4 chart smash, "(Love Is Like a) Heat Wave," in covers and filler, only in this case, the place-keepers keep pace with the derby winner. As with all Motown LPs before Marvin Gaye's What's Going On in 1971, the Vandellas' second album couches its No. Rhino Records' regal 4-CD hatbox, 2003's One Kiss Can Lead to Another: Girl Group Sounds Lost & Found, transforms women into Holly Golightly at the drop of a tennis visor, but 28 minutes of Heat Wave cooks Breakfast at Tiffany's. Scrolling past my Guns n' Roses holdings toward her Mediterranean of Morrissey, I punched up that which she'd used to amplify this technological boon one morning on our raft, the first disc I burned her: Heat Wave, by Martha Reeves & the Vandellas, 1963. Once she'd demonstrated her iPhone's tiny external speaker, it was only a matter of time and place before its iTunes got tapped as a 1970s transistor radio. One night, our unreality check washed up on girlfriend's porch as we sat listening to a still 11pm weeknight on the Eastside. (The Sound of Philadelphia)" – bore no relation to the weather. Conversation assumes a Miami moon and in some other room, Love Train: The Sound of Philadelphia showers a quiet storm of soul: "Expressway (to Your Heart)," the Delfonics' "Didn't I (Blow Your Mind This Time)," "Drowning in the Sea of Love." On our South Seas sanctuary of the imagination, the Three Degrees – "When Will I See You Again," and MFSB's "T.S.O.P. Time to take a load off, either way, bury the day. If we were lucky, it was Gordon Lightfoot, sundown. Our raft there – you'd swear it was an ordinary mattress – usually arrived like Paul Simon, late in the evening. On our desert island, a two-story bungalow faces the lagoon, and goats, donkeys, and rabbits forage around the lush tropicalia that parts at the tree line opening to the sea.
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