Tag: Ginny Millay

I’ve seen my share of jukeboxes, butthis weekend I had my mind blown by one.

It sat there like a birthday present,hunched in the back of a crowded dive bar. My friends and I had justhad dinner to celebrate my 29^th year, and contemplatedcalling it an early night. There were simply too many people around,not enough seats, and some really intense metal blaring over thespeakers.

But then – silence. We were standingin the glow of the very thing that just moments earlier had assaultedour eardrums, and the credits stood at zero.

I whipped out some ones without muchthought. There’s nothing worse than waiting around to hear yoursongs after some idiot has blown twenty bucks to play Bob Dylan’sentire catalogue, but when given the opportunity to start a new roundI take full advantage.

The first, most obvious thing aboutthis amazing machine was that it played CDs. Now, I’m sure there arejukebox enthusiasts out there that would scoff at such a modern thingin favor of 1950’s era boxes that play 45s. Not I, not existing, asI do, in a wasteland of ugly wall-mounted digital jukeboxes. Evenbars that I consider my favorites are foolish enough believe thatthese abominations fulfill their jukebox requirement, but that ispainfully false. I can appreciate the breadth of choice offered bydigital “jukeboxes” (if you feel it appropriate to bestow such atitle on a overgrown, overly flashy mp3 player), but the highlyinflated costs per play and the sacrilegious option to “play thistrack next” offered to line-jumpers are just a few of the evilsthat permeate the atmosphere around any digital box.

So yes, I marveled, if not rejoiced,that this was an automated CD player before me, and began to selectmy plays. Choosing songs for an entire bar full of strangers holdssimilar rules to making mixtapes for friends. You don’t put onmultiple tracks by the same artist. You don’t go for the obvious –sorry, Johnny Cash, Abba, “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond, etc –unless you want to come off like an amateur. Deep cuts are alwaysmore respectable than well-known hits. Start with a banger, becauseeveryone can see you still standing there choosing the rest of yourtracks. Don’t be afraid to vary genres and eras. And while theymight be permissible on a personal mixtape, in a bar on a Saturdaynight there is just no room for downers.

The main difference in selecting songsfor a playlist and selecting songs on a jukebox is of course that ona jukebox, selections are made from a set of curated parameters. Often this includes the dregs of the bar owner’s collection ofMetallica discs. But not on this jukebox. Instead, I was flippingthrough hand-made mixes and comps. Not Weezer’s recent (read:shitty) albums, not Frampton Comes Alive! or the soundtrack toGrease. These mixes had themes and titles – WHAT IT IS! wasfleshed out by 60’s girl garage bands, WALKING THE DOG had Morrisseyfollowing Blondie, The Kinks, and Ike & Tina Turner. There werefour expert Motown collections, three assemblages of unusual covers,and a smattering of rockabilly, sixties classics, glam rock, andnineties indie darlings under headings like TEXAS FUNK, DANCINGBAREFOOT, and THE DAY BARTENDER. When a band’s repertoire warrantedrepresentation by a whole disc, a best-of mix often featured deepercuts alongside more well-known hits. Everything had personality -the Michael Jackson card was handwritten and labeled “Dead KidToucher (R.I.P.)”. It was like this jukebox was trying to animateand enliven and expound. I felt that it may even be able to teach mesomething and found myself wanting to go back to the bar in thedaytime and start with 0101 until I’d cycled through every choiceavailable.

The fact is that most jukeboxes neverstrive for more than “decent” status. My favorite jukebox of alltime was in a diner in Ohio and had the Shins before Garden Stateblew them up, and the second EP the Liars put out, among other gems. Playing the last track on “They Threw Us In A Trench and Stuck aMonument On Top”, which clocked in at thirty-plus minutes thanks toa never-ending loop (the vinyl version is locked-groove), sometimesresulted in the staff shutting the jukebox down, and once resulted inthe entire restaurant clapping when the onslaught had ended. But itwas a “prank” we pulled often, over huevos rancheros and blackbean burgers alike, at least until the old dear was replaced by adreaded TouchTunes. The jukebox I met this weekend is leagues aboveall that. It feels wholly original, personable, and thought out bythe bar’s proprietors, and that alone sets it apart. It is ameditation on bar soundscape, a chance for everyone to become themost in-the-know DJ.