Is it Ironic?

Talking irony, platforms, and evil comedy with comedian Benny Feldman

Benny Feldman, the internet: Hey, what's up? Basically, I think there's a bunch of comedians who are doing evil comedy and pretending they are not. These comedians pretend that jokes have no meaning, or they'll pretend that they're just doing irony, or that all irony is somehow inherently good. They make fun of anybody in society who has less power than them for the big reactionary conservative audience that that brings. A bigger audience means more ticket sales, more sponsorships, more tour dates, more deals, more money, more power. You'll often hear them say, "It's just a joke, dude. I'm just being ironic. You can't do irony anymore these days." Uh, I disagree. So I'm gonna talk about how irony works and why you should give a shit...

Fil Corbitt: All right, so can you just introduce yourself and say where you are right now?

Benny Feldman: Hey, I'm Benny Feldman. I'm a one-liner comedian with Tourette's syndrome. Uh, I'm currently in New York City in Brooklyn.

Benny Feldman, the internet: Tourette's is sort of the, uh, abstract art of disabilities. A lot of people are like, "I can do that."

Fil Corbitt: Did you see a comic when you were younger and think like, "Oh, I should get into this"?

Benny Feldman: Oh yeah, definitely. I mean, Mitch Hedberg is, like, kinda the touchstone for the last little while of one-liner comedians. Spec- very specifically, I actually saw a Sarah Silverman joke. It's a very dirty joke, um, but it was, like, one line in her show, and I was like, "Oh, I like, I like just jokes." And it was like, even though she's not a one-liner comic, I still just am like, "Oh, th- I like what that does to my brain. I like how... I like when there's just, like, a funny idea."

Fil Corbitt: How would you explain, like, what it does to your brain?

Benny Feldman: Well, comedy makes me, like, literally feel good. There's, like, a, a physical pleasure sensation that you get from comedy. There's the external part. There's, like, laughter. You know what I mean? But you can... That's not always, um, pleasurable 'cause you can laugh without finding something funny. Like, um, you know, if somebody at work tells a joke or something , your internal and your external sensations are not necessarily intertwined.But I'm, I'm a big internal sensation head. I love the feeling y- of pleasure you get from comedy.

Fil Corbitt: What's your internal monologue like?

Benny Feldman: (nervous Iaughing) I don't know. That's who, uh, uh, uh...have no idea how to answer that.

Fil Corbitt: All right. (lauging)

Benny Feldman, the internet: I'd like to offer you my current framework for how to understand irony. This will hopefully help you see right past that bullshit, and also hopefully appreciate the good stuff better.

Benny's principal example of evil comedy hiding behind the guise of irony is Tony Hinchcliffe, who hosts a well-known podcast where comics of a similar ilk do short sets and banter. It acts as a hub for alt-right and manosphere-aligned comedy. Hinchcliffe was dropped from his management company in 2021 for making extremely racist comments about a fellow comedian in Texas on stage, then he famously disparaged Puerto Rico while opening for a political rally Benny also mentions Dave Chappelle's transphobic Netflix special, which I think better identifies the problem, as would podcasters like Joe Rogan. These ideas can be smuggled into comedy specials and podcasts, or downstream into real life arguments and conversations, then downplayed or excused as just a joke, implying that the person objecting is at fault for taking them seriously.

Benny Feldman, the internet: All jokes have meaning and an underlying message, and what we choose to say in this world matters, dude.

Fil Corbitt: You did a long form breakdown of how irony works in comedy. And I found it first of all, super fascinating. It was something I really enjoyed watching, but it also kinda explained a lot of these things that I, I think I, I understood, but I didn't know why.

Benny Feldman, the internet: Just for clarity, this is about irony in the online sense or, like, being ironic, also known more formally as verbal irony. Sometimes people use online irony too much and it becomes hard to tell what their actual opinions are, and those people are sometimes called irony poisoned. This use of the word irony is not to be confused with the two other uses of the word, dramatic irony and situational irony. Just real quick, dramatic irony is when we know something that a character in a piece of media does not. Basically, when a character has imperfect information, like in Romeo and Juliet when Juliet fakes her death, but Romeo thinks she kills herself for real. Situational irony is when your intent or your actions contradict with the outcome. I have a joke where I go, "Lately I've been squishing all the caterpillars that have been eating my garden, 'cause I want it to look nice for when the butterflies arrive." My character in that joke ends up ruining the exact outcome that I want through my actions. Okay, with that shit out of the way, what is irony?What does it mean to be ironic? Irony is when you say or do something that you do not mean, but with some clear contradiction to show that doing or saying that thing is flawed. We're supposed to get that you don't actually mean the thing you say or do, but we are supposed to get that you're trying to say that that thing is flawed.

Fil Corbitt: How did you kinda come up with that theory and learn how to break down these systems of joke telling?

Benny Feldman: So I was doing improv for a couple years, like from 2013 to like 2017. But I started doing stand-up like 2015, and I just was like, "All right, how do I write a joke?" I literally went on like Wikipedia. I was like, "Well, what is comedy?" There were a couple key moments there. The first one was that I saw like a set from Kumail Nanjiani, where I was like, "Oh, those... I recognize that there's clear structure here." Like, I could figure out how to, like, construct a joke like that if I, if I figure, if I look into it. And then I, um, I went on Wikipedia, and I was looking at, like, different types of comedy. It's extremely poorly structured, the information. It'll be like hyperbole or dark comedy or blue comedy. Before I go further with that, my third element is that I come from a computer science background in college, and so I was thinking a lot about information graphs and information nodes and, um, how, like, idea structures and, like, idea trees and stuff like that.

And so I was looking at, like, the Wikipedia for comedy. I was like, hyperbole and dirty jokes are not even remotely comparable category concepts. One of those is a, um, information, uh, heightening structure idea, and one of those is a topic-based thing of like, uh, penises and balls and vaginas and stuff. Heh. And, um, the initial impetus of this was I just started to take all this stuff that was public information and just start to reorganize it appropriately 'cause it was pissing me off that stuff like hyperbole was considered anywhere remotely a near similar category to dirty jokes. I was like, that doesn't make any sense. Irony is more in line conceptually, structurally to something like hyperbole. Through looking at that, those systems, I end up going, "Oh, this thing's like hyperbole or metaphor or irony or futility or whatever," and I, I expand that out and I go, "Okay, then what is irony?" And that's how I ended up going down that pathway.

And so I had already been studying, I'd already been studying, like, what is irony for years prior to all these guys using it, like, fascistically, and then I was able to just be like, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Because I just, you know, being a weird little nerd trying to organize this information, I went, "Oh, holy shit, I, I'm, I now have something here that a lot of these people don't, and I, and I'm able to see right past, like…their lies."

Benny Feldman, the internet: Let's look at how we tell irony apart from earnestly saying or doing stuff. Clear contradictions. You need to deliberately and clearly contradict yourself so we know you don't mean it. You can do this by including some obvious failure in logic, going against your reputation, going against the context, and it can also help to play some sort of character. You can also do any sort of combination of these. An obvious failure in logic is when you say or do some stupid shit. It's being stupid. It's b- it's stupid stuff. You're being, it's when you're a fool. You make yourself clearly deliberately wrong about something with the goal of pointing out that that thing is flawed or incorrect, and so are the people who say or do that same thing

Benny Feldman: And for the record, some stuff, um, uh, the idea of saying just a joke is actually a useful idea when you say something that like, where it's like it's meant to be clear and you have like a positive underlying, uh, goal or whatever. So like I've got a joke where I'm like I'm, I'm at the aquarium petting zone just absolutely grabbing. Somebody commented, uh, "You're not supposed to grab at the aquarium?" And I'm like, "No, I'm... No, obviously." That is, that is- That's the whole point. Yeah. So I'm like, no, so saying it's just a joke in that context, that doesn't mean it doesn't have meaning. But it lets them know that I'm like, "No, the meaning is that I know you're not supposed to do that, obviously." I'm reinforcing that. A lot of people will say something like, "Oh, it's just a joke. You know, jokes don't have any meaning. Like, comedy is comedy. Don't take it seriously." And I think that is very blatantly obviously a false idea that is being used to let people do jokes that have very negative ideas behind them.

A clear example of something is if I say, "That guy looks like a whale," I'm calling them fat. And there's other elements involved of, like, context and reputation and stuff like that that can, like, change the meaning. But the idea that if I were to say "You look like a whale," the idea that I don't mean anything at all whatsoever by that because it's just a joke is…nonsense.

Unless you're saying it, ironically or sarcastically or something, but that doesn't remove meaning entirely, it just changes the meaning. So if you say something sarcastically, you mean the opposite. One of the things with irony is — to tell whether or not somebody is being sarcastic or ironic to tell what direction they mean the meaning in… if somebody does an anti-trans joke; if it's a trans woman, they're very likely doing an ironic character making fun of people who have that opinion. When you do the "You look like a whale" joke or whatever, that's not irony, that's just visual metaphor. You are saying visually you have some similarity to a whale.Whales are known to be large. I'm calling you large. To tell if somebody's being ironic is what are their other opinions and what actions do they take and do? So when they say all that stuff and they say, "Oh, we're just kidding, we're just being ironic," and it's like, no, we know that you materially support those actual policies involved. So when you're doing this anti-immigrant material, you mean it. Uh, it's not-- we're not able to see it from a, uh, ironic lens. We're only able to see that from a, no, you directly support, uh, anti-trans legislation, anti-anti-immigrant, yeah, deportations, et cetera.

Fil Corbitt: I mean, I've just been thinking a lot about how, you know, the, the corporate surveillance capitalism world that we're increasingly living under, it like thrives specifically on media illiteracy and people not kind of understanding what they're seeing and what it means. I mean, do you, do you agree with that?

Benny Feldman: A hundred percent. If these ideas were common knowledge and people knew that jokes could be used in this way, I think that we wouldn't have seen anywhere near as far of a rise of a lot of these guys. Media literacy is pretty low for a lot of stuff, but I would say it's specifically, gutter for jokes.

Benny Feldman, the internet: Going against the context. Without doing some stupid shit or by going against your reputation, you can also go against the wider or immediate situation. To show how this is different from reputation, let's keep the person the same. Your coworker says to you, "I've actually never driven a car before." In the first context, you're getting lunch with them. In the second context, you just got into their car and they're about to drive you home. Only one of those is a contradiction against the situation. In the first situation, it'd be totally reasonable that a coworker had never driven before, and they're just telling you, like, a fun fact about themselves.In the second situation, it goes against the fact that they have somehow procured a car and are behind the wheel and are about to drive you home.

Benny Feldman, standup: Yo, Eve ate that apple and it gave her all that knowledge and stuff. Dude, when she ate a second apple, she must've been like, "This one, this one's just a apple?"

Fil Corbitt: It seems like you're kind of actively trying to change that by doing these, like, long form videos about it.

Benny Feldman: Yes It felt so pressing and I was like, "Oh, people don't know, and this matters right now and is really relevant." And so, like, for instance, like, it seems to have, uh, heavily informed your perspective. You seem to now get it. You get that these guys are using the guise of irony to propagate fascist ideas. I've had different people come up and say that they like the video. That is the exact intended effect, is to be a idea manufacturer in the culture war.

One of the core, um, sticky ideas of rhetoric going the wrong direction is literally, "It's just a joke. Comedy is comedy." And it's like, the idea of, oh, it's just a joke? Or like, don't take comedy seriously. It's like, those are very sticky ideas, 'cause they make sense. What I'm trying very specifically to do, um...Well, I did the long form video, but I know I'm not, I know, I know 99.9% of people are not going to watch a 30-minute video essay on irony. And so what I try to do for a broader audience is carve sticky rhetoric ideas the other way that undercut the things like, "It's just a joke."

I've done a whole series of it's just a joke ideas and those have gotten much broader reach, I think, than the irony video. It'll be like, "Oh, it's just a joke, dude. It's just a form of speech. Speech doesn't communicate ideas." And it's like flipping the just a joke on its head, and so that people have that in their mind as like a cure to the original idea.

Benny Feldman, standup: Steampunk asks the question, “what if technology was only hot water and clocks?”

And some people answered, "We'd dress up all horny about it."

Benny Feldman, standup: If Pokemon were real, we would have used them in the Iraq War

Benny Feldman: I know that there's a lot of people who have a brother or a coworker or, uh, a friend's partner or whoever in their life who have these dog shit bad opinions, but they, and they have a hard time arti- articulating these people why they're wrong. And so the other person ends up winning these arguments, 'cause it's like people don't have these idea structures that are such, uh, sticky things. And so I'm handing them the tools to win that argument or convince that person or whatever, and so... Or hold their own or not get pushed back. You know what I mean? The goal is to change the public's opinion, but by giving them the tools to do it.

Fil Corbitt: It's interesting you brought up, like, the social media videos.. The TikTok algorithm correctly put me directly in your, you know, in your target audience a while ago. And I'm wondering, what you make kind of fits the format so perfectly. I'm wondering what's your relationship like with these social media platforms?

Benny Feldman: It's an interesting thing where you're working for the platform. Like, I know people who, like, their whole income is, like, Instagram or TikTok or whatever. It's like, well, fundamentally, you work for Instagram. You know what I mean? But at the, but at the same time, you're also still sort of the capitalist owner of ideas. If I have a video of me telling jokes, the way that this architecture of the system works is, you become the capitalist owner of...you own these ideas, these trademarked sort of ideas. And so then I am sort of in joint capital ownership of this video with those platforms. Instagram doesn't pay any money at all for the Reels, and so that's actually a weird one where you're literally just working for them for free.

Fil Corbitt: Yeah. And I mean, are you thinking about these, like, you know, platforms as you're creating the art? Like, do you think that that, that kinda output is changing what you make? —-

Benny Feldman: No ...

Fil Corbitt: No.

Benny Feldman: Yeah. Okay, but I do know people are. So yeah, coming back to part of why I'm getting so into the weeds on the capital side of it— the money side of it is, the different mechanisms for how to get money in comedy, or how to have a career literally are what shape what people create.And so you see people... back in the, I don't know, '90s or '80s or whatever, the only mechanism was a five-minute set on Carson or whatever. And so not only did it have to be five minutes of, like, s- stand-up, but it had to be, uh, stand-up that Johnny Carson would approve of, and that network TV would approve of. You know what I mean? Yeah. So there is a, there is a beauty... One of the pros is, like, the decentralized nature of it, where it's like anybody can just do it now,

Fil Corbitt: Do you imagine, like, a version of this that is better? Like, can you solve all of these problems real quick?

Benny Feldman: Ha! It is all interconnected, 'cause, like, the, the thing with all these fascist ideas, all these guys who are truly doing evil harm to the country, part of it is … they're really doing amazing in the clip economy. They're going viral. They're got whole teams that are cranking out clip after clip after clip. It's like this success and money machine. This thing of, like, complaining about this capitalist side of it, it's all interconnected to the fact that what does well within the capitalist framework of these clip economies are these big capitalist machine guys and shows... Like Netflix, a lot of the specials that they've gotten in the last little while, they've had all, all the Dave Chappelle trans stuff controversy was on Netflix. And that was some of their early forays that they were doing of letting stuff go further to the right. Then they've got their full media machine that they can put behind cranking out quote, unquote, "viral clips" or whatever. Like, they've got a whole system.

Fil Corbitt: Obviously structurally having a lot of money behind these things they push these ideas further just because they have the marketing budget to do so.But do you think these ideas, do they just work better in these algorithms? Do you think that that is part of it in, in some way that isn't just having money behind it?

Benny Feldman: I don't necessarily think so. I do earnestly think that it's—I don't know. It's resonating with dif- different people in the country is part of it. I don't know. I think that's simply to do with, uh, that public opinion is already so skewed previously in favor of fascism. Or just at least in comedy spaces, the idea of it's just a joke is an old idea. I can't believe that we haven't dispr- Like, like, why am I the, why am I the guy disproving that? You know what I mean? I keep looking around going like, "What are we talking about? Why do I have to make the video essay on irony? Why don't people know this?" You know what I mean?

Benny Feldman, the internet: All jokes are political. Comedy is political. Since people are persuaded by jokes and learn things from humor, it's actually very dangerous for the public to not think jokes have meaning. As you've seen, all jokes have an underlying meaning. People then think about that underlying meaning. Social rhetoric influences people's beliefs. Those ideas persuade people. That has consequences at both an individual and a wider social level. First, because individuals' beliefs determine their actions in this world. Second, because the wider public's beliefs as a collective determine public policy or literal politics. Comedy and comedy podcasts are a major part of people's media diet.

Fil Corbitt: Going back to the first thing you said about comedy triggering an internal experience of joy in some way, how does that mechanism work for you? How much of it is internal and external? And how much are you playing with those mechanisms?

Benny Feldman: We have ideas in our mind, dog, jazz, whatever, you know what I mean? You, you can play with ideas in different ways. You can like make a dog bigger. You can make a giraffe's neck shorter or whatever. And there's different like resolutions where you've got like contradictions and you've got like, um, sort of pseudo equivalents and like misdirect type stuff.

Benny Feldman: Basically, like the idea of false, the idea of something like being not true is only in the human mind.

Benny Feldman: The idea of false doesn't exist in nature Everything in reality is true, like a waterfall is just true, it's just real. And so I think that like the idea of what is aligned with reality and what is not aligned with reality or the basis- the idea of true and false fundamentally form the, like, building block, like, basics of comedy in, like, a certain problem-solving sense.And so that pleasure sensation comes from the joy of solving the puzzle. The jokes are essentially like little idea puzzles, and when you are able to appropriately figure out what is true, what is not, that is good. That's good problem-solving behavior that evolution has rewarded. You- i- it's good to be able to figure out what is true and what is not. This is all speculation. The internal pleasure sensation is meant to reward you for being good at figuring out what is true in reality, and the external part, the laughter, is to demonstrate to other people socially that you figured out the problem and how you felt about it or whatever.

Benny Feldman: The internal part is to reward us for being good at problem-solving. The external part is to let people know that we solved the problem, that we're good at problem solving— so that they have sex with us, so that they keep us in the tribe to build community bonds where it's like, "Oh, you're, oh, you also solved that problem? I also..." You know what I mean? From an evolutionary perspective, it has to do with figuring out what is true and not and developing social bonds.

Fil Corbitt: Yeah, and I… I'm just looking at the list of questions that I have written down, and a lot of it kinda comes down to that and this moment on the internet of people having a really hard time figuring out what is true and what isn't, you know? And that bleeding into our everyday lives as well. There's some weird resonance there that is fascinating to me that I think I will dig into.

Benny Feldman: No, absolutely. People always say like comedy's rooted in truth, and it's like, well, yes, but it's also like truth is fundamentally subjective. And so you got a lot of these guys doing these jokes where it's like the foundational, quote-unquote, "truth" of their joke is that like “all immigrants are rapists” or whatever.

Benny Feldman, the internet: It's just a joke, dude. It's just a metaphor about how your ethnicity is similar to rats and bugs.

Benny Feldman: And they're like, "Oh, I'm just a... It's just a joke," or whatever. But they're reinforcing these underlying ideas where it's like “this ethnic group is undesirable”… Not everybody agrees what's true.

Benny Feldman, the internet: I hope you will agree, uh, fascism is bad from most possible definitions of the idea of bad. These stupid motherfuckers are destroying America for personal gain. Hope this framework helps you see what they're doing, and I hope this helps us stop them.

featuring:

Benny Feldman • Website

Music:

Haana Lee's album Textures

a track from friend of the show Yclept Insan

Incoming by Ketsa.

Field Recordings of Fast Food Restaurants in Western North America

The first full-length album of field recordings from The Wind.

The first full length album from radio show and audio artist The Wind, "Field Recordings of Fast Food Restaurants in Western North America" is a catalogue of new western sound, recorded from the hearpoint of a hard plastic seat. 

Set in a variety of public facing corporate grey spaces (for purchasing and eating food in), this album takes a moment to listen to the sound of the places directly in between--far from the the lush, wild recordings of Gordon Hempton or Bernie Krauss, and on the heavily paved, fraying edge of the lively and cacophonous city soundscapes that John Cage loved and wrote about. Recorded over 7 years, and spanning from Radium Hot Springs, British Columbia, Canada to Oaxaca de Juarez, Oaxaca, Mexico, and California, Nevada, Montana, Utah and more, the 11 tracks paint a painfully realistic picture of the current built world that occupies the sweeping landscapes of the North American west.

Picon Punch

a winding path into the brush: the story of Nevada’s State Drink.

Photo by Luka Starmer 2017 Louie’s Basque Corner • Reno, Nevada

When storms blow in from the coast, the tall, jagged Sierra Nevada act as a sharp fence, ripping open the bellies of the clouds and extracting the water from inside. Much of that rain lands on the western slopes, and joins creeks and rivers to run back through California and into the Pacific. But this side, the eastern side, is in the rain shadow.

The mountains above Gardnerville, Nevada are big, and the high desert flows from the East to butt up against them.

Sage, Rabbit, Bitterbrush.

Some of the rain that falls on the mountains, and especially the snow that drapes the range all winter, some of that lands on the Eastern side of the ridge, over the divide, and instead of flowing back to the sea—it flows inland. This is the Great Basin and all water flows in, not out.

Here, wet places are rare and coveted and often appear as a vein of green quaking leaves in the crease of the hills where a creek has formed. These creeks eventually run into the sagebrush and dissipate in a desert sink or a terminal lake but first they feed the aspen groves and the meadows and the grass.

From the main street of Gardnerville, I can see those green creases of aspen on the Sierra, and then… I duck into the JT.

The Picon is a cocktail that you can only define by describing what’s around it.

••

Inside the JT Basque Bar and Dining Room in Gardnerville, Nevada , cowboy hats, berets, and baseball caps hang over the wallpaper; dollar bills obscure the ceiling.

Marie Louise Lekumberry: The JT, as with other basque houses sprinkled across the American west, all started out as boarding houses. We were places where newly arrived immigrants could come make contact with an innkeeper who spoke their language. A place that had food that they were familiar with. A place where they could make connections to get jobs. A kind of home away from home for immigrant basques who were mostly coming over to herd sheep.

Marie Louise Lekumberry co-owns the place with her brother JB. Their dad bought it in 1960. At the time the JT was just one of many Basque hotels scattered across the West. There are fewer now, but still a handful. A lot of Basques, from the mountainous region between France and Spain settled here at the foot of tall mountains in Nevada.

Ettienne Lekumberry:: It's this very ancient people with this very ancient language and these very ancient, well-maintained traditions and customs set against the backdrop of the Sierra Nevada. Set against the backdrop of the sea of sagebrush.

Etienne Lekumberry, Marie’s nephew, has been tending bar here since he was 21, and he’s taken on a bigger role lately in running it.

Ettienne Lekumberry: And, you know, as we all know, being Nevadans, the landscape we inhabit makes as much of an effect on us as we do upon it, you know?

The bar and restaurant is a rare place that feels like it’s carved out a sort of refuge from current trends in aesthetics, and profit-first (or profit-only) business practices. It has one TV, and it’s fairly small and old and it’s up in a spot where you kind of have to crane your neck to see it. People check the score of whatever big game is happening, but it’s not blasting commercials in your face, and no one’s sitting there watching on autopilot.

There’s also carpet in the bar, which taken with the old hats on the wall act as an incredible acoustic damper; so everyone’s talking to everyone else and it’s lively but you can hear everything clearly. There’s no fake-wood printed vinyl, it’s not trying to be anything, it just is, and you walk in and see your high school history teacher and a guy you used to work construction for and you pull a stool up to the bar and you order a Picon Punch.

From Picon Drinkers of the American West

Marie Louise Lekumberry: In today's parlance, I would say… it's very spirit forward. (laughing) Back in the day we would say, “Careful, it packs a punch!”

Etienne Lekumberry: It's called a Picon, P-I-C-O-N. And it has nothing to do with A-P-E-C-A-N, the nut, right? It's a dash of Grenadine, a shot of a Amer Picon, which is an orange rind liqueur, a splash of club soda with a float of brandy and a lemon twist.

Most of the cocktail is one ingredient: Amer Picon. That’s where the name comes from and also where all the drama is. It’s a French liqueur named for it’s inventor Gaétan Picon who concocted it in Algeria in 1837 from Orange Rind, Gentian Root and Chinchona bark among other secret ingredients. Amer is the french word for bitter, similar to its Italian counterpart amaro. In the late 19th century into the early 20th it was a popular aperitif in France.

Marie Louise Lekumberry: I imagine that, you know, a lot of the Basques coming from the French side of the Basque country, um, in the Basque hotels, that that was, uh, a liqeur that was imported because they were there.[00:09:41] And some, somebody came up with the cocktail

The earliest mention I could find was from Visalia, California in 1895. Nobody knows exactly where it was invented.

Marie Louise Lekumberry: Probably in some Basque house probably in California.

From there, it spread inland.

The earliest mention I could find of the Picon Punch cocktail - Visalia, Calif. May 17 1895 (pg. 4)

Marie Louise Lekumberry: And because there's this network of Basque hotels sprinkled across the west where there were sheep herdng, um, the cocktail spread to all of the other Basque houses.

For a long time, the Picon Punch was made by default with Amer Picon. But there were a few other options starting in the mid 20th century, including Amer Segalas and Torani Amer both made in California. The latter was made by the company Torani which you might recognize from their coffee syrup flavoring.

Marie Louise Lekumberry: Our bar, like a lot of Basque bars — in the well we served Torani Amer. If you wanted the call drink, if you wanted a “call” Picon, we had the imported Amer Picon back behind the shelf, and you could order that and pay a little more for that. Here in Gardnerville, most everybody was satisfied with the, what we call the domestic Amer, and we proudly served it.

At the bar, I’ve always heard that the original Amer Picon was banned in the 70s due to a psychoactive ingredient, and story goes that’s how Torani became the Amer of choice. You’ll see this repeated all over the internet, and confidently stated in the AI overviews. But I dug deep into this claim, and it’s much more complicated, and in my reading, unlikely.

I spoke with the US Department of Health and Human Services who said quote “Amer Picon is effectively banned in the U.S. because it contains Calamus root, which is prohibited by the FDA” however I believe they just googled it too. They could not provide documentation that Calumus was ever in Amer Picon, that the recipe changed, nor could I independently verify that.

Calumus was banned in 1968, for being apparently carcinogenic, not pyschoactive… but I could find no evidence of interruption in Amer Picon sales in the US in the 60s or 70s. If there was Calamus in the recipe, they would have removed it without anybody noticing, as they continued distributing in the US into the early 2000s. That deflates the claim that Torani took over when the original was banned. It seemed to be a slower and less clear-cut process.

That said, there was a different change to the aperitif in the 1980s: Amer Picon simply began making weaker liqueur. The original recipe, and Torani’s recipe, was a full 39% ABV. In the early 80’s Amer Picon lowered their recipe to 32%, and then again by 1984 down to just 21%; closer to a vermouth. Torani meanwhile stayed the same ABV, and probably tasted closer to the original than the lower proof versions of the name brand. All of this, PLUS Torani was already available in many of the Basque Houses across the west anyway. So that’s my theory.


 
ZINE: "How to make a Picon Punch"
$9.00

This is a Zine companion to the Wind episode Picon Punch. The cover may vary slightly, depending on printing capabilities, and I’ll be printing and assembling them next week. I’ll ship them as soon as they’re finished!

 

Original Amer Picon, then Torani Amer and the new Ferino Amer.

A newspaper ad for Amer Picon at its origina 78l Proof (39% ABV). It changed between 1981 and 1984 to 42 proof (21%)

A photo of Amer Ségalas, manufactured in San Francisco. A competitor to Torani Amer but it stopped productions I believe in the 1970s.

Torani Amer made by the coffee syrup company in San Francisco, eventually became the sole acceptable main ingredient in Basque houses across the west. And so it would be for many years to come.

Until the summer of 2024.

Chris Barkley: One day we just didn't get Torani

Chris Barkley tends bar at Casale’s Halfway Club in Reno. It’s an old school Italian joint with checkered table cloths and red leather booths and signatures all over the walls.

Chris Barkley: You see a brown cocktail sitting in front of you on a wood bar and it just kind of works. You know, aesthetically, I would say it does work.

The restaurant is an old 2 bedroom house; the front windows look across the old Lincoln Highway to the railroad tracks, and it’s been family run since the 1930s. A portrait of the late Inez Casale and her son Tony is displayed behind the bar on top of an old cash register, outlined by concentric rings of artifacts from memorable nights: The written scores of dice games from decades ago, photos, license plates, empty bottles of Torani and Malort, fading photos of baseball players, and and here too there is just one small TV tucked into the corner.

Though not a Basque house, Casale’s is a place people specifically go for a Picon. It was the first place that I ran into the shortage.

Chris Barkley: Nobody really knew for a couple weeks what was going on until I eventually heard through a rumor mill that there was something in the ingredient with the Torani Amaro (sic) that they couldn't ship over state lines from California. So it was difficult to find anywhere here in town unless you found a place that had a stockpile of it and you could maybe go barter and buy some off of them or something like that…It was really find anything, damn near impossible. And when you try to find the substitute for it, it just wasn't working.

Fil Corbitt: what were you feeling as a bartender who serves a lot of these things?

Chris Barkley: I mean, it's obviously a big disappointment for me at least. 'cause I, I like to make sure my customers get the drink they want. And especially when we are known for our Picons here — when you tell 'em our signature cocktail I can't make for you because I don't have the ingredients for it, it's obviously a very difficult discussion to have with people coming in. During that time it was just a lot of anger by a lot of people.

The Picon Punch has a poetic resonance with Northern Nevada. It’s quite brown, often maligned and almost always explained as an “acquired taste”…but once you learn to find the subtlety, it is really quite lovely. It is an unmeasured drink, the recipe is passed down orally, so it tastes different wherever you order it, and depending on who’s there. The main variant is Elko Style without club soda. But it’s the small changes between places that really flavors the thing.

The cocktail is a symbol of something intangible here. It doesn’t work well in a shiny new bar with vinyl floors and LED lights and big TVs, but it doesn’t work in every old bar either. It’s all about context, and also I think, it doesn’t work with other Amers. During the drought, people began to sub in others but they were all too sweet, and pleasant, and to my palette didn’t reflect the landscape at all. Lush french oil painting instead of scratches on your legs from running through the brush.

Those Amers made a drink a tourist would like on the first sip: which I don’t say as an affront to travelers, but as a crucial part of the process of this place: the unfolding path into the sage.

After a couple months of the shortage, Torani was able to regain certification and they started shipping again. But rumors swept across the Great Basin that the whole ordeal shook Torani’s dedication to the Amer. Now a coffee syrup company, it was the last alcoholic beverage they produced. And if they sold it, or just shut down production, who knows what would happen.

Fil Corbitt: The story I've heard goes that Torani wanted to get rid of the recipe. And that they sent basically like secret scouts to go to a bunch of distilleries and kind of feel 'em out and see where it might be most at home. And that eventually somebody came here and chose here. Is that the actual story is that tall tale?

Joe Canella: That sounds, that's, that's pretty accurate…. Torani did their homework and then eventually just very innocently reached out on our website. Like on the “contact us” form.

Joe Canella owns Ferino Distellery in Reno, Nevada, just down the street from Casale’s Halfway Club. It’s a small distillery that specializes in Amaros and Fernets.

Joe Canella: when I got that email, strangely, I just had this really funny feeling deep down that it was going to be something big. I almost got like, really emotional. I mean, I, I got an email through my web form and I kind of got a little emotional.

The rumor mill was right: Torani did want to ditch the Amer. The email was from the company’s international head of operations.

Joe Canella: We started chatting. We signed an NDA and they told me that they were looking for someone to take it on, and the had us in mind, but we wanted to, you know, spend some time feeling it out. In a couple of months we drew up some paperwork and they signed over the recipe.

It’s hard to imagine, at this point in our country’s history, a big company giving away a valuable piece of property of any sort. But they did, free of charge.

The folks I spoke to at the time were cautious with their optimism, but worried that a new distiller might change it or might not get the spirit of the thing.

Fil Corbitt: I got a call from J.B. (Lekumberry) saying, you know, hey, so Torani just got rid of this thing, and it's a guy in Reno and we're having him down to the JT. And the way he described it really quickly over the phone sounded kind of like a meeting of the families. Like it was like all these Basque restaurant owners. What was that dinner like? Do you remember that?

Joe Canella: Yeah. It was wonderful. I mean, it was definitely a little bit of like… we have an now have this important component of this thing—this very important Nevada thing, and obviously Nevada Basque thing.— And here we are… like you said, a seat at the table, so to speak. In my mind I was like, this is very important. We're here mostly to kind of get to know each other. So I, I wasn't trying to talk like too much shop in that first meeting. We literally was just like, “Hey, hi.” You know, I know what's going on and you know what the Torani Amer means, and I understand how important it is. So we all kind of understood the importance of this thing for each other and for the state.

The recipe changed hands and became Ferino Amer. In a strange stroke of cosmic luck or coincidence or something, there was other big news in the world of the Picon. A new push had begun in the state congress to make it the official drink of Nevada.

Similar efforts had failed, several times. There’s a hilarious transcript from 2013 where a state lawmaker asks why on earth they would want to honor a drink that tastes like aviation fuel. But this time, it seemed to have legs. That was mainly because in a legislative juke, it got tacked on to a different bill which would allow bars to sell cocktails to-go, the way they did during Covid. In June 2025, at the very end of the session, it passed.

The Picon Punch is now the official state drink of Nevada.

• • •

After the shortage many places stocked up on Torani, just in case. But almost a year after the switch, that stock has run out and Ferino Amer has now replaced Torani almost every place I’ve been to. It tastes just slightly different—a little brighter—which makes sense changing facilities and landcape, but to my palette it easily passes. And most importantly, it has the right spirit to it.

Marie Louise Lekumberry: It's about paying attention to what's happening around you. You become acclimated. And people coming to Nevada for the first time, they look out and they say there's nothing here. And it doesn't take them very long to feel what that ocean of Sagebrush just did to you. And I would say that's very similar with the Picon punch. You start to get into it and suddenly…you’re there.

The Picon is a drink you can only define by describing what’s around it.

Back at the JT, the summer storm hanging over the Sierra stays where it is, raining into the mountain but not a drop over here in the sagebrush. The evening is warm, the air clear and people begin to stream in for early dinner and 9 out 10 have a Picon in hand.

Etienne Lekumberry: it's almost religious or, at the very least spiritual…. the Picon punch deserves nothing but the utmost respect. You can go too, too far with them, you know? And generally there's a saying, one's not enough and three's too many. Right? It's like…you don't overdo it on the wine at church. You know? You're allowed your sacrament…and it is in no small way a sacrament of the Basque restaurant and boarding house. And it demands and it requires respect.… and two really is the magic number, right? We're giving you one more, one more than the church gives ya!

The Wind is produced by me, Fil Corbitt. This independent podcast is made with listener support, if you’d like to help make this show possible head to https://patreon.com/thewind and set up a monthly donation. You can also sign up for free to get updates.

The reporting for this episode was originally for NPR’s All Things Considered.

Thanks to Marie Louise, Etienne, J.B. and Anna Lekumberry along with Ryan Lamb and the whole staff at the JT for keepin it real. Thanks to Chris Barkley at Casale’s Halfway Club and Joe Canella at Ferino Distillery.

There is a new documentary called PiconLand by friend of the show Mark Maynard and Richard Bednarski. Mark helped out with some of the research and I highly recommend the film which talks to folks all over the region. Thanks to Gage Smith (Picon Drinkers of the American West) and Mike Higdon (The origin of the Picon Punch, Reno Gazette Journal) who spoke with me for the 2017 version, Ravenna Koenig, Sydney Martinez (with more Picon information in her book Finding Nevada Wild), Luka Starmer, Sierra Jickling, Mark Nesbitt and everybody who’s ever picked up a round.

Thank you for being here,

Cheers!

Walking Tour for Anywhere

Matt Bunk takes the mic // lace up your boots.

This episode was created entirely by Matt Bunk. 

You can find Matt’s work at @AllAroundCowboy_Loops,  and at https://bit.ly/MattBunkArtist 

Fool's Gold! • The Story of the Sazerac Lying Club

Extra Extra!! From the banks of the Reese River, a newspaper that propped up a honest-to-goodness LIARS CLUB, no lie, and a story from the city who built itself on such falsehoods. The secret history of bitcoin? The Toiyabe Mole Man in the mines of ERN, NEVADA? The TRUE story of TOTAL LIARS and the history they invented for themselves, and for us.

A story about lies, hoaxes, squibs and narrative foundations poured directly on top of rock-hard truth in some places, yet in others, onto the shaky ground of an earth pocked with tunnels and holes.

| • | • |


The word “Bitcoin” comes from an old mining phrase.

Silver was discovered in Nevada around the 1850s, and out-of-work miners in the spent claims of California rushed back the way they came, building cities in the high desert mountains. These towns would boom in just weeks, thanks in part due to coordinated promotion. A salesman would be hired by landowners or mine owners to travel around the west and convince people that his town was the next big thing.

Frequently these promoters would never see their marks again, and so… they’d lie through their teeth. The more people they convinced to move to their city, the more money they made, and the easier it was to convince other people to do the same. The phrase those promoters would use to attract people, was the phrase “Bit Coin.”

As in, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we officially *Bit Coin* in Silver City. You oughtta get there as quick as possible if you wanna bite some coin yourself!”


One day in 1862 a promoter showed up in Virginia City, claiming coin had been bitten in Central Nevada. It was an isolated stretch of desert mountains, and on the edge of the apparent vein was a newly-founded city called ((ERN)). At the time Virginia City was booming. And though the flush times were good for some, a lot of the workers got there late and couldn’t even afford a place to live, sleeping in tents and lean-tos and dusty bedrolls on the periphery of town. Some heard about ERN from the promoters on C Street or read about it in the Territorial Enterprise and thought ‘that might just be a way to get in on the ground floor’. These hopeful souls pulled up literal stakes, and rode horses and mules to a place that would become the geographic center of Nevada. and when they got there, they killed and ate the horses they rode in on.

Though they had not seen the promised veins of silver, feet thick, easy pickings, they had faith in this new place, and value—above all—was in faith.

What they didn’t know, is that nobody in ERN had really bitten coin. Not much anyway. There was a little silver here and there, but the promoters successfully blew it out of proportion to bring people to the town and to sell land and building materials and absinthe and shaving cream and jeans and newspapers. And so the city of ERN flourished. Like many boom and bust mining towns, the population grew quick. A newly built board building in the dirt-road down town soon became home to a newly founded newspaper to serve the curious readers settling on the sagebrush steppes; this was The Reese River Reveille.

The Reese River Reveille, named for a nearby waterway, would soon become world famous for a column dutifully penned by editor-in-chief Fred H Hart, and that column was called the Sazerac Lying Club.


At the time, there was frankly no expectation for objective, information-based reporting, and that kind of practice—the factchecking and clear attribution and careful parsing of words and obliteration of doubt from behind a bushy mustache that they teach in Journalism school—that would not take root until the mid 20th century. Back then, there were often multiple papers in a single small town, and readers would choose the one whose editorial bent or sense of humor aligned most with their own, so they could read mostly real news through the lens of a trusted eye.

The Territorial Enterprise in Virginia City for instance, where Samuel Clemens became Mark Twain, was a paper where tall tales and exaggeration were part of the DNA. Its readers knew as much, except for when they didn’t, and the exaggerated missives of a possibly lubricated journalist landed as claims of hard bitten truth. Twain was even apparently run out of town over an ill-recieved squib.

The papers were frequently staffed by a bohemian crew of literary misfits who had tried their own hand at mining, but fell back on their pens when it became clear that the only people making money in the mines were those who already had a lot of both. Now the The Reese River Reveille in ERN, Nevada existed squarely in this context, and was known to push the boundaries of metallic reality. The paper spent its first couple of years as a town promoter itself, reporting generously on the rapid growth of the new mining operations, and drumming up hype.

Neighboring papers would routinely call each others claims into question and the Reveille was often the can on a post.

"A Gentleman just in from the Reese River informs us that the ledges there which are called a foot thick are generally from one to two inches… What a lying age we live in.” -The Gold Hill News

Another paper from Reno wrote,

“To bite coin is a phrase fitting of Gold, not silver, for Gold is soft enough to bend under teeth. Silver, however, is harder and a bite of a silver coin does not reveal its truth.” -The Reno Theoretical Crescent

Despite, or perhaps because of its loose and fast approach, a lot of Nevada, even outside ERN subscribed to the Reveille. And with that readership, ads sold fast. Advertisements took up more than two thirds of the pages at one point. Event listings for dances, personals taken out by prostitutes, one man even advertised his own life - claiming that he so desperately needed the money, that whoever paid the highest price would be allowed to shoot and kill him.


What started as a lie in the newspaper, slowly became reality. The Sazerac Lying Club began to organize.

Even though they were initially upset with Fred Hart for making the whole thing up, the club adopted the name, the man Hart called George Washington Fibley became the actual presidentThe club would meet up in the evening, and Fred Hart claimed he’d pan through the stream of tall tales to deliver the nuggets of story-telling gold to readers of the Reveille.

Illustration by M Jiang, 2018

One popular story is this one: A Liar named Uncle John was riding up the highway south of town and saw a low, dark cloud blocking the road. At first, he thought it was a freak storm which is not uncommon in the high desert, but he got closer and realized it was not a storm but it was birds. Thousands of birds. He tried to ride through, but when the horses on his wagon hit the wall of birds, it felt as if they had run into a brick wall. The wall stretched across the entire valley, so he turned back and headed up to visit a friend who he knew had blasting dynamite for mining. They figured if they could tunnel through the earth, they could tunnel through the birds. But after a long ride back to the road, telling his friend about the incredible sight he was about to see, there wasn’t a single bird in the valley. This, he explained, was why he was late to the meeting.

That story was reprinted, as they often were, a few weeks later this time in a German paper, BUT the translation strayed. In the German version, the man returned with his friend and they blasted a hole with the dynamite and tunneled through the bird cloud, which had been changed to geese and in this version, presumably, Uncle John was on time to the meeting. And that is how the story is remembered.


The column paints a colorful picture of the Club’s behind-the-scenes deliberation. In fact, it spends quite a bit of time talking about motions and applications for membership, social slights and head butting. Hart’s Club will argue and spit, pulling tight against the lies of their fellow members, calling bullshit, evaluating the merits not just on truth but on the way the thing unfolds. It’s interesting seeing the peer-review in real time, deciding what flies and what sinks, a de-mo-cratic process.

At one point a liar points to a picture of President George Washington on the wall and asks if the club knows the story about the cherry tree. The reply is tepid, so he recounts the founding tale: the boy’s receipt of an ax, his excitement to put it into use and the felling of his father’s favorite tree. When the dad returns, he heads straight to the slave’s quarters where he slathers blame on anyone near. But none of the men enslaved by the Washington family take responsibility, so the father searches for his kid who is now manically hacking away at an old board in the barn. Future president George Washington is caught dead-to-rights, and admits his mistake and falling to his knees, asks for forgiveness. His dad is so moved by this simple truth that he bursts into tears and accepts the apology in a beautiful moment of national pride.

“Wal as for me,” one liar says in response, “I think it’s the dog-gonedest biggest lie as was ever told in this here club and I’d like to hear the sentiments of the gentlemen here present on the subjeck.”

The group puts the story to a vote, an in unanimous decision, they deem it a downright LIE.

Thus did the club,” Hart wrote, “in one fell blow, demolish a great truth of American History.


As ERN reached it’s peak in the 1870s, the miners and townspeople could intuit that something was off. They could feel that the metal beneath the mountains was lighter than promised, not nearly enough to maintain the gravitational force it takes to anchor a city to the desert floor.

But before the bust, there was still money to be made. The men still sent promoters to parts unknown. Hell, if they could sell their homes and buildings and mining claims (salted or not) to newcomers and men of speculation, they might not get left holding the bag.

In this national market economy, speculators need not be prospectors either. Combing through far-flung newspaper reports and word from trusted scouts, investors from afar—San Francisco, New York—would buy shares into the mines and companies of frontier businessmen living shabbier lives than they, out on the edge of the economic fringes. Useful, to the men in suits.

Though some bought stake in specific mines, gambling on the assayer’s initial findings, other investors followed the credo that those who get rich are those who sell goods to the hopeful. Townspeople would offer shares in their construction companies, their saloons, their dynamite importation business. Some of these were bonafide, some just smoke in the shape of a man.

One savvy business owner knew that the suits on Wall Street were no fools, and that a smart man would know that heavy ore must be transported from the hinterlands to a real city where smart men could process it and tuck it safely into a trustworthy bank, or similar institution. And so he founded the Reese River Shipping Company which purported to lend transport of raw ore from ERN Nevada by Freight Ship up the Reese River all the way to San Francisco. The men in New York saw opportunity here; if the silver was as abundant as the Reveille seemed to believe, the men would be rich.

The details not included in the telegraph were as follows:

The Reese River is in the Great Basin and so never makes it anywhere near San Francisco, instead petering out in a local desert sink.

Also

The Reese River is about a foot deep and in most places you can step across it without getting your boots wet.

With these details lost to omission, the shipping company sold many shares.


Over the course of regular congregation, the Sazerac Lying Club adopted rules and bylaws. The most notable laid out in the columns of the Reveille was that professional liars like politicians would not be admitted, and that lies would not be malicious or self serving; they would only allow lies which amuse or elevate without harm.

Many of the stories are indeed victimless, and usually about mining, fishing, hard travel. But some were not at all harmless. Dozens include a protagonist who tricks, steal from or outright kills the non-white both in town and in the mythic places that the liars hailed from. The Paiute, Shoshone and Washo, joined by Black and Chinese folks were the target of outright smear campaigns, and sometimes their mere presence the entire punchline. One chapter in Hart’s book, which later compiled his Lying Club columns, is simply titled “Indians and Chinese” and it goes as one may imagine.

The stories unfold against a desert backdrop bigger than the average reader can envision. They also unfold against a violent process of killing, drilling and extracting everything possible from an unfamiliar landscape.

The Chinese Exclusion act, Slavery, bounties on the body parts of the indigenous, women’s subjugation, Manifest Destiny; all from a story people told themselves. The story of who we are, about why we weren’t getting rich, about where we, as a country, came from.

Lies were used to inflate the value of the town.

Lies were used to stratify every person in it.


Today ghost towns exist across the western deserts because natural resources are scarce. When the Silver or Gold dried up, it was no longer sustainable to transport food, water and lumber to town. So the residents would leave. What I’d like to say is that there was a lie so fantastic that it killed the town of ERN, leaving a ghostly husk in the desert wind.

Something like:

It’s around midnight and Uncle John leans in over the wood stove.

Did you know this place is doomed?” he says, eyes darting to every tired face in the room. Wind whipping at the slats of the barroom.

How would you know?” a liar mutters.

Well”, John Says, “I was down in the mine and I heard a rustling at the end of the shaft. Knowing I should be the only one in there, I set my lantern down and crouched up against the wall, thinking whoever it was would assume I ran.

But the rustling got louder and louder, It didn’t sound like a person. It sounded like claws in the dirt, scratch scracth and they were getting real close. So I jumped up toward the lantern and pointed my gun into the darkness.

Right then, a face stepped into the flickering light. It was a man, alright, but a man so gnarled, his skin was rougher than a bristlecone pine, and his limbs more crooked. His teeth were black as night, and his eyes were shut tight like they hadn’t been open in a decade.

John shifts in his seat, the others leaning deep in to his story.

And here’s what he says, he says, ‘your mountains ‘er runnin dry. Get on up to Bannock Montana where they bit coin last week,’ and finished the sentence with a resolute coughin’ fit. — And I think, he must be a blind promoter, maybe got turned around, came in here for shelter. But when he gets a breath he says

I know what you’re thinking and I’m not a town promoter!

I AM THE TOIYABE MOLE MAN and I can tell when a mine’s runnin dry from 12 miles away. And there ain’t no coin for 12 miles in any direction from where we’re standin’ right now.

“I shook his grimy hand and walked back into town and right here into my seat in the Sazerac.

So who of you wantsta go ta Bannock?” John finishes and the crowd erupts. Everyone in the bar believes every word which spreads like fire through the night, and they grab what they can and the town is deserted by daybreak.


But it wasn’t a lie that undid the town.It was the cold, hard truth.

The city could start up on hype and lies, but could only last so long. Eventually the mining operations that were promised to be bigger than the Comstock, weren’t. and the shipping companies that promised to transport silver never floated a single coin.

Today, ERN is practically a ghost town. The buildings still stand, the stone church, the heads of the mines, slatted walls meeting the high desert floor. A few bars here and there still function. The paper is long gone, just a patch of sagebrush in the breeze near the motel and gas station and the shut down hardware store with screeds taped to the windows.

The only thing that seems to be growing, new, is a large warehouse on the edge of town.

On the main street when asked a man in a flat-brim hat said it was a secret data center, just popped up, no one knows what’s in it.

An old timer ducking into the bar snapped his suspenders and rocked up on his toes saying “Bit Coin, my boy. It’s the Block Chain.”

And the lights stay on all night…


A few years into the Sazerac Lying Club, Fred H. Hart was offered a book deal. In the column he said the liars put it to a vote, and agreed to hand over the rights to their stories. However, they stipulated that all future lies and meetings would be private. The Reese River Reveille would stop printing their columns. And like that, the club publicly disappeared.

It is unknown whether the Sazerac Lying club dried up that night, flush with the royalties of a New York book deal. Or if they simply went underground for a while and then dried up along with the town, or if there are still some old miners in that bar today, sittin around, tellin’ lies.


« | • | »

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