In the yesteryear that was the late 90s, I clerked with a guy at a record store who prided himself an authority on all sounds foreign. As in, that was his shit---his domain. And while at times he could be a little too precious about it, he was incredibly knowledgeable/enthusiastic, and took me to school daily on all matter of stuff traipsing the continents of Africa to South America. Not unlike one's first exposure to jazz, the experience was---in part---a matter of just learning the various nomenclature and the ever so . . .
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