That the waltz-drunk "Duidu, Duidu" and its laid-back counterpart "Dudidubidu" are really just a stone's throw apart, little more than a warm embracing dance away, has been clear to the masters of Mnozil Brass for ages. For more than thirty years, the seven virtuosos have been effortlessly swerving back and forth with their gleaming brass instruments between Johann Strauss and Frank Sinatra, between Shostakovich and Prince, or, with particular passion, from Schubert over to their kindred spirits in Queen.

The solemn grandeur of one side matters to them as little as the supposed banality of the other. But Strauss, fervently admired by Brahms, Wagner and Verdi as much as by craftsmen and the girls from the suburbs (and even a Gershwin), was the founding father of the nonchalant flirting between musical chairs. Strauss was the first to churn out hits by the dozen, to hire an arranger in order to work faster, and to realise that, together with his brothers, he could reproduce his sound worldwide.

He was the first to blur the lines between serious and popular music, becoming a mass phenomenon as the Waltz King. Never did the cash registers ring sweeter.

In Strau$$, Mnozil Brass now reveal absolutely everything about Strau$$, even the very last detail.

In the end, nothing remains but the naked truth.