Pink Floyd/David Gil­mour

Pom­peii: The whole story, from the orig­i­nal film to Gil­mour’s re­cent re­turn…

Prog - - News - Daryl Easlea Images: Jac­ques Boumendil

I found their mu­sic fan­tas­tic and dif­fer­ent com­pared to other groups…

In 2017, to co­in­cide with the re­lease of the DVD of his re­turn to Pom­peii, David Gil­mour said about the film of his old band’s per­for­mance at the same venue 46 years pre­vi­ously: “I find it rather em­bar­rass­ing. I’m sure it’s a lot of fun for many peo­ple, but not much for me.”

Of course, a great deal of what Gil­mour says of­ten comes with an in­built wink – at times in the past he has been very af­fec­tion­ate toward the film. It’s an an­tique and a cu­rio, to be sure, but is it em­bar­rass­ing as part of the band’s legacy?

Let Prog take you on a jour­ney

“i don’t think any of us thought it would be as well-re­ceived and last in peo­ple’s minds for as long as it did. All credit to him [Maben]. it’s his idea and it was great.” David Gil­mour

back to four beau­ti­ful young men, a sul­try, his­tor­i­cal am­phithe­atre, and a young film direc­tor, brim­ming with art and ideas…

Although it was grandly billed as “More Than A Movie! An Ex­plo­sive Cinema Con­cert”, Pink Floyd: Live At Pom­peii is a small, per­sonal film, which sets Pink Floyd, then at the tail end of their space rock phase, at the very heart of the Euro­pean art scene. It crowned the era in which the group were scor­ing bal­lets, adding sound­tracks to for­eign art movies and record­ing in Paris. With a Ger­manBel­gian-French-made film set in an arena at the heart of the ori­gins of Europe, Live At Pom­peii rep­re­sents

Floyd as part of a con­ti­nen­tal mu­si­cal move­ment, quite dis­tinct from their Amer­i­can con­tem­po­raries.

In its own quiet and ar­chaic way,

Live At Pom­peii ex­panded the band’s rep­u­ta­tion through­out the 70s, in tan­dem with the suc­cess of 1973’s The Dark Side Of The Moon. As the decade pro­gressed, through one-off and late-night screen­ings in the UK and the US, it did their tour­ing for them. For new fans, Live At Pom­peii (as with their cut-price sam­pler, Relics) cat­a­pulted the band back to another era.

The film’s sec­ond ver­sion, re­leased in 1974, as the Floyd be­came glacial and re­moved, showed the band shar­ing lunch and record­ing in a mo­ment of seem­ingly Fabs-type bon­homie. Although to­day these se­quences bear out Gil­mour’s view, it was enough for this writer and count­less other view­ers to be hap­pily taken in.

“It’s just us play­ing a load of tunes in the am­phithe­atre with some rather Top Of The Pops-ish shots of us walk­ing around the top of Ve­su­vius and things like that,” Roger Wa­ters said at the time of the film’s re­lease. “I think Pink Floyd freaks would en­joy it.”

Although shot on 35mm, Live At Pom­peii was orig­i­nally made for tele­vi­sion. Like so much in the Floyd’s ca­reer, it was a happy ac­ci­dent. It was

the vi­sion of UK-born, Paris-re­sid­ing direc­tor Adrian Maben. Maben had not emerged from the Cam­bridge/Lon­don art clique that had sur­rounded the group. He was young and work­ing for French tele­vi­sion. “I was into art films, mak­ing por­traits of Magritte and art move­ments,” Maben tells Prog from his res­i­dence in Paris. “Art be­came some­thing new and vi­brant.”

A Parisian youth at an ex­cit­ing time, Maben had met Jean-Luc Go­dard and marched with the stu­dents in 1968, but de­spite all this, there was a gen­eral mis­trust in the cap­i­tal of rock mu­sic. “There were few rock pro­grammes – it was just noise to the peo­ple who ran TV, even the in­tel­li­gent ones.”

It was not the case in neigh­bour­ing Bel­gium. “Bel­gian TV was more open to the pos­si­bil­i­ties of mak­ing rock films, so I went to Brus­sels and did a cou­ple of films there with East Of Eden and Fam­ily. I learned a lot.”

With these films un­der his belt, Maben set about en­snar­ing the group that he re­ally wanted to record. Pink Floyd seemed to marry both his love of art and mu­sic per­fectly. More to the point, they had piqued his cu­rios­ity – he was in­trigued by them. “When you lis­tened to their records at the time, it was very strange – you didn’t quite know how they made their sounds.

“I thought it would be very in­ter­est­ing to show how they made their noises, their elec­tronic sounds, and put them all to­gether. I found their mu­sic fan­tas­tic and dif­fer­ent com­pared to other groups. You had all the lit­tle whis­pers, and the noises, and the shriek­ing. It was a dif­fer­ent world, and that dif­fer­ent world was ab­so­lutely fas­ci­nat­ing.”

Maben phoned the group’s man­ager, Steve O’Rourke, in early 1971 and set up a meeting with him to dis­cuss his vi­sion, “a mar­riage of art and the Pink Floyd”. Af­ter this ini­tial con­tact, he heard noth­ing. He called O’Rourke again and a sec­ond meeting was ar­ranged, this time with David Gil­mour present. Gil­mour was, as Maben says, “very nice and told me they would think about it”. And then, again, noth­ing.

Then there was a ten­ta­tive agree­ment – the group would film later in the year. No lo­ca­tion had been de­cided on for the film. It was only when Maben was tour­ing Italy that sum­mer that he found his spot. He chanced upon Pom­peii, the city on the out­skirts of Naples that had been de­stroyed by the erup­tion of the vol­cano Ve­su­vius in AD 79, with up to 11,000 res­i­dents buried in ash. The city was first re­dis­cov­ered in the late 16th cen­tury, and soon es­tab­lished it­self as a mag­net for vis­i­tors from around the world.

It was a mishap with Maben’s passport that led to him go­ing back to the once great city’s am­phithe­atre at night. He thought it would be per­fect for the group to play in. Maben was later to say, “It was the si­lence, it was the night time, it was eerie – this is the place the Pink Floyd have got to be.”

Im­por­tantly, un­like re­cent con­cert films, it would just be the group per­form­ing alone, with­out an au­di­ence, play­ing to the si­lence.

Putting a rock band, let alone mak­ing a film, in what was to be­come a World Heritage site just a hand­ful of years later was not straight­for­ward. Again, Maben, an ex­tremely me­thod­i­cal in­di­vid­ual, was not go­ing to let red tape stand in his way.

Through one of the film’s pro­duc­ers, Maben knew of some­one on­side at Naples Uni­ver­sity: Ugo Carputi, a pro­fes­sor of an­cient his­tory.

Carputi went to Haroun Tazi­eff, the So­print­en­denza in charge of the site.

“Rock’n’roll in the cen­tre of Pom­peii wasn’t ex­actly their cup of tea,” says Maben. “They were fright­ened of a huge crowd clam­ber­ing over mon­u­ments, tak­ing away stones.

I told him I wanted to do a con­cert where the only thing we will see is the Floyd them­selves, a bit of the crew, zero spec­ta­tors. That’s what fi­nally clinched it. The So­print­en­denza didn’t know who Pink Floyd was, but for­tu­nately Carputi did – he’d heard their mu­sic and liked it.”

Carputi could get the am­phithe­atre closed to the public for six days.

The whole thing was to move away from, as Maben said, “the show and peo­ple re­act­ing to the show”. Ever since the footage of the hy­per­ven­ti­lat­ing girls ex­pe­ri­enc­ing Beatle­ma­nia, the au­di­ence cut­away shot had be­come de rigueur in film, with Wood­stock and Gimme Shel­ter fea­tur­ing their au­di­ences al­most in equal mea­sure to the bands. Maben was adamant that it should not be just another con­cert film, and he was clear that he wanted to cap­ture Pink Floyd dif­fer­ently.

“It was to be an anti-Wood­stock,” Maben con­tin­ues. “Above all, there should be the no­tion of si­lence, and the images [of Pom­peii] would speak for them­selves with the mu­sic. It was some­thing that had to stand on its own: the Floyd and the empti­ness of the theatre. Maybe, just maybe, it was like they were play­ing for the ghosts of the dead. The real mir­a­cle is that Live At Pom­peii es­caped a TV for­mat and be­came a film with in­ter­na­tional dis­tri­bu­tion.”

The film was to be made and fi­nanced for TV by the Bel­gian

Ra­dio Télévi­sion Belge Fran­co­phone, the German company Bay­erischer Rund­funk and the French Of­fice de Ra­diod­if­fu­sion-Télévi­sion Française. How­ever, pro­ducer Reiner Moritz sug­gested that it should be filmed on three cam­eras us­ing high-qual­ity 35mm film. This contributed to the film’s longevity and suc­cess. The main stip­u­la­tion from the group was that they would not record to play­back – it had to be live – and they needed to make the film to full stu­dio qual­ity. Road man­ager Peter Watts pushed for full mul­ti­track record­ing and for it to be as good as any stu­dio.

“The one thing the Floyd in­sisted on was do­ing a mul­ti­track record­ing and they were 100 per cent right,” Maben says. “That meant record­ing in situ, so the recorder came from Paris be­cause we couldn’t get one in Rome.”

Hired from Stu­dio Europa-Sonor, it came with en­gi­neer Charles Rauchet, who set it up in a cor­ner and recorded ev­ery­thing. “He was very good, be­cause he ac­cepted that we would stop and start. The Floyd seemed fairly happy about it.”

As a result, the live per­for­mances are re­mark­able for the way the sound bounces off the stone walls. “Peter Watts said the sound had a kind of echo to it, not a dry sound like in a stu­dio. He sug­gested that the Ro­mans who built the am­phithe­atre thought not only of the struc­ture but also of the acous­tic qual­i­ties.”

Film­ing took place in early October 1971, just af­ter the end of the band’s short Euro­pean tour and their record­ing of the BBC’s Sounds Of

The Seven­ties at the Paris Cinema. Maben had booked six days for the shoot. The Avis trucks un­loaded the group’s equip­ment… and then the elec­tric­ity packed up.

“I’d been to see the So­print­en­denza two weeks be­fore and he as­sured me that the elec­tric­ity would be no prob­lem as it worked for the whole of the site. When we tested it and the Floyd were ar­riv­ing, it didn’t work.”

The Floyd ar­rived from Lon­don, and two days passed – which meant they only had three days in which to shoot. Even­tu­ally, a cable was run from nearby mod­ern Pom­peii to the am­phithe­atre, mean­ing the film­ing could hap­pen.

It wasn’t straight­for­ward ei­ther when they went to film the cut­away shots of the group walk­ing amid the sul­phurous mud at nearby Bosco­re­ale on the slopes of Ve­su­vius. That day, the band’s trans­port be­came stuck be­hind the an­nual Our Lady Of The Rosary pro­ces­sion in Pom­peii.

On the eve of shoot­ing, Steve O’Rourke sprang a sur­prise – he pro­duced a test press­ing of the group’s yet-to-be-re­leased al­bum, Meddle, and told Maben that the film was to fea­ture two of its songs – and one of those songs, Echoes, was 23 min­utes long.

Maben says: “Steve ar­rived and said, ‘Here’s what we re­ally want to do.’ I told him that he couldn’t ex­pect me to work on this for the fol­low­ing morn­ing be­cause I’d planned for ev­ery­thing else.”

A deal was struck that the group would do the new num­bers and then

ev­ery­thing else. All the cam­era an­gles and track­ing were mapped out the night be­fore shoot­ing. Ev­ery­thing had to be very pre­cise.

Maben was film­ing with ex­pe­ri­enced cin­e­matog­ra­phers – the Hun­gar­ian-Ital­ian vet­eran Gá­bor Pogány and Bel­gian Willy Ku­rant, who had col­lab­o­rated with Serge Gains­bourg and Or­son Welles – and sev­eral peo­ple he’d al­ready worked with, such as cameraman Jac­ques Boumendil and script per­son Marie-Noël Zurstrassen. The film equip­ment came from Ital­ian stu­dio Cinecittà, to save money on ship­ping it from Paris. In the end, only three num­bers – Echoes, One Of These Days and A Saucer­ful Of Se­crets – were recorded at the am­phithe­atre.

“It was hard work,” Nick Ma­son said in his Floyd bi­og­ra­phy In­side Out, “with no leisurely nights out sam­pling the lo­cal cui­sine and wine list, but the at­mos­phere was en­joy­able, with ev­ery­one get­ting on with their jobs.”

Prob­a­bly most lov­ingly re­mem­bered from the film is Roger Wa­ters whack­ing his gong dur­ing A Saucer­ful Of Se­crets and the track­ing shot of the rear of the wall of amps dur­ing Echoes. It’s so iconic, and the sten­cil on the cab­i­nets (‘Pink Floyd. Lon­don’), with its lone full stop af­ter ‘Pink Floyd’, is so pow­er­ful. When you think of all the money they went on to spend on kit, py­rotech­nics, walls and so on, this sim­ple let­ter­ing is equally mem­o­rable.

The in­clu­sion of Echoes re­ally made the film. And the fi­nal pan away, mak­ing the band look so small amid all that space, is in­cred­i­bly haunt­ing, there among all the ghosts.

“The el­e­ments that seemed to make it work,” Ma­son told Hugh Fielder in 2016, “none of which we re­ally thought about dur­ing the film­ing, were the de­ci­sion to per­form live in­stead of mim­ing, and the rather gritty en­vi­ron­ment cre­ated by the heat and the wind.”

Af­ter the fi­nal day’s film­ing on October 7, 1971, the band de­parted to com­mence an Amer­i­can tour. But there was still footage needed, so time was al­lot­ted from De­cem­ber 13 to com­plete the film at the Stu­dios de Boulogne near Paris. Wa­ters and Gil­mour also sug­gested that some over­dub­bing of the Pom­peii sound was done at the nearby Europa-Sonor stu­dio, which was where Edith Piaf recorded.

“We spent a whole day work­ing with Charles Rauchet, eat­ing oys­ters, drink­ing a few beers, jok­ing and work­ing,” Maben re­calls. “It was a won­der­ful ex­pe­ri­ence that I will never for­get. That was filmed with a small black-and-white 16mm Éclair Coutant cam­era.”

That footage was later to sur­face in the film’s 2003 Direc­tor’s Cut. This could be viewed as rather em­bar­rass­ing. Wa­ters and Gil­mour look as if they have had a pri­vate com­pe­ti­tion to see who could ap­pear more wasted. Wa­ters per­forms his well-worn ob­streper­ous shtick when asked, “Are you fairly happy about the film?” He replies, af­ter os­ten­ta­tiously puff­ing out smoke rings, “What do you mean, happy?” Maben: “Do you feel it’s go­ing in a di­rec­tion that is in­ter­est­ing?” Wa­ters pauses. “What do you mean, in­ter­est­ing?”

For some­one who down­played drug use, he looks out of his gourd.

The Stu­dios de Boulogne ses­sions spawned new ver­sions of Care­ful With That Axe, Eu­gene and Set The Con­trols For The Heart Of The Sun. “We had to do some re­cuts of songs in Paris for con­ti­nu­ity, and they tried to con­vince me that I wouldn’t no­tice in the fi­nal thing,” Gil­mour told Rolling Stone.

Rick Wright had had a shave, and the band per­formed in front of a huge screen show­ing Trans­flex pro­jec­tions of them recorded at Pom­peii. Although the band and direc­tor weren’t keen be­cause of the tight timescale and

bud­get, it had to stay – and it adds tremen­dously to the film’s charm.

“I think if I’d not told anybody it was done in Paris,” Maben rue­fully adds, “I think every­body would have thought the whole thing was done in Pom­peii.”

There was a third num­ber recorded in Paris. Floyd are not known as a ‘fun’ band, but Made­moi­selle Nobs, the sec­ond of Floyd’s ca­nine quadrilogy (af­ter Sea­mus, and be­fore Dogs and Dogs Of War), was recorded with Maben’s friend Madonna Bouglione’s Afghan Hound, Nobs. The images of Wright hold­ing the mutt at a mi­cro­phone while she moaned over Wa­ters and Gil­mour’s generic blues is pos­si­bly not the group’s great­est achieve­ment, but it’s a wheeze.

The orig­i­nal hour-long cut of Live At Pom­peii was pre­miered at the Edinburgh Film Fes­ti­val in 1972.

Maben only knew this af­ter read­ing a snip­pet in the news­pa­per the fol­low­ing day. The film was to be shown on Novem­ber 25, 1972 in Lon­don. Some 3,000 fans turned up for a screen­ing at the Rain­bow Theatre in Fins­bury Park, only to be turned away as there was a clause in the lease of the Rank-owned venue that meant it couldn’t do any­thing that would com­pete with its cinema chain. On top of that, it couldn’t be shown as it had yet to be prop­erly cer­ti­fied. Wa­ters was asked his opin­ion of the Rain­bow fi­asco. He an­swered: “Rank.”

Maben felt there was still work to do. “In the sum­mer of 1972, I be­gan to sus­pect that some­thing was miss­ing in the first ver­sion of the film. The band played like frozen stat­ues in the am­phithe­atre, but we knew noth­ing about their char­ac­ter or how they cre­ate and pro­duce their ex­tra­or­di­nary sounds. I went fishing with Roger on the River Teme near the Welsh bor­der and asked him if it might be pos­si­ble to film them record­ing their next al­bum. Roger replied that he would think about it and ask the other mem­bers of the band. A few months later, he rang me in Paris and told me, ‘OK, we’ll do it. Come to Lon­don next week with a min­i­mal crew and please, no in­ter­fer­ence with our work.’”

Maben ar­rived with a small crew at Abbey Road on October 16 and re­mained around Stu­dio 2 for a cou­ple of days be­fore get­ting “po­litely thrown out”. “He came to Abbey Road where he filmed us fin­ish­ing off the record­ing of The Dark Side Of The Moon,”

Gil­mour said in 2017. “It cap­tured a mo­ment in time.”

It was this footage that ex­tended the film to 80 min­utes, and be­came the ver­sion that gained a gen­eral re­lease in the sum­mer of 1974.

Wa­ters said, “He came to Lon­don and shot us… for a cou­ple of days, which has made it much more lively and it’s quite an en­ter­tain­ing film.”

Re­views for this ver­sion of Live At Pom­peii, how­ever, were mixed: Cash Box magazine said the film went “be­yond per­fec­tion”, while Melody Maker reck­oned it was “a Zappa-es­que mu­si­cal pas­tiche”. Bill­board weren’t keen – they called it a “floaty film of an­cient stat­ues and arte­facts, sun­struck shots of the boys ca­vort­ing care­lessly over the hills, and cheap psy­che­delic at­mos­phere stuff that looks left over from the mid-60s mixed-me­dia shows”.

Some of the con­fu­sion may have come from how the film was billed – “At Last The Rock Wiz­ards Are Un­leashed On Film” and “More

Than A Movie!”

“The movie is not par­tic­u­larly ex­plo­sive and cer­tainly not ‘more than a movie’,” Bill­board sniffed. “It is, in fact, rather dull, unimag­i­na­tive and hokey and does not do jus­tice to the Pink Floyd vi­sion.”

All of this meant noth­ing to the group’s le­gions of fans, who qui­etly set about seek­ing out and lov­ing the film as it ap­peared fleet­ingly in one­off screen­ings and, that pre-video stamp­ing ground of the rock movie, late-night cinema.

“It was the Amer­i­can mid­night cir­cuit that was the key to un­der­stand­ing the mod­est suc­cess of the film,” Maben says. “Philippe Bo­rak, based in Cincin­nati, was the orig­i­nal Amer­i­can film dis­trib­u­tor, but it was Ge­orge Rit­ter, based in Canada,

who was re­spon­si­ble for the film’s cult sta­tus. Ge­orge un­der­stood that the stu­dents on the cam­pus of North Amer­i­can uni­ver­si­ties were look­ing for some­thing dif­fer­ent. The op­er­a­tion was re­ferred to as the ‘mid­night cir­cuit’ and Ge­orge sent the heavy 35mm cans of film to as many cine­mas as pos­si­ble in North Amer­ica. It was a bril­liant idea be­cause the other cine­mas in the malls were for old peo­ple who watched Hol­ly­wood block­busters. Live At Pom­peii was not their idea of fun at all.”

In the UK, the film fre­quently went out on a dou­ble bill with Tony Palmer’s short film of Fair­port Con­ven­tion and Matthews’ South­ern Com­fort live in Maid­stone in 1970.

Live At Pom­peii marks clo­sure for the Euro­pean Floyd, be­fore Amer­ica tried to drag them to its breast. It’s noth­ing to do with sta­di­ums, cherry bombs, fire­crack­ers or good times – it’s Floyd, alone at the cra­dle of mod­ern civil­i­sa­tion, mak­ing un­usual, space­fo­cused mu­sic, on the site of one of the great­est nat­u­ral dis­as­ters in his­tory, with the sun and its rays re­flected off the walls and their gong. Pom­peii it­self, and its in­cred­i­ble October light, is in many ways one of the stars of the film. Its majesty, eeri­ness, sense of bro­ken progress, of a civil­i­sa­tion brought

to its knees, suited the Floyd and their au­di­ence’s cos­mic con­scious­ness.

And the band’s look was crys­tallised in that mo­ment: Wa­ters in his black T-shirt with the hair­cut that even­tu­ally ev­ery com­pre­hen­sive school­boy had in the early 70s; Wright with his shirt off, ob­scured by a beard; Gil­mour look­ing like some­one who had just come to life from an Etr­uscan fresco in Pom­peii; and fi­nally, Ma­son, cap­tured in his all-time clas­sic look, all tache and curls, look­ing like David Bed­ford, the con­tem­po­ra­ne­ous UK Olympic long-dis­tance run­ner and the ini­tial in­spi­ra­tion for the 118 TV ad­verts.

What made Live At Pom­peii unique for its time was that you saw all the work­ings of a pop group. The Bea­tles had at­tempted to do this with Let

It Be, wish­ing ini­tially to film their re­hearsals and cul­mi­nate in a gig on an ocean liner or at the pyra­mids, but in­stead end­ing with a down­beat show on their of­fice rooftop.

With Live At Pom­peii, there’s no ar­ti­fice. You can see all the wires and a band at work. This is what makes it so in­trigu­ing.

“The band at work is ex­actly what we wanted to get,” Maben says.

The jux­ta­po­si­tion of their bar­rage of tech­nol­ogy in that an­cient, empty place never ceases to ex­cite. And although the trucks that drive in the equip­ment have dated, as have the play­ers, the rest is timeless.

Live At Pom­peii is never less than vastly in­flu­en­tial, and a cap­ture of beau­ti­ful young men find­ing their feet. But is it, as Gil­mour sug­gests, em­bar­rass­ing? There is, when any­one is pre­sented with footage of their younger selves, an im­me­di­ate in­stinct for one’s toes to curl. Gil­mour spoke of him­self in 2006 as that “young chap”, say­ing, “If I hear him speak, like in Live At Pom­peii, I do find it ex­cru­ci­at­ing, be­cause he was pre­ten­tious and naïve.”

Gil­mour, of course, is never one to look back that of­ten. He added in 2017: “Do­ing the ac­tual record­ing in the am­phithe­atre back then in Pom­peii was great, but we had to turn it into a more in­ter­est­ing doc­u­ment of what was go­ing on. Adrian wanted to make an art film with art and mu­sic in a spe­cial place. So the idea changed a bit and it felt to him and to us that more stuff was needed.”

“They were cu­ri­ous, I think,” Maben says. “They wanted to ex­plore dif­fer­ent av­enues vis­ually and on the mu­sic side. They did the bal­let with Roland Pe­tit. No other rock group that I can think of would have done that at the time.”

Maben was sub­se­quently asked to re­peat his for­mula – Deep Pur­ple at the Taj Ma­hal or The Moody Blues in the Grand Canyon – but the very fact he didn’t helps the film re­tain its unique­ness, and that the Floyd never made another con­ven­tional per­for­mance film in their hey­day keeps it pris­tine. Like the al­bums it pri­mar­ily show­cased, it still re­mains a rite of pas­sage for new gen­er­a­tions of fans ev­ery­where.

Roger Wa­ters was in favour of the film: “I liked it be­cause it’s just a big home movie.”

Although Rick Wright didn’t say a lot on record about Live At Pom­peii, his com­ments in the Paris seg­ment of the film have gone on to be pos­si­bly the most heard of all. “We’re very tol­er­ant with each other, but there are a lot of things un­said as well.”

These words were to open 2014’s

The End­less River, Gil­mour’s coda to Pink Floyd, and trib­ute to Wright.

“I don’t think any of us thought it [Live At Pom­peii] would be as well-re­ceived and last in peo­ple’s minds for as long as it did,” Gil­mour said in 2015. “All credit to him [Maben]. It’s his idea and it was great.”

Per­haps Live At Pom­peii wasn’t that em­bar­rass­ing af­ter all.

Pink Floyd: Live At Pom­peii – The Direc­tor’s Cut is out now on Universal. See­ for more in­for­ma­tion.







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