Back
to Chapter 13
14
Illusion and Reality
Recordings – from wax cylinders to
the most recent innovations. Early recordings – folk music, Caruso,
Chaliapin, Joachim. 78s, LPs, tape, stereo. The dominance of the producer
and engineer – the manipulation of performances. Most music now heard
on recordings.
We are now so used to our senses being
manipulated that we are no longer aware that so much of what we see,
hear and taste is not actually the ‘real thing’. Photographs are ‘doctored’,
sometimes to flatter, or to distort a scene for political reasons,
or to create a vision of something not possible in nature. From the
beginning film has used illusion as a major technique for creating
excitement and amazement by cutting and mixing so that we see events
juxtaposed in a way quite impossible in reality. So much of what we
eat and drink is now adulterated to induce us to eat and drink more
– even its aroma is increased to stimulate our desire – to the advantage
of the manufacturers rather than ourselves. Can we any longer be sure
when listening to music whether what we are hearing is what the artists
actually played or if their performance has been manipulated or ‘enhanced’?
In the last chapter I wrote about
a time when most music was still being played in the presence of those
listening to it. From about 1900 onwards everything began to change.
First to arrive were gramophone recordings, though to begin with they
were not yet generally of a quality to replace the real thing. Then,
with the invention of electric recording and better play-back equipment,
the quality of what could be listened to on a wind-up gramophone improved
considerably. In 1927 the BBC (the British Broadcasting Corporation)
was established (though from 1922 the British Broadcasting Company
had been broadcasting a limited amount of music). At about the same
time, with the coming of the talkies it became impossible to tell
if the music one was hearing was actually being played by the musicians
one saw on the screen or if the music had been recorded by other musicians
and those you saw had only taken part in what used to be called ‘dummy
sessions’ (this work was mainly undertaken by those musicians who
had become redundant because of the demise of the silent films).
In the 1890s recordings had already
become available – there is now a digitally restored wax cylinder
recording of Brahms playing his Hungarian Dance No. 1, made in 1889.
It is only a faint reproduction of that performance, but it does allow
us to make contact with the great man across the years. If one had
a phonograph it was as easy to make one’s own recordings as many years
later everyone was able to do on their cassette recorders. A good
many private recordings from that time still exist including recordings
of Florence Nightingale, Gladstone, Bismarck and, much more widely
known since they have now been issued commercially, the recordings
Lionel Mapleson made clandestinely on wax cylinders at the New York
Metropolitan Opera House in the first years of the 20th century. We
can hear Nellie Melba, Jean de Reszke and Emma Calve and other legendary
artists actually singing to an audience at that time.
Though the sound quality is not up
to present day standards we can listen and enjoy these artists un-edited
or interfered with by a record producer or engineer. No recording,
however accurate, coming out of one or many loudspeakers, however
refined they or the play-back equipment may be, can reproduce what
is heard in the presence of the artists as they perform. We are frequently
told that the recording and the equipment it is played on is so true
that ‘it is like being in the concert hall or opera house’. This disregards
an integral element of a performance: the actual presence of the performer.
All of us know how very different it is being with the person you
are conversing with rather than speaking to that person on the telephone.
But, if we cannot be together, hearing our friend’s voice on the telephone
is very much better than not hearing them at all. This is the wonderful
benefit that recordings and broadcasts now provide. And not only can
we listen to those who are still alive: we can listen to artists sadly
no longer with us.
Thanks to Thomas Edison and Emile
Berliner, it was possible for Béla Bartók, Cecil Sharp,
Vaughan Williams and many others to record folk music, sung and played
by those still part of an aural tradition that was about to die out.
Without recording we would not be able to listen to Enrico Caruso,
Fyodor Shalyapin (Chaliapin), Adelina Patti, or Joseph Joachim, Pablo
Sarasate, Eugene Ysaye and many other artists who recorded during
the first decade of the 20th century. They were all playing and singing
the music of their own time, often having studied with or been directed
by the composers themselves - Verdi, Puccini, Leoncavallo, Tchaikovsky,
Mendelssohn and Brahms.
It is difficult now, a century later,
when far more music is listened to by radio, the Internet and recordings,
to understand the extent of the opposition to recordings from composers,
critics and ‘serious music lovers’ that continued to some extent until
World War II. The belief that it is only when the performers and audience
are in each others presence that real communication and artistic pleasure
can take place and that recordings and broadcasts can never achieve
this was still the view of the eminent critic Frank Howes in the 1920s.
But this was not the main objection
that those imbued with the tradition that had developed during the
19th century when composers and their audiences, especially in Germany
and those countries most influenced by its culture, put their art
on a pedestal of idealism. Composers were then addressing a small,
leisured, educated middle and upper-middle class European audience
and it was this tradition that it was felt would be destroyed by radio
and recordings making music too easily available. They had forgotten
that the truly classical composers such as Mozart had no problem in
composing serenades, dances and marches as well as symphonies and
masses; nor had Schubert and many others.
I think they would be surprised to
find that in 2006, a generation that were down-loading pop music from
the Internet, those they might well have thought of as shallow, apathetic
listeners, the opposite of the ‘serious music lover’, were still flocking
to concerts given by the group Arctic Monkeys, though this group’s
success – they had the fastest-selling debut album ever – was to a
large extent the result of it being first available by downloading
from the Internet
From 1900 until 1923 all recordings
were made acoustically. This involved the artists playing into a large
horn whereby the sounds they made were recorded straight onto a wax
disc. This worked very well for singers and fairly well for instrumental
soloists but was far less good when it came to recording orchestras.
The first problem when recording an orchestra was that only a limited
number of players could get near enough to the recording ‘horn’ to
make any impression. The acoustic method was unable to capture very
high or low notes and made little difference between loud and soft
sounds. In fact often in the early days woodwind and brass instruments
had to be used to replace the strings. The double basses in particular
were so unsatisfactory that they were frequently replaced by a tuba.
Each side of a record only played for about four to four and a half
minutes. For longer compositions suitable breaks had to be found to
allow the record to be turned over so that the music could continue.
Recording standards gradually improved
until in 1923, following the use of microphones in broadcasting, microphones
began to be used in the recording industry. After 1925 it became the
accepted method. This was a great improvement and enabled the successful
recording of orchestral and choral works, though each side of a gramophone
record still remained about four minutes. When making recordings,
whether acoustically or electronically, each four-minute ‘take’ was
a ‘one-off’. There was no editing possible as the wax still used for
recording would be destroyed in the process. If there was any fault
the whole side had to be recorded again. In fact, playing for every
‘take’ was just like playing at a concert, with the added strain that
you were aware that if you made a mistake of any kind you would ruin
whatever had been played up to that point and that it would all have
to be done again.
In 1945, when I was in the LPO and
first took part in some recording sessions with Sir Thomas Beecham,
we recorded the Royal Hunt and Storm from The Trojans
by Berlioz. Sir Thomas and the orchestra tried to recapture the sound
of the performance we would give at a concert when an audience was
present. Whether it was a distinguished conductor such as Beecham,
Bruno Walter, de Sabata, Munch or any other conductor, they would
make all the decisions regarding balance and the overall style of
the recording by going into the recording suite to listen to each
test recording. Their intention was to hear on the recording a reproduction
of the performance they were obtaining in the studio. If they thought
the balance they heard in the recording suite did not accurately reproduce
what they heard in the studio they would have the position of the
microphones (at that time there would be only a few) adjusted until
they achieved the balance they required.. This is how we recorded
Petrushka with Ansermet, about which I wrote in Chapter 10.
For many years there had been experiments
in an attempt to use tape in place of wax so that more than four minutes
music could be recorded in a single ‘take’. In 1936 when the London
Philharmonic Orchestra was on tour in Germany they did a concert in
Ludwigshafen. Unknown to the orchestra, BASF recorded the concert
as an experiment in the use of tape. It was not known to more than
a very few people until many years later, when in 1979 Shirley, Lady
Beecham agreed that two of the items from that concert could be issued,
Mozart’s Symphony 39 and the Suite from Le Coq D’Or by Rimsky-
Korsakov.
Though EMI were using tape to record
the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra from 1948 their records were still
being sold in the 78rpm format with four minutes music on each side.
Fifine at the Fair, by Granville Bantock, which the RPO recorded
with Beecham on tape in 1949, was first issued in the old 78rpm format
and only became available on LP a few years later. In Fifine
there is a very long and demanding cadenza for the clarinet, which
my colleague Jack Brymer played brilliantly. For some reason it was
decided to re-record this section at a separate session without the
rest of the orchestra present and then edit it in. Listening to the
finished recording I cannot tell whether what I am hearing is the
occasion Jack played this demanding cadenza when I was sitting next
to him, or when he recorded it on his own.
In the previous chapter, in the section
Music for Dancing, I referred to the effect that the first
ragtime recordings had on dancers from around 1912. Recordings of
many forms of popular music had been made since the beginning of the
century, many more than of ‘serious’ music. Light music, often played
by brass bands or military bands, music hall songs, and, in America
in particular, banjo solos with early examples of ragtime were all
very popular. Soon military bands playing arrangements of ragtime
were being recorded. From 1917 onwards more and more recordings of
jazz became available and from the 1920s were selling in very large
numbers. When recording jazz, the time limitation of only being able
to record for four minutes imposed by the 78rpm format does not seem
to have been a problem. Nor, when recording Jazz and Dance bands,
largely made up of wind instruments, were there the dynamic problems
that arose when recording orchestral music, with dynamics ranging
from a mere whisper to the loudest fortissimo.
When in the 1930s
I first started to listen to music what I most enjoyed were the dance
bands broadcast by the BBC, such as Henry Hall and
Jack Payne, and the broadcasts from Radio Luxembourg
that we used to listen to at breakfast time. While I was at school,
though I had started learning the clarinet and had begun listening to
orchestral and chamber music, it was the recordings of Duke Ellington,
Count Basie, Louis Armstrong, and especially the two wonderful clarinettists
Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw that excited me most. It was these recordings
and the recordings made by Fritz Kreisler, playing his own compositions,
Stokowski and the Philadelphia Orchestra and the London Philharmonic
conducted by Beecham, and finally the experience of hearing Menuhin
playing the Elgar Violin Concerto, that convinced me that I had to try
to become a musician. Now, 60 years later, I am still inspired by these
marvellous performances captured on record.
In Britain, from about 1918, when
78rpm started to become the standard format, until 1950, whether recorded
acoustically or electrically, on wax or tape, all commercial records
were issued on 78s. Once recording on tape became possible the record
industry abandoned 78s and we were into the era of 33 and 45 rpm records.
This changed everything for everyone who had been involved in making
recordings, especially those of us in the symphony orchestras. The
whole way we approached the performance of music in the recording
studio changed. No longer did we make short, one-off four minute performances,
with all the nervous tension that involved. No performer, whether
a conductor, solo artist or orchestral musician any longer had the
freedom to be spontaneous in the same way as at a concert. Now we
were making a ‘take’, then listening to the playback, doing short
sections to edit anything the producer thought should be done again,
not usually in regard to the interpretation of the music, but because
he didn’t like the balance or the tuning, the ensemble or some other
technical fault he had noticed. As a result performers also became
increasingly concerned about these aspects of their performance.
When making the edits it was essential
that everyone played as nearly as possible as they had done before
(without the faults), but now no longer in the one-off performance
style that had been possible previously. We became increasingly ‘note-getters’,
and more self-conscious. After a while I felt that perhaps if we each
came in and played some scales and arpeggios the producer could put
a record together without us (some years later ‘sampling’ was used
to create some records in just this way). One also lost the sense
of being in charge of one’s own performance because one had no idea
which bits the producer had chosen to use in the compilation of everything
that had been recorded and then included on the final record. In fact,
no one, conductor, soloist or anyone taking part could be absolutely
certain how the final performance had been achieved. Only the producer
and the engineers could be certain. Performers were no longer in control
of the finished product.
Indeed the producer now took on a
responsibility and a role that previously had been enjoyed by conductors
and soloists. In Elisabeth Schwarzkopf’’s compilation of the writings
of Walter Legge and conversations with him On and Off the Record
she quotes him as writing I was the first of what are called
‘Producers’ of records. Before I established myself and my ideas,
the attitude of recording managers of all companies was ‘we are here
in the studio to record as well as we can on wax what the artists
habitually do in the opera house or on the concert platform’. My predecessor,
Fred Gaisberg, told me, ‘We are out to make sound photographs of as
many sides as we can get during each session’. My ideas were different.
It was my aim to make records that would set the standards by which
public performances and the artist of the future would be judged –
to leave behind a large series of examples of the best performances
of my epoch. In fact he wanted to assume responsibility for every
aspect of the recording.
The producer and engineers became
more and more in control of the performance that music lovers could
purchase. Equally important, music lovers themselves were now in charge
of when and where they wished to listen to their chosen music. It
was no longer necessary to make the commitment of being where, when
and at what time the artists were performing; they also had the power
to change the dynamic, making the loudest fortissimo as soft as a
whisper and the quietest murmur loud enough to bring the house down.
Later, with the arrival of the inexpensive
tape player and then the tape recorder, the listener’s control was
extended. Having selected the music they wanted to record, either
off-air or from a commercial recording, it became easy to cut out
any sections found tedious or less enjoyable, just by fast forwarding
or editing out. On the other hand, if a particularly lovely few bars
found favour they could be replayed as often as was desired. With
the tape recorder it became possible for anyone to compile their own
selection of music by re-recording just those passages they wished
to hear. The commercial broadcasting and recording companies then
decided to save each listener from having to do this themselves by
producing compilations that did it far better than any individual
could. Now, over 50 years after the introduction of tape, everyone
can make their own CDs and DVDs of music of their choice from any
source – radio, TV, the Internet, commercial CDs or any other format.
However, all that still lay in the
future. To return to the 1950s, the era of Walter Legge at EMI and
John Culshaw at Decca, when the ability to edit soon led to this facility
being used to remedy the shortcomings in a performer’s ability or
flaws in a performance. The recording was no longer a memento of a
concert. It had established an independent life of its own. When I
was first involved in playing for recording, from 1944, we tried to
recreate in the studio as nearly as possible what took place at a
concert performance. As record sales increased it was not long before
the concert performance began to try to recreate what could be heard
on recordings. A far more powerful tyrant than any conductor had now
arisen – the record producer and his accomplices the engineers.
In 1952, only a couple of years after
the introduction of recording on tape, Kirsten Flagstad was taking
part in a recording of Tristan und Isolde by Richard Wagner,
with the Philharmonia conducted by Wilhelm Furtwangler. The ageing
Flagstad was having difficulty with a couple of top Cs. It was agreed,
with Flagstad’s consent, that Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, then a young
woman, should sing these two high notes and that they be edited into
the master tape. Later, knowledge of this device leaked out. Naturally
Flagstad was furious, and though the recording was very successful
she refused to record again for that company.
There have been a good many occasions
when for various reasons similar editing devices have been used. I
have taken part in a number of recordings where a singer or instrumentalist
has been ‘helped out’ with the use of editing. When the great Russian
ballerina Galina Ulanova was dancing in Giselle at the Royal Opera
House with the Bolshoi Company the performance was filmed. At one
place in the film the camera moves in to a close up of Ulanova and
as it does it was felt that the clarinet solo at that point, as played
in the orchestra pit, sounded too distant. There was no fault in the
way the ROH orchestra clarinettist had played, but it was decided
to re-record about eight or twelve bars in the studio. I went into
the studio with a few string players and played the solo. It was then
edited onto the sound track and a patina of sound, similar to that
on the rest of the performance was added to disguise the clinical
studio sound. This was not the only time I took part in additions
of this kind.
Recordings of public performances
of concerts and opera have routinely been the product of what was
decided were the ‘best’ parts of the several performances by the same
artists, and on occasion short sections have been added later in the
studio when it has not been possible to find a patch from any of the
‘live’ performances. While the performance is being recorded ‘on-site’,
during the concert, the producer is able to manipulate the microphones
so as to achieve the instrumental balance he thinks best. What those
listening at home on their record players will hear may be different
to what the audience at the concert heard.
There have been occasions when snippets
from another recording of the same work, recorded by other artists,
have been inserted in an effort to achieve the ‘perfect’ recording.
A known occasion was when this was done to a recording Sergiu Celibidache
had made. It was only after the recording had been issued that his
keen ear detected something not quite as he had heard it at the time
he had made the recording. There have been other occasions, known
only to a few insiders.
With the coming of the long playing
record music lovers at last had the great advantage of being able
to listen to a whole concerto or symphony without having to get up
every four minutes to turn the record over or put another one on.
I have quite recently tried to listen to some old 78s that I have
of Casals playing the Bach unaccompanied cello sonatas. I found it
impossible to tolerate the constant interruptions to the music and
having to change the record so often. It was difficult to understand
how we had found this perfectly acceptable years ago.
As time went by increasingly sophisticated
techniques were employed. Multi-tracking allowed the use of separate
microphones for each section of the orchestra and even for each instrument.
One might have played one’s part forte and yet find on playback,
because another part of the score has been made more audible, one
might as well have not played at all. Multi-tracking enabled us to
record an opera at a time when because of other engagements one of
the singers was not available. We would complete the recording with
that part missing. At a later date the missing artist would record
the part on their own and it would be edited in. On occasion this
might even be done in another country.
Performances could now be enhanced
by the use of echo chambers and added ambience. As the engineers and
producers gained more and more control acoustic screens were placed
between sections of the orchestra thereby enabling the balance between
them to be ‘managed’, not in the studio but in the control room. With
smaller groups of musicians, especially when providing backing to
pop groups and individual artists, the musicians would often be so
separated that they were unable to hear each other except by using
headphones.
The next development was the introduction
of stereo recordings in 1958. We had been recording in stereo from
1954 though the recordings had still been issued in mono. Later they
were re-issued in stereo. In fact Alan Blumlein, a remarkable British
inventor, also responsible for developing radar, had already demonstrated
the possibilities of stereo many years previously. In 1935, as a test,
Sir Thomas Beecham was recorded in stereo rehearsing Mozart’s Jupiter
Symphony. It was not until years later with the advent of tape
recording that the use of stereo became practical.
The coming of stereo was good news
for musicians as it meant the repertoire had to be recorded again
in this new format creating a great deal more employment. After a
time quadraphonic and then ‘all-round’ sound was introduced. The record
companies and the manufacturers of play-back equipment have constantly
made attempts to convince us that listening in the comfort of our
own home to recordings can be ‘as if you are in the concert hall’.
These devices and the Compact Disc, which arrived in the 1990s, are
really only the sonic equivalents of The Emperor’s New Clothes. A
visit to any concert hall immediately makes it clear that however
improved the sound coming out of one or many loudspeakers may be,
it can never be ‘the real thing’.
However, this is how most music is
now heard. A very large number of music lovers do not live near enough
to a concert hall and for a great many more the cost for a husband
and wife to attend a public performance is too costly. A survey, in
which I was involved some years ago, showed that even those fortunate
enough to be able to afford frequent visits to the Royal Opera House
were still listening to far more music on recordings and broadcasts
than in the opera house or concert hall.
From 1930 onwards the broadcasting
of music by the BBC – not just symphony orchestras, but opera, chamber
music, solo instrumental and vocal music and a great deal of so-called
light music – brought music into the lives of far more people than
ever before. The broadcasts by the BBC’s own orchestras as well as
relays from public concerts, opera performances and studio broadcasts
by the London and Regional Orchestras, the LPO, LSO, the Hallé
and other orchestras and groups from around the country had created
a large audience for this music. Commercial recordings made by artists
and orchestras from all over the world were also broadcast. I believe
it was this new audience, created by broadcasting, that during and
after WW2 filled so many concert halls to capacity.
My family only had a handful of records
which we played very occasionally – we still had to re-wind the gramophone
after each record was played. Listening to the radio, the ‘wireless’
as we called it then, to the studio broadcasts from the BBC and the
commercial records they and Radio Luxembourg broadcast was how I heard
most music when I was still at school and music college.
It was not only in the commercial
recording studios that it became necessary for musicians to adapt
to new technologies. From 1927, when my father broadcast regularly
in the famous BBC Military Band, now completely forgotten, and for
all the years he was in the BBC Symphony Orchestra, taking part in
studio performances that were to be broadcast was similar to playing
at a performance in a concert hall, what is now usually called a ‘live’
performance. When in 1943 I began playing for broadcast performances,
whether in the BBC studios at Maida Vale, or when public concerts
I was taking part in were transmitted as relays, nothing had changed.
Whenever and whatever you played, when the red light was on in the
studio, was broadcast, faults and all. It was impossible to stop,
replay, or edit anything.
There was one occasion when the BBC
were attempting to broadcast a simulation of a Victorian soirée,
with a tenor singing some ballads and a small section of the BBC Symphony
Orchestra impersonating a Salon Orchestra accompanying him. At the
rehearsal the orchestra was asked by the producer to applaud discreetly
after each item. Unfortunately, my father, though an outstanding player
and a charming and amusing man, was not always as attentive as might
be desired. He had not heard this request from the producer during
the rehearsal so that when he heard the applause at the broadcast
he responded, without thinking, by making one of those exceedingly
loud ‘wolf-whistles’ made by putting two fingers in one’s mouth and
blowing very hard. Being a ‘live’ broadcast it just went out over
the air, no doubt giving a number of middle class music lovers something
of a surprise. It was still possible in the 1930s, when very good
players were much thinner on the ground than they are now, for him
to get away with it. A musician today would not risk anything like
that. There are far too many very good players waiting to take his
or her place.
On another broadcast, a piece was
being played that starts with the main tune played by an unaccompanied
clarinet. This piece had been written for the A clarinet. Unfortunately
the clarinettist on this occasion played it on his Bb clarinet. When
the rest of the orchestra came in it was quite impossible to continue.
The conductor had to stop the orchestra, the embarrassed clarinettist
had to quickly change to his A clarinet and start again. Ever since
it became possible to record everything before it is broadcast, musicians
and listeners have been spared these catastrophes.
Until the ability to record on tape
arrived, relays of public concerts had to be broadcast as they occurred.
There were no deferred relays nor was it possible to replay broadcasts
weeks, months or even, as frequently occurs now, years later. In the
case of performances that are thought to have been particularly fine
or of historical interest, the BBC can, and now does, issue them as
recordings on CD.
We had been recording on tape since
1948, though we, the musicians in the recording studio were not aware
of this until the recordings made at that time were re-issued on Long-play,
33rpm records after 1950. However, we were not the first. In 1947
in America, Bing Crosby had already started to record his popular
programmes on tape.
Since the 1950s the BBC has routinely
pre-recorded broadcasts of music so that for many years it has only
been occasionally that studio broadcasts of music have not been pre-recorded.
To begin with it was agreed that each piece would be played without
a break and, if possible, the whole programme would be recorded in
this way, unless there was a technical failure in the recording equipment
or events such as I have written about above were to occur. Then,
wanting to broadcast the best performance, items were more and more
being recorded again and again until the producer felt he had a performance
that satisfied him. By about 1958 playing for broadcasting had become
increasingly like doing a commercial recording session. The major
drawback, as far as musicians were concerned, was that the fee for
a broadcast was considerably less than for a recording session. The
musicians involved in broadcasting became increasingly unhappy and
insisted that the Musicians’ Union inform the BBC that a larger fee
was required. After protracted negotiations it was agreed that there
should be what were called ‘rehearse/record sessions with an increased
fee.
The next request from the BBC was
that they should be allowed to put together a few items from a number
of programmes, recorded for broadcasting by several different bands
and orchestras, and thereby create a single composite much more varied
programme. Items recorded by the BBC Concert Orchestra might be interspersed
with items recorded by some of the many small orchestras then broadcasting
regularly: Sid Bowman and the Promenade Players, Philip Green and
his Concert Orchestra, Monia Liter and the 20th Century Serenaders,
The Studio Players, Troise and his Continental Orchestra, The Bob
Farnon Orchestra, Louis Voss and the Kursall Orchestra. Three or four
of these groups would be selected, or one of the many other groups
broadcasting at that time, and they would be made up into a half-hour
programme. Each of these groups would have recorded a half-hour programme
so that the BBC would be able to mix and match them into a great many
programmes.
Programmes that had previously been
recorded by individual groups were now being made into something much
more like the programmes of commercial recordings that had become
popular. It was natural that the BBC should then want to include commercial
recordings in with all the orchestras the BBC had recorded themselves.
Unfortunately, the commercial recording had been recorded with superior
equipment and only 15 or 20 minutes music will have been recorded
in a three hour session, whilst the BBC will have recorded double
that amount of music in the same length of time. The difference in
quality showed rather too clearly and it was not too long before the
pattern of broadcast music changed. Strange as it may seem now, listeners
had in the past made a point of listening to their chosen light orchestras.
Now all these groups had become much more anonymous. What had been,
even though only at a distance, an audience listening to an identifiable
group of performers had turned into muzak.
Now the majority of music of every
kind is heard either on recordings, broadcasts, the Internet or some
other format. In whatever format illusion often replaces reality.
Chapter
15
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