewpoint.

In appraising the evening's events, it is also worth referring to the mundane and unthreatening line-up which Bayern fielded. With star players in decline, Paul Breitner gone to Madrid, and some prosaic performers elsewhere in the team, the reality was much less formidable than the reputation. In fact, there may be a case for arguing that in the mid-1970s European football had slipped somewhat from the lofty glories of Total Football and the superb fare served up during the 1974 World Cup.

Leeds appeared to control possession for much of the game, particularly the first forty-five minutes, although the build-up was laboured and ponderous at times.  Joe Jordan and Allan Clarke posed real problems for the Bayern defence with their movement and athleticism.  In the midfield area Leeds were solid if unspectacular, providing a robust platform rather than a launchpad for audacious runs.

The Leeds strategy was circumspect, but it seemed to be succeeding up to a point. The forwards and the midfield screen were working tirelessly, and Bayern were extracting little change from the Leeds back line. The Leeds passing was measured but usually accurate, and the Yorkshire side seemed to be edging the physical dimension of the contest too. It is true that Leeds were playing deep, maybe a consequence of the team selection, and of the respect which they felt for their opponents.

The more often I watch it, the more blatant the Beckenbauer trip on Clarke becomes. Though this must have caused frustration, Leeds continued to probe and generally dictate proceedings. Even after the disallowed "goal" in the second half, Leeds initially seemed outwardly unaffected. Whether the first Bayern goal was the consequence of Leeds being rattled or distracted, who can say.  It looked like a simple defensive lapse, but did subconscious disaffection play a role? By the time Gerd Muller scored the second, the match had become bitty and fragmented, and it is possible that Leeds had had time to dwell on the injustice of it all.

I was too young at the time to absorb fully the match and its aftermath and implications, but I can imagine the emptiness which all those connected with Leeds must have felt. The party was well and truly over, in more ways than one....

Blood On The Tracks - Bob Dylan - album review

It is a truism that albums, or records generally, assume greater personal relevance or resonance if they touch on a raw area of experience for the listener.  The words and themes begin to loom much larger in the consciousness.

For me, an example of this is Bob Dylan's Blood On The Tracks, released in early 1975. Until comparatively recently, I had respected this as a collection of frank, confessional and well-crafted songs, and could understand the eulogies which placed this album among the foremost achievements in Dylan's career. However, listening to it in recent months has infused this music with a new poignancy and power for me.

The writing and recording of this collection of songs took place amid personal turmoil and upheaval for the songwriter.  These factors undoubtedly helped to catalyse matters, although it is also fair to argue that Dylan's artistic vitality was on something of an upswing anyway as the mid-Seventies approached.

In strict musical terms there is little which is out of the ordinary on Blood On The Tracks, but it is the combination of lyrics, and the atmosphere evoked by the melodies and soundscape, which creates the overall effect. In fact, some might find the diet of acoustic guitars a little samey and stodgy, but in general the compelling poetry and songcraft override such qualms.

The record opens with three or four memorable songs, on which much of the album's reputation is founded.

Many people who have never heard the record assume (like I once did) that this is almost a concept album, but I think that this is a misrepresentation.  Yes, the lyrics to most of the tracks address issues of regret, loneliness and melancholy, but there is sufficient variation in context and scenario to make each song self-contained and autonomous.  The opener "Tangled Up in Blue" sets the tone, but it would be a mistake to assume that every song is just a derivation of this one.

The album is filled with powerful tracks, but for me the most affecting by far is "Simple Twist Of Fate".  A masterly amalgam of Dylan's lyrical styles, it achieves the rare distinction of compelling the listener to conjure up visual images, as well as acute emotions, in his or her mind.

"You're A Big Girl Now" has a resolutely mid-Seventies sheen and ambience, reminding me of a oppressively humid and mournful summer's evening.  Some very pleading and heartfelt vocal lines from the great man, and rich but wistful chord changes, contribute to the overall effect.

The next number, "Idiot Wind", almost has a "runaway" quality about it, and the lyrics and singing contain a blend of indignation and resignation.  This is all augmented and complemented by the "airless" production, promoted in part by the organ.

At the mid-point, "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go" serves to inject some more simplicity and spontaneity, harking back to Dylan's pre-1967 output, albeit with tinges of the melodic and production motifs which run through this whole album.

Of the later tracks, (I will skip the Dylan-by-numbers of "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts"), the most impactful is the heart-wrenching "If You See Her, Say Hello", which has a genuine pathos, even by the standards of Blood On The Tracks.  The singing also feels spontaneous, rather than the result of some affectation.

"Shelter From The Storm" is another one which is redolent of Dylan's compositions circa 1964/65, but less oblique lyrically, and it retains the interest, and ticks thematic boxes, sufficiently to feel at home in this company.  One of this record's unheralded strengths is the mixture of dense and stripped-down arrangements, which temper what could have become a feeling of claustrophobia.

Many "classic" albums tend to have a real tour-de-force for a closing track, a bookend of real stamp.  "Buckets of Rain" scarcely qualifies as such, but its downbeat and ascetic pallor is strangely appropriate here.

In purely musical terms quite conservative, Blood On The Tracks nevertheless has a sincerity, directness and emotional punch which make it special.  In its own way, as substantial as anything produced by Bob Dylan.