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In 1968, a succession of hastily produced, impossibly anachronistic travelogues with sappy soundtracks had dimished Elvis' star so completely he was considered washed up. With rare exceptions he hadn't appeared in concert in over a decade with seemingly no apparent demand for such a thing. Singles barely cracked the Top 40 (when they did) and album sales were in steady decline. American tweens had out-grown Hound Dogs and Teddy Bears, gravitating instead towards Partridges, Monkees and Cowsills.
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