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To be honest, listening to this recording maddens me. Therefore I shan’t describe or try to review any of the bloody music for once as I’ll have a fit and turn purple. Rather, let’s talk about the peripheral stuff for a change, because, just for this once, you can describe a CD by its cover. Condon treats the whole Central/Eastern/Balkan/Russian Europe thang like a huge tray of exotic chocolates, a giant dressing up box in which to indulge his vague, ill-formed fantasies.
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