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Best Honeycomb Hideout for Maggot-Brained Vinyl Fetishists and Wigga Boyz Who Think Beck's a Prophet New York 2000 - Finyl Vinyl

As a po' brokedown rock critic, I never actually have any money, so I just roll up on small East Village shop Finyl Vinyl to drool over the wall where divine proprietor Robert displays all the latest funk and soul rarities that have resurfaced. One-stop shopping: Chocolate Milk, Cymande, and Allen Toussaint. There's stuff on the rock side too (right wall), but it's never as dynamic nor dire. Any given day, you're apt to see some maniac collector plopped on the stool babbling frenziedly about the merits of obscure Spector demos, while mid-'60s boogaloo blares on a real live turntable. Sho'nuff it's a haven for overgrown adolescent whiteboys. But I too love how folks toss off the query for some vinyl grail rather than "Howdy" by way of greeting. My personal big score: Right on Be Free, by the the Voices of East Harlem.
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