Nigerian Artists
Introduction: Where Nostalgia Meets New School Creativity
Nigeria’s music scene has always been a vibrant melting pot of rhythm, culture, and relentless reinvention, drawing from the deepest wells of its diverse ethnic traditions and global influences. Yet in recent years, a striking and unmistakable new trend has firmly taken center stage: artists are deliberately reaching far back into the archives, dusting off timeless classics that once defined entire eras, and boldly transforming them into modern chart-topping anthems. What was once dismissed by some as a niche production tactic or even lazy borrowing has now matured into something far more profound. Sampling has become a celebrated creative bridge between generations, linking the raw energy of yesterday with the polished ambition of today.
Today’s Afrobeats stars aren’t merely borrowing melodies or lifting a bar here and there; they are thoughtfully reshaping nostalgia into something that feels both intimate and revolutionary. Producers skillfully weave in shimmering highlife guitar riffs that immediately conjure sun-soaked afternoons of the 70s and 80s, layer rich Fuji percussions that pulse with streetwise spirituality, and resurrect golden-era Afropop hooks that once ruled radio waves across the continent. These elements are then blended seamlessly with thunderous contemporary 808 drums, airy log drum patterns, and sleek global pop sensibilities that dominate streaming playlists worldwide. The magic happens in that instant recognition: older audiences light up the moment they hear a familiar phrase, while younger listeners—many discovering these sounds for the first time are handed a fresh, addictive sonic experience that feels tailor-made for their generation. The result is a catalogue of songs that walk the delicate line between comfortingly familiar and thrillingly new.

This resurgence of sampling has also emerged as a powerful and deeply resonant storytelling tool in the hands of a new wave of artists. When Burna Boy channels the rebellious spirit of Fela Kuti’s Afrobeat horns and socially charged lyricism, or when Seyi Vibez digs deep into the foundational call-and-response patterns and talking-drum rhythms of classic Fuji, they are doing far more than chasing hits; they are paying deliberate, heartfelt homage. Each reworked sample becomes a conversation across decades, an acknowledgment that today’s success stands firmly on the shoulders of legends who fought for creative freedom and cultural pride. From the masked mystique of Lagbaja to the smooth romantic harmonies of Styl-Plus, from the street-conscious commentary of African China to the highlife mastery of Oliver De Coque, these icons are being lovingly reintroduced to millions who might never have heard their names otherwise. In this way, sampling has evolved into a sacred form of tribute, ensuring that musical legacies do not fade quietly into history.
Beyond the emotional and cultural weight, sampling is driving massive, undeniable commercial success in an industry that moves at the speed of algorithms. A well-placed classic hook acts like an immediate emotional shortcut, grabbing listeners within the first three seconds—the make-or-break window of modern streaming. These recognizable fragments supercharge virality on platforms like TikTok and Instagram Reels, where short, nostalgic dance challenges can catapult a song from local buzz to global phenomenon overnight. Classic tracks that had long disappeared from mainstream radio suddenly found new life, racking up hundreds of millions of streams decades after their original release. In a digital landscape where attention spans are brutally short and new releases flood the market daily, these built-in references give artists an almost unfair competitive edge, helping their music slice cleanly through the noise and lodge itself in collective memory.

By fearlessly reviving and reimagining old classics, Nigerian musicians are sending a clear and triumphant message: the past is not merely history to be archived and forgotten, it is a living, breathing treasure chest brimming with inspiration waiting to be unlocked. Every sample dropped into a new beat is proof that greatness does not expire; it simply waits for the right hands to carry it forward. And as long as these cherished sounds continue cycling boldly into the new era—remixed, refreshed, and re-loved—the bridge between generations will remain strong and unbroken, ensuring that Nigeria’s extraordinarily rich musical heritage stays not only alive but joyfully evolving for decades to come.
The Roots of Nigerian Sampling: A History Worth Remembering
The roots of sampling in Nigerian music run far deeper than the current Afrobeats boom; reinvention has always been the lifeblood of the nation’s sound. Long before digital production made lifting a hook effortless, Nigerian music survived and thrived by constantly borrowing, bending, and building upon what came before. Highlife, with its lilting guitars and brass swagger, slowly gave way to Fela Kuti’s ferocious Afrobeat rebellion, which itself pulled from jazz, funk, and Yoruba traditional chants. Jùjú masters like King Sunny Adé and Ebenezer Obey refined highlife’s sweetness into something more spiritually layered, while Fuji pioneers such as Ayinde Barrister and Kollington turned Islamic-inspired percussion into street anthems that shook Lagos nights. Even the golden voices of the 80s and 90s like Onyeka Onwenu, Christy Essien-Igbokwe, and Majek Fashek wove Igbo folk melodies, reggae pulses, and gospel harmonies into pop that felt both local and universal. Every generation stood on the last, remixing rhythms and lyrical wisdom into fresh forms without ever fully abandoning the source.
Fela Kuti – Let’s Start
Those foundations never crumbled; they simply waited beneath the surface, patient and powerful. The melodies, chord progressions, talking-drum patterns, and call-and-response hooks crafted by Fela, Sunny Adé, Onyeka, and countless others proved too potent to fade. They carried emotional frequencies that no new plugin could replicate: the ache of a highlife guitar bend, the defiance in an Afrobeat horn stab, the communal joy of Fuji percussion. Modern producers, raised on those same records spinning in their parents’ sitting rooms or blaring from danfo buses, now treat these elements like sacred heirlooms. They are not scavenging out of laziness but mining a proven goldmine, knowing that a single well-placed riff from Oliver De Coque or a vocal ad-lib from Styl-Plus can ignite instant recognition and deep feeling across age groups.
This is why today’s sampling renaissance feels less like a trend and more like a homecoming. Young artists and producers are not inventing from zero; they are continuing a centuries-old Nigerian tradition of musical conversation across time. By threading the genius of yesterday into the beats of tomorrow, they keep the lineage alive while pushing it forward. The past is not being copied, it’s being honored, refreshed, and handed to a global generation that might never have discovered it otherwise. In every interpolated highlife lick and resurrected Fuji drum break lies proof that Nigeria’s musical history was never meant to gather dust; it was always meant to be remembered, danced to, and reborn.
The Producers Leading the Sampling Movement: Meet the Beatmakers Blending Old Classics With Today’s Sound
Behind every viral sample flip that stops TikTok scrolls and packs dance floors stands a producer who treats Nigeria’s musical past like holy scripture and its future like uncharted territory. Names like Sarz, Pheelz, P2J, Tempoe, P.Priime, Andre Vibez, Rexxie, Blaise Beatz, and the UK-based wizard known simply as London have become the high priests of this movement, spending countless nights crate-digging through dusty vinyl collections, old cassettes, and half-forgotten radio rips. They hunt for that perfect four-bar highlife guitar phrase, that infectious Fuji talking-drum roll, that golden-era Afropop chorus nobody has heard in twenty years, then surgically isolate it, clean it, pitch it, and layer it over thunderous 808s, shimmering log drums, and crystalline synths that feel 2030-ready. These are not random lifts; every flip is deliberate, reverent, and technically dazzling, turning a 1987 Oliver De Coque riff into the backbone of a 2025 street anthem, or transforming a Styl-Plus vocal harmony into a hypnotic earworm that Gen Z screams word-for-word without ever knowing the original.

More than beat-makers, these producers have become archivists, curators, and cultural translators carrying an entire nation’s sonic heritage on their hard drives. Sarz can make a King Sunny Adé guitar line breathe alongside trap hi-hats without breaking a sweat; Pheelz can resurrect the soul of Onyeka Onwenu and make it flirt with Amapiano basslines; Rexxie can flip a forgotten street-pop hook from African China into something that sounds like it was born in a Lagos nightclub last weekend. They understand that a sample is never just a sample—it’s a conversation, a tribute, a bridge. By breathing new life into these classic moments, they ensure that legends who never got their flowers globally now ride shotgun on songs that rack up hundreds of millions of streams and dominate charts from Lagos to London. In their hands, Nigeria’s past doesn’t stay in the past; it struts confidently into the future, remixed, reloaded, and ready to rule all over again.
Iconic Sample Moments in Recent Nigerian Music
Nigeria’s Afrobeats scene has masterfully embraced sampling as a way to honor its rich musical past, turning dusty vinyl gems from highlife, Fuji, Apala, and Afrobeat eras into fresh, chart-dominating anthems. This trend not only bridges generational gaps but also injects instant nostalgia and cultural depth into modern tracks, making them resonate across borders. From Burna Boy’s Afrobeat tributes to Tems’ soulful nods, artists are flipping classics with contemporary drums, log patterns, and global pop flair. Below are some standout Nigerian songs from recent years that sample old Nigerian (and occasionally African) classics, showcasing this creative alchemy. I’ve focused on popular examples, drawing from hits that have racked up millions of streams and TikTok virality.

Burna Boy has famously reimagined Fela’s Afrobeat foundations across multiple albums, keeping the Afrobeat spirit alive for a new generation. One iconic example is Ye (2018, which interpolates the vocal melody from Fela Kuti’s Sorrow, Tears & Blood (1977), a raw, politically charged Afrobeat track born from Fela’s infamous Kalakuta Republic raid. Burna flips Fela’s lament into a defiant party anthem about living unbothered (“Nobody go slow my way“), blending it with bouncy percussion and his signature gravelly delivery to create a global smash that peaked at No. 76 on the Billboard Hot 100 and earned a Grammy nod.

His global hit Last Last brilliantly flips Toni Braxton’s 2000 classic He Wasn’t Man Enough, transforming a heartbreak anthem into a modern Afrobeats masterpiece. The song has earned over 544 million Spotify streams, peaking at Number. 2 on the TurnTable Top 100, and even entered the Billboard Hot 100, proving how powerful a well-executed sample can be. On the same album I Told Them…, Burna Boy sampled Jeremih’s Birthday Sex on City Boys, delivering a catchy blend of smooth R&B influences and street-pop swagger. The track has amassed over 248 million Spotify streams, showing once again how Nigerian artists skillfully remix global classics into fresh, culturally resonant hits.

Similarly, Tems’ Love Me Jeje (2024) pays homage to Seyi Sodimu’s 1997 Afropop classic of the same name, sampling its breezy, romantic hook and layering it with her ethereal R&B vocals and subtle Amapiano grooves. The track, from her debut album Born in the Wild, explores vulnerable love while introducing the ’90s hit to Gen Z, amassing over 50 million Spotify streams and topping Nigerian charts.

Even Rema’s Baby (Is It A Crime) (2025) samples Sade’s 1985 R&B slow jam (with Nigerian roots via Helen Folasade Adu), turning melancholic yearning into a playful Afrobeats groove.

Adekunle Gold’s Rodo (2024) samples the jiggy Apala drums from Musiliu Haruna Ishola’s “Opon Apala Ti Sun” (2000), transforming the traditional Yoruba percussion into a sultry seduction plea (“Pepper me more”) with Amapiano flair and AG’s smooth falsetto—it’s a sizzling party starter with over 8 million streams.

Then there’s Asake’s “Active” (2024) from Lungu Boy, which interpolates Jazzman Olofin’s Fuji-hip-hop fusion Raise Da Roof (2004), featuring Fuji legend Adewale Ayuba’s vocals for an explosive, high-energy banger about street hustle that debuted at No. 1 on Nigeria’s TurnTable chart. Asake fuses Fuji vocal cadences and church-inspired harmonies, echoing the golden age of Yoruba music.

Diving deeper into the Fuji and highlife vaults, Pheelz‘s Majo (2024) from his Pheelz Good trilogy samples Adewale Ayuba’s vibrant Fuji classic Ijo Fuji, weaving its melodic verses and chorus into a neo-Fuji Afrobeats ride packed with log drums and owambe vibes—exploring love and triumphs with over 10 million streams.

ID Cabasa’s Olufunmi (2024) reimagines Styl-Plus’ 2003 R&B-Afropop heartbreak staple of the same name, interpolating its soulful harmonies with features from Fireboy DML, Joeboy, Boj, and Odumodublvck’s daggering rap, evoking waves of ’00s nostalgia while hitting 6 million Spotify plays.

Olamide’s Morowore (2024) from Ikigai samples Paul Play Dairo’s 2002 jùjú-gospel track, Mo Wa Dupe, infusing gratitude themes with sultry vibes, choir-backed choruses, and Olamide‘s streetwise flow for a reflective yet danceable hit that’s become a staple in Nigerian playlists.

Shallipopi’s Sharpiru (2023) nods to Edo highlife pioneer Pa Monday Igbinidu’s 1980s storytelling classic (specific track like “Edo No Dey Carry Last”), using its rhythmic essence to fuel his Plutomania-era trap-infused street narrative, keeping Benin City’s heritage alive in the streaming age.

And for a cross-generational gem, Wizkid’s Jaiye Jaiye (2013) samples Fela Kuti’s Lady (1972), featuring Femi Kuti on sax for a lively highlife-Afrobeats celebration of living large that solidified Wizkid’s star power early on.

This sampling wave underscores how Nigerian artists are curating their history like DJs at a timeless owambe, ensuring legends like Fela, Ishola, and Ayuba get their flowers anew. Tracks like Johnny Drille’s Ekwe (2024), sampling Original Stereoman’s early 2000s street hit, or Keys The Prince’s Left Right (2024), flipping Yinka Ayefele’s 2005 gospel tungba Beru Ba Monuro, further prove the trend’s vitality—each one a sonic time machine sparking debates on X and TikTok about the originals.
As Afrobeats evolves, these flips aren’t just hits, they’re tributes keeping Nigeria’s sonic legacy pulsing forward, inviting everyone from aunties in Lagos to club kids in London to vibe across decades.
Why Sampling Works: The Psychology of Familiarity
The human brain is hardwired to crave the familiar—when a melody, drum pattern, or guitar riff from childhood suddenly resurfaces inside a brand-new beat, the reaction is almost chemical. Dopamine surges, memories flood in, and the listener feels instantly understood, seen, and pulled closer to the song even if they can’t quite place why it feels like home. Sampling exploits this psychological shortcut with surgical precision: a single well-placed hook from a 1980s highlife classic or a 1990s Afropop chorus can turn passive streaming into active obsession. That spark of recognition creates an emotional bond far deeper than any lyric alone could forge, transforming first-time listeners into instant loyalists who hit replay not because the song is merely good, but because it somehow already belongs to them.
Lojay & Sarz
This is exactly why sampled tracks explode faster, trend harder, and refuse to leave playlists long after the hype cycle should have ended. Familiarity lowers the barrier to entry, short-circuits skepticism, and gives the music an unfair yet beautiful advantage in a world drowning in new releases every Friday. Older listeners beam with pride when they catch the reference and rush to tell their kids, “I knew this before you were born,” while younger ones discover the original and dive headfirst into Nigeria’s musical archives. The song becomes more than entertainment; it becomes a shared experience across generations, a cultural handshake disguised as a banger. In an era of fleeting attention, that instant connection is pure gold, keeping the track in rotation, in dance challenges, in speakers, and in hearts long after the algorithm should have moved on.
Sampling and the Global Appeal of Afrobeats
As Afrobeats storms stadiums from London to Los Angeles and dominates Spotify’s global charts, the clever use of samples has become one of its most powerful passports, quietly smuggling Nigeria’s deepest musical roots into the ears and hearts of listeners who have never set foot in Lagos. When a Fela horn stab erupts in a Burna Boy record, or a shimmering highlife guitar line dances beneath a Wizkid chorus, international audiences don’t just hear a catchy hook—they are handed an instant, visceral introduction to decades of West African genius. That single moment of recognition, even if subconscious, sparks curiosity: suddenly, teenagers in Atlanta are searching for King Sunny Adé playlists, club DJs in Paris are spinning Oliver De Coque vinyl, and TikTok dancers in Seoul are asking who first sang the melody they just learned the moves to. The sample does the heavy lifting of cultural education without ever feeling like a lecture.

With every sampled hit that crosses oceans and borders, Nigeria is exporting far more than beats, it is exporting identity, history, pride, and unapologetic ownership of its narrative. A Fuji drum break in an Asake track carries the spirit of Lagos street processions; a Styl-Plus harmony in a Rema song whispers the romance of early-2000s Naija love ballads; a Fela riff reminds the world that Afrobeat was always rebellion wrapped in rhythm. International fans who start with the new song inevitably trace the thread backward, discovering that the music they now love did not appear out of nowhere—it was built on giants. In this way, sampling turns global success into global reverence, ensuring that as Afrobeats conquers the world, Nigeria’s rich musical heritage rides triumphantly in the front seat, no longer hidden in archives but celebrated, danced to, and claimed by a planet finally paying attention.
The Legal Side of Sampling: Challenges and Opportunities
Sampling in Nigerian music, for all its creative brilliance, still navigates a minefield of legal and administrative challenges that can turn a simple four-bar flip into months of paperwork and negotiation. Unlike the American system with its well-oiled clearance machinery and massive publishing databases, Nigeria’s copyright ecosystem remains patchy—many classic tracks from the 70s, 80s, and 90s were released on labels that no longer exist, masters have been lost or destroyed in studio fires, and rights holders are sometimes scattered across families, estates, or forgotten contracts. Producers and artists often discover too late that the highlife riff they built an entire hit around belongs to a veteran who has never seen a kobo in streaming royalties, or worse, to someone who simply claims ownership because the paperwork vanished decades ago. These gaps have led to public disputes, blocked releases, and occasional lawsuits that remind everyone that honoring the past musically is one thing—honoring it legally is another battle entirely.
Yet this same friction is pushing the industry toward maturity faster than any government regulation ever could. Younger artists and their teams, burned by near-misses or outright blocks on YouTube and Spotify, are now prioritizing clearances from day one, reaching out to legends like King Sunny Adé, the estates of Oliver De Coque, or the children of Ayinla Kollington to secure proper licenses before the song even drops. Veterans who spent years watching their life’s work fuel new hits without compensation are finally seeing royalty checks arrive, sometimes life-changing ones, as global streams pour in. Management companies and publishing administrators specializing in Nigerian catalogs are springing up, digitizing old contracts, tracing rights holders, and creating the infrastructure that makes sampling not just legally safe but genuinely collaborative. What began as a headache is quietly becoming one of the fairest wealth-redistribution systems the industry has ever seen.
As Nigeria’s music business continues to professionalize, the legal side of sampling is shifting from obstacle to opportunity, paving the way for a future where flipping a classic is as straightforward and rewarding as it is in the West. Clearer copyright laws, better record-keeping, and a new generation of artists who respect the process mean that tomorrow’s producers will be able to dig even deeper into the archives without fear. Veterans will keep earning from work they did decades ago, young artists will keep building without legal shadows, and the music itself will keep flowing—richer, louder, and legally bulletproof. In the end, the red tape that once threatened to choke the sampling renaissance is instead weaving a stronger, fairer rope that ties past and present together for good.
How Sampling Inspires the Next Generation
For the new wave of bedroom producers and upcoming artists scattered across Lagos, Benin, and Port Harcourt, sampling has become the most powerful classroom Nigeria ever built. A single decision to flip a forgotten highlife guitar line or a dusty Fuji drum break sends them tumbling down rabbit holes of discovery—suddenly they’re hunting for old vinyl in Obalende markets, begging uncles for faded cassettes, or staying up until dawn on YouTube chasing the original versions of songs their parents danced to at weddings. What starts as a search for the perfect eight-bar loop turns into full-blown obsession: they study Fela’s horn arrangements, dissect King Sunny Adé’s talking-drum conversations, marvel at how Onyeka Onwenu layered emotion into a simple chorus, or trace the way Styl-Plus built harmonies that still melt hearts twenty years later. Sampling stops being mere theft and becomes apprenticeship under ghosts who never have to speak—every flipped riff is a lesson in melody, rhythm, groove, and storytelling delivered straight from the masters.

This hands-on education is quietly raising the most musically literate generation Nigeria has ever seen. Young beatmakers who once knew only Fruity Loops presets now speak fluently in highlife chord progressions, understand why a talking drum can replace a snare, and can craft a chorus that feels both brand-new and eternally familiar. They learn respect the hard way—by realizing how easily a legend’s magic can be ruined with the wrong 808—and they learn excellence by trying to match the untouchable swing of an Oliver De Coque solo. Most importantly, they inherit pride: the moment they hear their flip ignite a dance floor or watch an auntie scream “That’s Ayinla Kollington!” on TikTok, they understand they are not just making beats—they are keeping a living tradition alive. Sampling, then, is no longer just a production trick; it is the spark that turns curious kids into custodians, ensuring Nigeria’s golden sounds will never stop teaching, shaping, and inspiring the next ones in line.
The Future of Sampling in Nigerian Music: How Sampling Will Shape the Next Era of Nigerian Sound
Sampling in Nigerian music is no longer riding a wave; it is building the ocean itself, and the tools arriving tomorrow are about to make that ocean deeper, wilder, and impossibly blue. AI can now isolate a single conga hit from a 1974 Fela recording that was pressed on warped vinyl, clean it until it sparkles, and pitch it across an entire song without a trace of artifact. Audio restoration wizards are rescuing cassette tapes that spent decades under beds in Surulere, turning hiss and wow into pristine highlife guitars that sound like they were recorded yesterday. Young producers with laptops and limitless hard-drive space are pairing those resurrected sounds with things their forefathers never dreamed of: alté vocals floating over Oliver De Coque riffs, Fuji talking drums locked into four-on-the-floor techno kicks, or the dramatic string swells from forgotten Nollywood classics sliced and stuttered into futuristic log-drum madness. The archive is no longer dusty; it is alive, glowing, and begging to be twisted into shapes only this generation can imagine.

The future will not just repeat the past; it will catapult it into galaxies the legends themselves couldn’t have foreseen. Picture a haunting Lagbaja mask-vocal chopped and screwed over hyperpop glitches, or a Styl-Plus Olufunmi chorus drenched in reverb and dropped into a drill beat for London roads. Imagine Ayinla Omowura’s Apala wisdom delivered through vocoders and 808 slides, or Sir Victor Uwaifo’s guitar ekassa licks riding beside Jersey club tempos. Early 2000s Afropop hooks (once confined to VCDs and wedding receptions) were reborn with K-pop levels of polish and sent straight to global charts. As long as the new guard keeps treating those old sounds as sacred launchpads instead of museum pieces, the possibilities stretch endlessly. Nigeria’s past will never be a ceiling; it will remain the richest foundation on earth, fueling music that keeps one foot in history and the other light-years ahead.
Conclusion: A New Era Built on Old Foundations
Sampling in Nigerian music has transcended mere production flair to become nothing less than a full-scale cultural revival—one that refuses to let the country’s sonic giants sleep in forgotten crates. Every time a young artist lifts a Fela horn stab, a Sunny Adé guitar lick, or an Onyeka Onwenu chorus and plants it inside a 2025 banger, they are performing an act of resurrection. The past is pulled out of yellowed cassettes and cracked vinyl, dusted off, and made to dance again under club lights and stadium floods. What could have been nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake has instead become alchemy: old gold melted down and recast into new crowns worn by a generation that now rules global playlists. The music feels timeless because it literally is—two eras breathing inside the same three-minute song, proving that greatness never expires; it simply waits for the right hands.
Burna Boy
This revival is also the strongest bridge between generations Nigeria has ever built. Aunties in headscarves scream in delight when they hear Styl-Plus in a Joeboy record; fathers nod proudly as their sons finally understand why Fela was a prophet; teenagers who grew up on TikTok suddenly find themselves defending King Wasiu Ayinde Marshall to their peers in London and Houston. Sampling has turned family arguments into shared playlists, wedding receptions into history lessons, and random car rides into sing-along seminars. It has made respect cool again. The legends are no longer distant names on faded album covers; they are guests of honor at the biggest parties on earth, their voices ringing clearer and louder than they ever did in their own time.
KWAM
More than sentiment, this movement is the engine currently driving Afrobeats to heights no one predicted a decade ago. Those familiar hooks are Trojan horses smuggling Nigerian identity past border controls and streaming algorithms alike. A single highlife riff in a Burna Boy song can send a million new listeners scrambling to discover Victor Olaiya; one Fuji drum break in an Asake track can spark a global obsession with Ayinla Kollington decades after his passing. The world is not just dancing to Afrobeats—it is being gently, relentlessly educated about where the magic truly began. Every chart conquered, every Grammy won, every sold-out O2 Arena carries the fingerprints of ghosts who never imagined their village sounds would one day echo across continents.
In the end, Nigeria’s sampling renaissance has delivered the most beautiful truth of all: the past was never behind us; it was always the foundation waiting for stronger hands. As long as producers keep digging, artists keep honoring, and listeners keep recognizing, this cycle will never break. The old will keep teaching the young, the young will keep lifting the old, and Afrobeats will keep rising, rooted deep in history yet reaching higher than the sky. This is not the end of an era; it is the beginning of an endless one, where yesterday’s classics and tomorrow’s anthems share the same heartbeat, and Nigeria’s music remains forever young, forever proud, forever unstoppable.
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