Juke Box Saturday Night
Juke n. brothel, akin to Gullah Juke disorderly of West African origin; akin to Bambara dzugul wicked 1939
Our juke-joint jury delivers sound advice on avoiding the perils and pitfalls of Cheeseburgers In Paradise, shots named after sex acts and the populism of the dreaded internet jukebox.
If there’s one thing that can make or break a bar, it’s the music that’s playing while you’re swilling back the booze. While many other intangible elements are bound to influence the atmosphere of any given watering hole, there’s nothing that can sway the verdict one way or the other like musical selection. Not every bar has a jukebox, and certainly not every bar needs one, but for those that do, the juke in question can truly make the final decision about whether or not you walk through those swingin’ doors. While I’ve been known to judge many a bar by its box, and make a ridiculously long trip to many a bar because of its box, there’s no question in my mind that even one record that’s alleged to be on said box – depending upon what it is – can become the defining element of an entire bar. With that said, we hit the town recently for many a round of drinks and corralled our observations into the chaos that you see below.
THE SATURN BAR
Hands down, every one of us agreed that the Saturn Bar simply has the best jukebox in the city, always has and always will. There are several reasons for this, all of them owing to the bar’s owner, O’Neal. “I’ve got gangs of records back there,” he says, motioning into the abyss that is the cluttered bar’s back room. “Boxes of ‘em.” Like much of his establishment’s amazing décor, O’Neal’s record collection has come from here, there and everywhere. He owns several jukeboxes, one of which is at his house, another of which is currently in the possession of a friend. “That box has got some good records on it,” he notes thoughtfully. “I’ve gotta get that one back.” While some of his rarer records have come out of the jukeboxes that he buys, the bulk of his 45s come from thrift stores. “I had Carl Perkins’ “Blue Suede Shoes” on Sun right up there on the wall,” he says, “But I gave it to Tommy Lee Jones when he came in. I’ve got an Elvis Sun record on the jukebox right now.”
The records might be important, but to O’Neal and his customers, so are the machines that play them. The Saturn’s main box is an ancient Seeburg 160 with an eerie echo-laden sound capable of summoning enough sheer atmosphere to spit in the face of any and all technological advances. The machine accepts dimes and quarters and when the needle hits vinyl it immediately becomes clear that THIS is the way these records were meant to sound. Songs like Bill Doggett’s “Honky Tonk,” Dale And Grace’s “I’m Leaving It Up To You,” Earl Connolly King’s “Big Blue Diamonds,” Johnny Thunder’s “Loop De Loop,” Cookie and the Cupcakes’ “Mathilda,” and – perhaps most noticeable of all – more Ernest Tubb than you’ll see anywhere East of the Texas border, have simply never sounded better.
But alas, as we stagger into the Saturn for the scholarly pursuits of this article, the 160 is dark and a slightly newer ‘70s model sits in front of it blasting out the tunes. The song selection is slightly different but still quite good. Buddy Morrow’s “Night Train” seems to be a favorite. Our consistently suave editor Mike Jastroch, in between spilling drinks, ordering rounds and perusing the song selection, continually proclaims that “This one is even better than the old one!” Arguments ensue. It’s good, of course, as any jukebox with songs chosen by O’Neal would be, but no matter how good it is, my fear that I may never hear the Seeburg again finally builds to the breaking point and I have to inquire. “A capacitor went out,” Neal reassures me, pointing to an identical model sequestered near a gargantuan prehistoric AC unit and a neon-covered turtle named Candy. “I’ve got that one there but it doesn’t take any money. I’ve got a guy whose gonna come out and change the parts out.”
An old gentleman at the bar who gives his name only as Walter is appreciating every song that plays. “I’m strictly a classical man,” he says. “But I like my country music. Country used to be real popular in New Orleans.” It’s soon evident that Walter’s musical expertise isn’t limited to classical and country, but is as widely varied as the songs that are flowing through the air. “I’ve been coming here since just a few months after Neal opened this place in 1960,” says Walter. “But I didn’t get to know him till a little bit later.” After a vaguely heated discussion about the history of country music, culminating with the pros and cons of Loretta Lynn (Walter: “That movie Coal Miner’s Daughter wasn’t worth dogshit.” Neal: “That’s your opinion,”) it’s clear that, as Walter says, “We’ve been great friends ever since.”
Neal, for his part, has been through his share of jukeboxes. Like his records, they come from everywhere. He bought his first from a jukebox distributor on St. Claude and Poland back before it was legal to actually sell them to the public. Another one came from an oyster house on North Claiborne that was closing down. Would he ever consider buying a CD jukebox?
“Oh no baby, you gotta have the records,” he says, running down a list of some of his all time favorites: “Just Because” by Lloyd Price, “I Bowed On My Knees” by Sugarboy Crawford, “Lena” by Al ‘Carnival Time’ Johnson.” They’re not the easiest records to find but don’t be surprised if they’re playing the next time you walk into the Saturn. (DG)
Ms. Mae’s
Ah, Ms. Mae’s. Or should we say Ms. Mae’s In Exile, considering the fact that this Uptown monument to hard living was banished from the premises of what is now St. Joe’s. If you don’t know the story, ask around. We stoop in below smoke level, and avail ourselves of the dollar cocktails. Yes kids, cocktails are always a dollar, 24/7. Believe it. Two bucks for call, but hey, why be picky?
The jukebox here is typically atypical, much like the clientele. I particularly like the CD from The Boulevards (personally signed “To Ms. Mae’s, thanks for the memories, those that I can remember.”) and the fact that the Beastie Boys co-exist in the same jukebox with their primary musical influence and mentor, Fats Domino. Stir in some Foghat, Patsy Cline and Alice Cooper, and you have the makings of one of the most interesting boxes in town, although it’s not even in the same universe as the one at the original Ms. Mae’s, which seemed to continually blast Joe Turner’s “Flip Flop and Fly,” Little Richard’s “I’m A Lonely Guy,” Dean Martin’s “I Wanna Be Around,” ZZ Top’s “La Grange” and the Dukes Of Dixieland’s “Vodka Tonic.” Those were the days; don’t even get me started!!
Word of advice: don’t drop your weekly pay into the box just before evening news time. If Ms. Mae wants to watch the news, the box goes off, end of story. But you can’t possibly get upset with her when she flashes that famous smile at you, now can you? Shut up and order a round for the bar. At a dollar a shot, even you can afford it. But be careful. It has been determined that one too many drinks here can cause said customer to begin wondering aloud just why J. Monque’ D’s “My Best Friend Is Gone” – which sounded so good coming out of that lamented jukebox at the old Ms. Mae’s – isn’t on here. Sad, but fittingly poetic, isn’t it? (KF)
LENNY’S PICCADILLY LOUNGE
Lenny’s is one of those bizarre, uncategorizable bars on the CBD side of Canal Street. Not quite a dive, yet a bit too earthy and real for the touristas and the suits, Lenny’s Piccadilly Lounge is home to a terrific jukebox that beautifully mirrors its friendly and funky urban vibe.
It’s easy to spot Lenny’s, what with the massive sign in ye olde-style lettering. You’ll find it tucked in between the mauve canopy of Tandoori Indian restaurant and The Half Shell’s gargantuan neon oyster. Across the street lies the classy façade of the Fairmont Hotel, making for a patchwork block shrouded in enough neon to allow for reading outdoors at night. Lenny’s pipes its jukebox to outside speakers so you can do a spontaneous sidewalk dance to Betty Wright’s “Tonight’s the Night (You Make Me a Woman)” or Thelonious Monk’s “Misterioso” (both of which I heard on separate nights) as you amble in the door. The cozy atmosphere features a sunken den to your left, a small bar under a low ceiling to your right, and low-slung, half-circle booths tucked in a corner to the left of the jukebox. Flying in the face of all convention, the Lenny’s juke houses a treasure trove of classic soul, urban black pop music, cheesy guilty pleasures and a surprisingly large jazz selection all there for you to mix up and force on everyone for a mere couple dollars.
For righteous soul music, Lenny’s can’t be beat: Sam Cooke, Bobby “Blue” Bland, Otis Redding, War, Al Green, the Temptations, even Marvin Gaye’s darkly brilliant divorce record Here, My Dear. This enables wild segues with some of the more outré selections on the juke. Try starting with the wicked guitar break of the Isley Brothers’ version of “Summer Breeze,” then go into Bobby Darin’s smarmy “Beyond the Sea” and John Coltrane’s intense “Pursuance” movement from A Love Supreme, maybe throwing in a sexy torch song from Julie London or a bawdy cheatin’ ode from Z.Z. Hill for good measure. But my personal fave is to program a ridiculously long set of Dionne Warwick singing Bacharach tunes – yep, “Walk on By,” “Alfie,” “I Say a Little Prayer,” “A House is Not a Home,” “You’ll Never Get to Heaven,” then top it off with the bombastically brilliant “Promises, Promises.” Am I the only one who likes to hear thunderous tympani while drinking?
The jazz selection alone at Lenny’s qualifies it for special status. What other juke in town stocks this many CD’s by Miles Davis, Duke Ellington (3 discs!), Ella Fitzgerald (2), Dexter Gordon, Thelonious Monk, Billie Holiday (2), Lou Donaldson, Stan Getz, Dinah Washington, and John Coltrane (2). Admittedly, that’s a bit heavy on the singers, but any bar where I can bust some ‘Trane or Monk into a set with a Meters instrumental or JB shouting “Sex Machine” is a very good place indeed
(RC)
Brothers Three
I never thought I’d willingly listen to country music, but last week’s trip to Nashville by way of Magazine Street left its mark upon me. So now I am listening to Johnny Darrell crooning about love gone bad and trying to recreate the atmosphere of the Brothers Three lounge. A jukebox is only as good as its home – and the Brothers Three provides an excellent home environment for the likes of George Strait, Freddy Fender and Ernest Tubb. This quiet, immaculate little tavern with its low ceilings and small army of A/C window units is a blessing on a hot summer afternoon. Worn flooring revealing decades of various tiles compliment the bar’s patina of cigarette burns. The simplicity of this old neighborhood bar, delightfully devoid of pretentious cocktails and clientele, allows you to appreciate a good jukebox. For two bits, Keely Smith will perform “I Wish You Love” while old men nod their approval between sips of beer.
Sure, the use of CDs have expanded jukebox selections since many artists of yesteryear never recorded on 45’s, but for me nothing beats the sound of a diamond needle weaving across vinyl. This no-frills musical appliance with its small turntable and yellowed handwritten selection board is an audio scrapbook of nostalgia. For one dollar you can assemble your own concert, with Sinatra as a backup to Buck Owens and Louis Prima warming up the crowd for Johnny Cash. (DL)
CIRCLE BAR
You may not hear it much since the bartenders tend to play great music over the stereo system, but the Circle Bar’s jukebox is, simply put, a masterpiece. Although we have an obvious partiality to the classic 45 juke, if you were out to make a case for everything that a CD jukebox can be, this would be a strong convincer. The impeccably wide-ranging musical taste that it takes in testifies to a lifetime of record mania as each CD has obviously been chosen out of sheer love. You could close your eyes and punch random buttons and come up with nothing but winners from the likes of the Stooges, Nathaniel Mayer, Tony Casanova, Jerry Byrne, Suicide, ? And the Mysterians, Jewel and the Rubies, the Kinks, Johnny Kidd and the Pirates, Howard Tate, Swamp Dogg, Ben Webster, Hank Ballard, Doctor Ross - the list of fine music on this sucker could fill this entire magazine and then some.
If you don’t like the band that’s playing but aren’t nearly ready to go home, you can shop for your next musical purchases by leafing through the selections, but be forewarned: some of them are not available in stores. I speak of an amazingly compiled, homemade collection of obscure ‘60s girl groups (ending perfectly with the Detroit Cobras’ first single!), the very hip Vital Organs bootleg, the best Roky Erickson collection ever assembled and the long out-of-print Lafayette Soul Show CD which features Don Fredericks’ devastating “Even Big Boys Cry,” as well as this issue’s theme song, “I Got Loaded” by Little Bob and the Lollipops. (DG, DR)
Snake & Jakes
We’re early for Snake & Jake’s. Way early. It’s barely nine o’clock, but I can already tell that because of my journalistic zeal for this type of research I will not make it much longer tonight. While beating on the door of this particular bar will typically get you shot, for some reason our very personable host and bartender Andrew sees fit to allow us into the establishment.
Andrew shows us his unending hospitality via a bottle of Jaegermeister, which is probably why the following audio notes about this jukebox sound very similar to “blah blah blah!” followed by the sound of saliva and mouth sliding down the glass front of the machine. (Note to Andrew: get out the Windex, dude.) Nevertheless, the scant few that I could make out go something like this:
“Miles Davis, yeah! Jon Bon Jovi, Mariah Carey…What the fuck is up with Mariah fucking Carey and Alan Jackson? Lame-o Billy Joel, cool, the Ohio Players, dig, James Brown D’OH! Talking Heads, the Clash – finally! Morphine, the Specials: note disc 18, track 01, ‘A Message to You Rudy,’ oh geez that’s the shit! Elvis Costello, and that’s just fucking great, Andrew just turned the lights off, and I can’t see shit ‘cause there’s no light in this jukebox.”
I do also remember Hank Williams (Senior, not the Junior barfbag) getting the nod.
Note to players: the bartenders at S&J’s have total discretion with the music. If you play something that sucks, they will flip off the box and put something totally righteous on from their multi-disc player behind the bar. So don’t push it. Mariah Carey fans are advised to steer clear. (KF)
EL MATADOR
Great on Sunday afternoons if you want a cool, dark bar to yourself and your friends. Park your new record purchases on the bar and play the jukebox. Pick hit: the Gories’ I Know You Be Houserockin’. The volume knob is on the pillar at the center of the bar, useful information as you’ll probably have to ask the bartender to turn it up a little. Play some ‘70s punk, Cheap Trick, Iron Maiden or Johnny Adams. Don’t play that Roxy Music disc, you’ll feel like an idiot. (DR)
Liuzza’s By The Track
The food is killer, the atmosphere is totally down home, and the jukebox falls right into line. The finest songs on here just might be the Iguanas’ “Nervous” (off of their long out-of-print first album), Marvin Gaye’s “Hitchhike” and Bobby Bland’s “Cry Me a River.” And that is truly just the beginning… (DG)
BJ’s
When Little Freddie King isn’t taking to the stage, (er, floor) here, it’s jukebox time at this Ninth Ward watering hole. There are some truly fine choices here, including the Blasters, Earl King, and a great selection of soul and blues. (DG)
Ernie K-Doe’s Mother-In-Law Lounge
There are many reasons to hang out at K-Doe’s, two of which are to honor the late Emperor and dine on the best red beans and rice in the city. The jukebox is a close third. From Elvis to Rico Watts to K-Doe himself (with some early James Brown thrown in for good measure), this box also offers a stellar selection of modern blues and R&B. (DG)