Procol Harum: It's Only Realism
Richard Cromelin, Creem, February 1972
IN THE THICK AIR air of the early evening, Los Angeles wrings itself out after one of its record-breaking August heat wave days. Coldwater Canyon cuts into the hills above Beverly Hills, the luxury homes that sit back from its streets bespeaking its posh status. Before one of the houses, that of an A&M official, the street is lined with cars whose owners have bypassed the red-coated valet parkers who stand bored and idle in the driveway (the tips add up, you know).
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