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com/giorgi-surmanidze">Giorgi Surmanidze or more about Georgian jazz ?

The music was so sharp and defiant that for a moment, the iron bars seemed to hum. The "balanda" didn't taste like survival that night; it tasted like home.

One evening, a young guard brought in a confiscated blue accordion. He tossed it at Giorgi’s feet. "Play something better than the sound of spoons hitting empty bowls," the guard sneered.