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Barbican rehearsal rooms. Sunday. Early December. Gray outside. Roads, not much moving. It's still early. People come drifting in. With drums. Every kind of drum. Every size. Every tone. Inside, some massive, and I mean crazy huge, drums are set up. Yaron gets things going. Fast. No faffing about. Rhythms on sheets, beats and tunes are riffed and shared and learned, in turbo time. The energy is off the scale, immediately. The music director Yaron is literally bouncing off walls, chairs, people and drums. He shoutsings, don't know what else to call it. It's electric. It's very Israeli: utterly precise and pinpointed, and, at the same time, loosely, inspirationally, creatively wild. Beautifully unhinged..

Survivor

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