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THE BEAT GOES ON

CHICAGO—Not so long ago I dropped by my neighborhood used-record shack hoping to complete my Archie Bell & The Drells 45s collection. As luck would have it, the soul kitchen was bare. So I stopped to kibbutz with the store manager, a music bookie of the first order.

December 1, 1978
Rick Johnson

THE BEAT GOES ON

Carillo Loaf Or Reality Sandwich?

CHICAGO—Not so long ago I dropped by my neighborhood used-record shack hoping to complete my Archie Bell & The Drells 45s collection. As luck would have it, the soul kitchen was bare. So I stopped to kibbutz with the store manager, a music bookie of the first order. We swapped rock 'n' roll news like baseball cards —a hot Bowie flash for an apocryphal Willy DeVille tale; a Devo slap for the latest news of Keith and the courts. Before I left, the guy—who is rarely wrong about this sort of thing—recommended that I see this band, Carillo, who was playing on one of the rock stages at our town's summer lakeside rock fest.

If I could only get tips like that at the track. Even though it was impossible to get within 1,000 feet of the stage it was obvious that this

Hicks Nix Mellow Willow

HIALEAH, FLA—Lamar McLean is out of his tree, and it's all the city housing inspector's fault.

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