ICYMI: Some Posts from The Beer Geeks TV show blog

On Craft Beer in Chicago


On Saisons


On Beer Lists, or at least ones that are not generated by Paste.


On the Big Apple Beer Renaissance


On Diversity in the Craft Beer World


On The Grimm’s, everyone’s favorite husband wife duo Award Winning Gypsy Brewers



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Archives: At WSJ on LIberty Ellman

A great guitarist steps to the forefront


‘Radiate’ Review: A Jazz Guitarist Moves From Follower to Leader

On his latest album, ‘Radiate,’ the distinctive guitarist Liberty Ellman is helping define post-millennial jazz

Liberty Ellman’s most recent recording is ‘Radiate.’ ENLARGE
Liberty Ellman’s most recent recording is ‘Radiate.’ Photo: Alan Nahigian

Liberty Ellman is one of the most distinctive guitarists in jazz, but he has mostly employed his unique sound in the service of other bands. He has played with Vijay Iyer, Joe Lovano, Rudresh Mahanthappa, Myra Melford, Greg Osby, Wadada Leo Smith and Somi; also, the guitarist is Henry Threadgill’s right-hand man in his band Zooid. In addition, he has become an in-demand mixing engineer, working on projects by Steve Coleman, Gregory Porter, Tyshawn Sorey and several others. Mr. Ellman’s stunning recent recording “Radiate” (Pi Recordings) is his first as a leader in nine years, and on Thursday, he will perform at Cornelia Street Cafe in New York.

“Radiate” features a formidable collection of leading young voices in jazz. Mr. Ellman leads a sextet with saxophonist Steve Lehman, trumpeter Jonathan Finlayson, tubaist and trombonist Jose Davila, bassist Stephan Crump and drummer Damion Reid. His compositions bear some trademarks of Mr. Threadgill and his other employers, but the music is eclectic and unique. Lots of new jazz recordings reflect or comment on the genre’s glorious past, but “Radiate” feels very much of its moment.

Mr. Ellman’s eight compositions on “Radiate” bristle with energy and innovation. There are a handful of contemporary jazz bands that use a tuba as a timekeeper, but very few that use both tuba and bass. This results in rhythms that are nimble yet firm as Messrs. Davila, Crump and Reid play off of one another’s lines. The solos from the horns are pithy and concise. Mr. Lehman has a pungent, gritty tone that contrasts nicely with Mr. Finlayson’s lean, elegant tones. Mr. Ellman’s solos have a clean, fluid sound and his lithe lines almost dance between the complex rhythms and unique harmonies. The instrumentation results in an unusual sound, but Mr. Ellman’s music offers tensions and resolutions that any avid music fan will find familiar.

The recording’s first track, “Supercell,” begins with a catchy unaccompanied tuba line. Then the other instruments enter, yielding a complex weave that is clarified by Mr. Ellman’s solo, highlighted by tight rhythmic figures. It is followed by a potent saxophone feature from Mr. Lehman. “Furthermore” is a softer, more relaxed piece that illustrates the gorgeous textures that this band is capable of producing. “Rhinocerisms” is the centerpiece of the recording, a winding midtempo piece that features Mr. Ellman’s most compelling solo, fleet at times yet slowing to a wonderful counterpoint with Mr. Reid. This duo also stands out on the album’s final track, the percussive “Enigmatic Runner.”

Mr. Ellman, who is 44, was born in London and grew up in New York and Northern California. He got his start professionally in the Bay Area scene, where he played with Messrs. Iyer and Mahanthappa as well as the rap groups the Coup and Midnight Voices. Via those experiences he became involved with the M-Base Collective, a crew of jazz musicians who devised innovative rhythms and harmonies. He moved back to New York in 1998 and recorded twice as a leader, on “Tactiles” (Pi, 2003) and “Ophiuchus Butterfly” (Pi, 2006), before his other activities began to dominate his agenda.

For most of this century, jazz has been led by piano players, and it’s not hard to hear why. They function as a chordal or a rhythmic instrument with equal ease. In the past few years guitarists have moved to the forefront, offering the same versatility. With this recording, Mr. Ellman solidifies his place alongside Mary Halvorson, Rez Abbasi, Lage Lund, Ben Monder, Jeff Parker, Steve Cardenas, Charlie Hunter and Brandon Ross—guitarists who are defining post-millennial jazz. Now if only they had a hashtag for their sound.

Mr. Johnson writes about jazz for the Journal.

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Archives: At WSJ on the Chicago Jazz Festival

For the record, other great sets were turned in by Craig Taborn and Ryan Schultz.  And it was really remarkable the way that Chicagoans treated experimental jazz as just another phase of the music.


Celebrating Sonic Experimentation at the Chicago Jazz Festival
While jazz heads usually debate about East vs. West Coast, a festival asks, why not the Windy City?
George Freeman performing at the 37th Chicago Jazz Festival. ENLARGE
George Freeman performing at the 37th Chicago Jazz Festival. Photo: Lauren Deutsch
By Martin Johnson
Sept. 8, 2015 6:16 p.m. ET


The 37th Chicago Jazz Festival concluded Sunday night at Millennium Park with a rare performance by the Experimental Band led by pianist Muhal Richard Abrams, and in its four-day run the annual event highlighted and reinforced several important trends in jazz.

The festival celebrated the 50th anniversary of the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians, a group formed by Mr. Abrams and three other composers to nurture the ideas of and offer performances by local musicians whose interests extended beyond the jazz mainstream. The organization quickly grew into an international phenomenon, and key members like Mr. Abrams, saxophonist Henry Threadgill, trumpeter Wadada Leo Smith, the members of the Art Ensemble of Chicago, and others became recognized both in jazz and contemporary classical music. The group stressed an inclusive approach. The Art Ensemble’s motto was “great black music from the ancient to the future,” and its repertoire included homages to jazz greats Miles Davis and Charles Mingus, two devout critics of the genre’s avant garde.

Many early members of the AACM relocated to New York, and a local chapter developed there. But in the past few years many stellar musicians have either stayed in Chicago or moved to other cities like Los Angeles. New York’s prohibitive costs are helping to create an increasingly decentralized jazz scene. There are impressive communities of musicians in San Francisco, Los Angeles and Chicago, and while none of those cities yet rival New York for prominence, frequent-flier miles rather than subway MetroCards are now required to take in the best in American jazz.

The Chicago scene is growing. In addition to the festival, which takes place downtown, there is an exceptional artist-run space, Constellation, on the North Side; on the South Side, the Hyde Park Jazz Festival, which is later this month, showcases both local and nationally renowned performers. The music program at DePaul University has become an incubator for leading jazz performers.

With concerts starting at noon and lasting until late in the evening each night, there was a lot of interesting music at the Chicago Jazz Festival, much of it by local musicians. For instance, on the first afternoon of the festival, one highlight was the set by the James Davis group Beveled, a sextet with the unique front line of two flugelhorns, two bass clarinets, bass and drums. They performed in the domed space atop the Chicago Cultural Center (a building across the street from Millennium Park), and the setting allowed the watercolor sonics of the flugelhorns to mesh with the low rumble of the bass clarinets with great clarity. On Saturday, in one of the tents set up in the park, bassist Jason Roebke led an octet that roared through tricky compositions with great ease. One of Sunday afternoon’s best performances came from some of the youngest musicians at the festival, the Kenwood High School Jazz Ensemble. The orchestra of teenagers deftly tackled the complex yet accessible work of AACM composers Edward Wilkerson and Douglas Ewart.

A Saturday highlight was Mr. Ewart and his group Inventions, as they wove poetry into a reggae-tinged adaptation of Ornette Coleman’s classic “Lonely Woman.” Saxophonist Chico Freeman, the son of local jazz great Von Freeman (1923-2012), returned to the city with his Chicago Project, a band that featured members of his father’s band and his uncle George Freeman, a spry 88-year-old guitarist who once played with Charlie Parker.

The festival was ambitiously programmed: Not only is experimental jazz rarely heard at free events that attract thousands of people (the Jay Pritzker Pavilion, the festival’s primary outdoor venue, has an 11,000-person capacity) but many of the best jazz acts are designed for intimate spaces. Yet several acts filled the large space admirably. Guitarist Jeff Parker, an AACM member who relocated to Los Angeles a few years ago, presented a superb trio with bassist Chris Lopes and drummer Chad Taylor. Mr. Taylor’s nimble, insistent rhythms, Mr. Lopes’s big woody sound and Mr. Parker’s pungent ringing tone captivated the large crowd. Vocalist Cyrille Aimée led a gypsy-influenced quartet that offered fascinating spins on the work of Jim Morrison and Michael Jackson.

By Sunday evening it seemed entirely appropriate that the festival would close with the Experimental Band, a group that led to the formation of the AACM. The band featured several leading figures, including Mr. Threadgill and Mr. Smith, saxophonist Roscoe Mitchell, pianist Amina Claudine Myers and percussionists Thurman Barker and Reggie Nicholson. They played an hourlong piece written by Mr. Abrams for the event, and it was serene; innovative harmonies in the ensemble sections contrasted with pithy, winding solo and duo sections. It concluded four days of music that showed that Chicago’s jazz scene is still a hotbed of experimentation and that some of the pioneers of that sound are still on the cutting edge.

Mr. Johnson writes about jazz for the Journal.

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Archives: At The Root on the new Black Panthers movie


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The Four Oh Project: Joni Mitchell’s The Hissing of Summer Lawns


In 1975, I was 15 and while much of that year was unique to my experience and location, I did one thing that a lot of 15 year olds did during the ’70s: I wore out copies of vinyl records playing them over and over again. The Four Oh Project looks back at some of those records in that light, looks at them as I aged, and looks at them now.

Released in November 1975, The Hissing of Summer Lawns was Joni Mitchell’s seventh studio recording and eighth disc over all. It was one of her most controversial releases too. Prince and Morrissey both cited the recording as a cornerstone influence, but Rolling Stone’s review in January 1976 lambasted the music as insubstantial and pretentiously chic.

I’m much closer to the musicians than the magazine in my opinion of the recording, but I think that in late 1975, how a person received The Hissing of Summer Lawns depended on when you joined the Joni Mitchell Party. I became a card carrying member less than two years earlier, in January 1974 upon the release of Court and Spark. To that point I already knew of Mitchell as the songwriter of “Clouds” as Judy Collins version was in heavy rotation on the Johnson household playlist, and I knew her sweet, crystalline soprano from the minor pop hit “You Turn Me On, I’m a Radio” from her November 1972 release For the Roses. I borrowed a copy of the album from my sister and recorded it, but its grandiose ambition eluded my adolescent ears.

What’s missing from this timeline is Blue, Joni’s June 1971 opus, the gold standard then and still for spare, poetic introspection. I didn’t explore that music until I was much older, say 17, which is if you don’t remember much older than 15. For those who cherished the Mitchell of Blue, For the Roses must have seemed like a departure, and Court and Spark, a pop ditty. To this way of thinking Hissing represented a betrayal. It was the final proof that Blue Joni didn’t live here anymore. She’d gone to the city, first to Los Angeles and fallen in with a jazz fusion band, Tom Scott and L.A. Express who often provided her with solid backing. Then she’d gone to New York and her music had become more experimental. There were African drums on one track, gospel structure on another.  Furthermore, while she was still looking for love in all the wrong places and philosophically parsing the results, Mitchell’s focus had turned outward with the same pith that she had employed in her inward views. Some fans of Blue may well have been targets of her withering gaze on Hissing. Small wonder it failed to sell half of what Court and Spark did. Joni’s relentless sonic wanderlust had become her equivalent of Dylan plugging in at Newport in 1965. She no longer wanted a “river that she could skate away on.” She wanted a seat at the cafe, or at the bar and she chronicled what she saw with a ferocity that would make Gawker or Deadspin envious.

I had loved Court and Spark passionately. The Johnson family apartment in Chicago had a kitchen table and in the late 60s and early ’70s, it seemed to me that at all times of day or night, you could find a discussion amongst my siblings, each a decade or more my senior, their friends or various aunts, uncles and neighbors about Mayor Daley, Vietnam, Watergate, or many other issues of the day. Joni’s observations were to me the poetic equivalent of what I heard at the table. “All the people at this party/They’ve got a lot of style/they’ve got stamps of many countries/they’ve got passport smiles” starts off “People’s Parties. It was impossible for even teenaged Martin not to pick up on the separation and order between stamps of many countries, IOW, pretention, then travel. Similarly when elsewhere on the recording, she sings. “everything comes and goes/marked by lovers and styles of clothes,” I thought she had described my elders lives to a T.

To my teenaged ears, The Hissing of Summer Lawns was a continuation of what Court and Spark represented, but it was much more adventurous musically. Although it started with the radio friendly “In France They Kiss on Main St.,” a song that could have been part of a larger piece with Court and Spark’s “Free Man in Paris,” it shifts into high gear with “The Jungle Line,” a piece sung over Burundian drummers. It imagines Henri Rousseau as a nightcrawler and describes the scene through his eyes. I always loved the couplet, “Floating, Drifting on the air conditioned wind/and drooling for a taste of something smuggled in.”

Whereas the characters in the songs on Court and Spark seemed caught in their own individual anomie, those in Hissing fell into categories. Either they were walking a financial or societal tightrope or they were recoiling from the frustrations from the fact that their dreams didn’t deliver. That’s the scenario in the album’s best tune, “Harry’s House/Centerpiece.” The song begins with cinematic vistas,

Heatwaves on the runway
As the wheels set down
He takes his baggage off the carousel
He takes a taxi into town
Yellow schools of taxi fishes
Jonah in a ticking whale
Caught up at the light in the fishnet windows
Of Bloomingdale’s
Watching those high fashion girls
Skinny black models with raven curls
Beauty parlor blondes with credit card eyes
Looking for the chic and the fancy to buy

The scene shifts from the protagonists traveling to him at work, where

A helicopter lands on the Pan Am roof
Like a dragonfly on a tomb
And business men in button downs
Press into conference rooms
Battalions of paper minded males
Talking commodities and sales
While at home their paper wives
And paper kids
Paper the walls to keep their gut reactions hid

And with that the song segues into a rendition of the Jon Hendricks/Harry Sweets Edison tune Centerpiece replete with a jazz arrangement that recalls Lambert Hendricks and Ross (Joni covered Annie Ross’s Twisted on Court and Spark), the song sets up the frustration behind the pictures. And as Centerpiece fades, Harry’s House returns from the wife’s point of view.

Shining hair and shining skin
Shining as she reeled him in
To tell him like she did today
Just what he could do with Harry’s House
And Harry’s take home pay

These are the moments; people who thought they had a six lane highway and instead have much less leeway and they are weary of it. Hissing is chock full of observations about those sorts. The nuclear family dream of the 50s did not adapt well to the ’70s and Joni chronicles its failures in glorious detail.

In the credits, Joni mentioned that she considered the album to be more of a suite, a series of connected songs, and taken together the recording feels like one big rebuke to Burt Bachrach’s “Wives and Lovers.” Mitchell wasn’t a Joni come lately to jazz–as it was often assumed in the music press–she had been a fan since her teens if not before, so it’s likely that she knew both “Centerpiece” and “Wives and Lovers” from her formative years.  The reocrding is a takedown of the promise of domestic bliss and Joni clubs it to death with vigor. After all, she rightly felt that some of her artistic merit was overlooked by the music press who only wanted to gossip about her latest fella.

Some of the social critique probably eluded the fifteen year old me, even if I was up on some feminist reading and thus totally got the wife’s discontent in Harry’s House/Centerpiece. What affected me more on the record was its unique sound. Mid ’70s Joni more than anyone other than Steely Dan of the same era told me that my record collection was okay. It was okay to like jazz. I had relatives and classmates who unhesitatingly called me Uncle Tom for liking music that wasn’t in their rotation, stuff like Duke Ellington and Miles Davis. Going further out by liking Joni, and Neil Young, and Steely Dan got me beatdowns. Teenagers are always so enlightened. Even 40 years later, it still seems so weird; I was heavily into Gil Scott Heron, and my tormentors had no clue who he was.

By November 1975, I was looking to escape. We had moved to Dallas from my native Chicago in the summer of 1974, and I initially assumed that I’d return to the Windy City for college and stay. However, a new locale, New York City, had begun to exert a powerful lure and Hissing enhanced it substantially. Downtown cool (“The Boho Dance”) midtown bustle (“Harry’s House”), uptown affluence (“Shades of Scarlett Conquering”) and suburban discontent (the title track) were all detailed with Joni’s poetic observations. Along with Becker and Fagen, television shows like “Kojak,” and a handful of others (including a singer/songwriter from Long Island who hadn’t enjoyed his breakthrough yet, but his “New York State of Mind,” enraptured me), a body of work emerged in my life that began to attract me toward Gotham.

On the one hand, I’m a little surprised that Hissing hasn’t aged very well; it’s essentially neglected while other Mitchell recordings of that period have not been. Hejira, the recording that followed it in 1976 is regarded by many as a classic. And perhaps due to Bjork’s endorsement, Mitchell’s 1977 release, Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter, often seems on the verge of a critical reconsideration; Stereogum named it the sixth best Mitchell recording in a 2013 survey of her work. On the other hand, that sound—the sumptuous veneer of her pop jazz–is gone. Joni abandoned it in the early ’80s; Sade picked it up for her first four records but she too dropped it with 1992’s Love Deluxe. 1992 was a long time ago.

What’s resulted is that The Hissing of Summer Lawns is a recording stuck in its time. People who embraced it then still cherish now, but there’s no easy road into this innovative music for those new to this phase of a great artist.

Martin Johnson writes about jazz for the Wall St. Journal, sports for Slate, beer for Eater and a wide range of topics for The Root.  His work has also appeared in the New York Times, New York magazine, Vogue, Rolling Stone, Newsday four books and dozens of websites. 

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By Jove, I Think He’s Got It!!


With the Chicago Cubs surging toward the playoffs in part due to the play of four rookies, Third Baseman Kris Bryant, Shortstop Addison Russell and Outfielders Kyle Schwarber and Jorge Soler, it’s easy to forget that there’s more talent in the high minors that may help the stretch drive.

Infielder Javier Baez, a top 10 prospect by nearly all judging, spent two months in the big leagues last season and he looked well, raw. He hit a home run in his first game, and in his first home game, but otherwise, he struck out a lot as in A LOT. 95K’s in 229 plate appearances, or 43.3% of the time. It often seemed as if he was swinging at balls that were closer to the On Deck Circle than the plate.

The saving grace was that Baez was only 21 at the time, young for a major leaguer. He has spent 2015 back in AAA ball, and it’s been an up and down year. He missed the first few weeks of the season due to a death in the family, Then upon his return he broke a bone in his hand and missed more time. But looky here, his last 10 games Baez has amassed 45 plate appearances and only nine strikeouts, and this plate discipline is trending. He hasn’t struck out in any of last three games. During this time he’s hitting .462, yes, I said .462, 19 hits in 42 at bats, two dingers, three walks, three stolen bases, and yes, only nine strikeouts. The nice thing is that it rings true to his season. In 63 games his slash line is an impressive .315/.383/.542 in 283 plate appearances he has struck out only 70 times or 24.7% of the time. Just for comparison, last season he struck out 30% of the time in AAA.

I think he’s getting this plate discipline thing figured out.

Cubs GM Jed Hoyer has said that they’ll bring Baez up only case of urgent need. With the team winning so much, there may not be an urgent need, but a middle infielder with .925 OPS and a rapidly declining strike out rate might create his own urgency.

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Yeah, She’s Naked. Get Over It

A coupla months ago, I got together with an old friend from college. It was a friend I hung out with often in school and frequently after, but I hadn’t seen him in probably 20 years. He fell off the radar shortly after getting married. He’d moved to Delaware and now lived in Florida.

As is often the case with old friends, within a few minutes we were talking amiably and enthusiastically as if we’d traded email last week. When I mentioned my eagerness to get back in shape, he fondly recalled that I used to wear a variety of yoga pants (they were called running tights back then) and unitards as casual fashion. I reached for my phone and showed him a photo from 2002 of me in a Jean Paul Gaultier catsuit. I’m quite proud of it as it documents me at my most fit, flamboyant and fashionable. We chatted about the suit for a bit, then he decided to scroll through my photo gallery.

This surprised me, but I’m new to smartphone ettiquette. I quickly told him the rest of the gallery was of the women who inspire me toward my fitness goals or in general inspire me due to their poise and athleticism.

The first picture was of a woman bodypainted head to toe in a design that looks like a purple floral zentai with artful seams walking down Duval Street in Key West during Fantasy Fest in 2004. A woman is chatting with her and both are grinning, painted woman graciously and the other woman looks almost intoxicated by painted woman’s presence. I know I always am; she’s nude amid thousands of clothed people, many of them have been drinking for hours, yet her presence is well, charming. And why not, she’s just won the body paint competition. The picture holds consistent interest for me as the men in the picture always look constipated to me, as if they can’t quite wrap their minds around what’s going on, when to me it’s obvious, this woman overcame her inhibitions and in a very generous way is sharing that triumph. Why not identify with her rather than sulk over the fact that you can’t have sex with her?

Maybe it’s because I live in New York City or maybe its because I lived in Dallas in the ’70s when women responded to the Texas heat by wearing as little as possible, but I’m keenly aware that I’m actually going to make it with a very small fraction of 1% of the women I find interesting and attractive, so I better find other avenues to appreciate their virtues. I was taught to learn from the strengths of others around you, and as a basically shy guy, I’m always moved by those who triumph over their inhibitions. It’s something I work at every day (and occasionally succeed as in that photo of me in the Gaultier catsuit),

I looked at my friend, and to my slight chagrin, he had the same constipated look as the men in the photo. He moved on to the next picture and his constipation turned to utter bewilderment. Purple woman has asked me not to share her photos but I have permission to share the next few. It is of a bondage art piece called Double Straddled and features the model Wenona, the model/rigger Maria Shadoes and the rigger Lew Rubens. To me, it’s one of the most amazing pieces of rope artistry ever created.




Your eyes do not deceive you. Wenona, who is on the left in the first two photos, and Maria have their legs in a Chinese split and each is bound to a bamboo pole. In my days of devout yoga practice, four or five classes a week, I could get pretty close to doing a regular split, but I never got my legs much more than 120 degrees on a side split. These ladies are at almost180 and bound! In addition, the arm position is extreme, and to be elevated puts even more strain on the body. Maria conceived the pose and she and Lew did it singly before they befriended Wenona for this 2005 shoot. I corresponded with Rubens who told me that the bind lasted about an hour in terms getting the women in rope, elevating, photographing, lowering and untying. That’s an amazing feat of athleticism and endurance.

I explained this to my friend; he nodded, but his expression remained unchanged. He pushed the phone back to me saying he grasped all that, but he said with an expression bordering on a snarl, “why were they naked?”

My friend is no prude, so this initially caught me off guard (the Groucho Marx in me wanted to point out that Lew was wearing clothes but I refrained). I started to explain that the rope marks are part of the photographic aim, and I also began to wonder what sort of outfits he expected. Then I realized his reaction was consistent with his response to Purple Woman. He was probably put off by the fact that Wenona, Maria and Purple Lady were nude without any implicit attention to the arousal he might feel. In other words, they were/are hard to objectify, but that’s kind of wonderful. Very few people like being objectified and instead there are much richer possibilities from recognizing a woman’s sexiness as one of *many* admirable traits about her.

Then I realized that that might be a mouthful for a casual conversation that was on its third beer, so we switched to updating each other on college pals and left it at that. But my rant stuck in my craw, so I put it out here.

In general, I think a woman whether nude in front of a camera or full dressed on the street briefcase in hand has her own agenda first. I like head strong people and risk takers. Take Wenona for instance, she’s developed a remarkable physique, bared it all, and trusted Lew and Maria in what has to be considered a difficult position. I’m nowhere near that dedicated to my fitness (I was and hope to be again sometime soon), nor am I physically self confident enough to bare myself in front of cameras and others (the photo shoot was the centerpiece of a party of Lew’s with a couple dozen attendees). Lastly, the trust element is also beyond me. I consider these all virtues and admire Wenona immensely for her work. I also love Maria, who sadly passed away a few years ago, for both creating an extreme position and modeling it herself (talk about walking the walk!). And of course, Lew did both amazing precision ropework then the literal heavy lifting to elevate the women and he managed the photo shoot.

My encounter with my old friend led me to believe that we haven’t come as far we think we have in terms of gender equality and that we need to get there soon. We’re missing out on appreciating  a lot of potential inspiration!!

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