Got Any Juice Box Heroes in Your Tree?
My five-year-old son has developed quite an affinity for certain rock bands/songs. Among his favorites are Foreigner and Journey, and in particular, he loves the album, Foreigner 4. In what may be the cutest case of a mistaken lyric ever, he sings, "...he's a juice box hero..."
The other night my husband was practicing due diligence as a parent and playing Van Halen songs for the kids. "Jump" came on, and they got excited -- because who doesn't at the sound of that synth riff? Hearing the lyric "I got my back against the record machine," it occurred to me to ask them if they knew what he was singing about? I mean, do kids these days have any idea what a record machine is? (Before I go further, let me just say that I'm assuming a record machine is a jukebox. If you know differently, keep it to yourself and let me have my fantasy for this post, okay?)
The jukebox holds a special place in my heart, and I suspect most people older than 30 feel some nostalgia at the sight of one, or at least have an understanding of its cultural significance. Before there were mainstream portable musical devices (think boombox, walkman, iPod), people who were out and about had to wait for their favorite songs to be played on the radio. Pop a coin into a jukebox, and voila - instant gratification and playlist shared with everyone in the bar!
I know there are still "jukeboxes" around (and not the ones you buy on eBay or spot in a specialty place like a Johnny Rockets restaurant), but they are not the ones from my childhood. Today, everything is digital. It's not the same. Now, don't get me wrong, I think digital is great. I love my Google music library. There's just something about having a limited selection of songs available to play with the actual vinyl records housed inside ... it's like the machine has its soul in there. Today's digital jukeboxes seem like just part of the background, not the iconic characters that populated many a song from the 1950s on. (My personal favorites: "I Love Rock and Roll" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts and "Don't Rock the Jukebox," by Mr. Alan Jackson.)
It's a fact: my three youngest kids were not around in the 20th century. (Oh. My. Goodness.) And as digital natives, I'm not sure my children will ever understand the powerful emotional connection I have with a piece of machinery that wasn't digitally programmed to play music, but was mechanically engineered to physically receive a coin, read the selection that was keyed, move its wheels, gears, and whirligigs to grab the correct record from a stack of 45 RPM vinyl disks (45's), put said disk on the record playing mechanism, and then engage the needle and spin to produce the magical sound that was paid for. All of this, of course, was prone to failure (someone get The Fonz!) and quality varied greatly according to the age of the jukebox and the establishment where it resided, but man, it was good for this child of the 1980s.
My hometown drugstore had a soda pop fountain and was a favorite after-school gathering spot for kids. Guess what the drugstore had? You got it! A jukebox for my friends and I to play "Owner of a Lonely Heart" by Yes fifty billion times. We also wore out "Karma Chameleon" (Culture Club) and "Break My Stride" (Matthew Wilder) (remember that one?), among others.
My family lived down the road from a bowling alley. At some point in my childhood, my parents managed it for a couple of years, but I feel like I grew up there because I always seemed to be there. A childhood friend's grandparents owned it, so I was scurrying around with her behind the lanes and in the kitchen long before my parents got involved. I also bowled there on the weekends, taking lessons every Saturday morning from the incomparably patient Louise Garetson. Guess what the bowling alley had? You got it. A jukebox! I begged my parents for quarters to play such classics as "Angel of the Morning" (Juice Newton), "Back in the Saddle" (Aerosmith), "Celebration" (Kool and the Gang), and "Funkytown" (Lipps Inc.) so that my bowling alley friends (kids whose parents were in week-night bowling leagues) and I could dance the night away.
My favorite jukebox hangout, however, was at the bar on my hometown's main street, The Branding Iron Lounge. (Yes, I hung out there as a kid, too, but before you get all scandalized by it, it was usually on Sundays, when it was closed, to help my mom clean (can I just say, gross)). Maybe simultaneously with the bowling alley - these details are fuzzy in my memory - my parents managed this local business for a few years, too. The bar's jukebox had really good stuff: "Mr. Roboto" (Styx), "Play the Game Tonight" (Kansas), "Jack and Diane" (John Cougar, back then), "Another One Bites the Dust" (Queen) and "Hungry Heart" (Bruce Springsteen) for starters. But, the best thing was that the bar's jukebox paid dividends. When a record was taken out of rotation, the jukebox guy (I'm confident that's what I called him) gave me the 45's to keep. Score!
Because I'm a sentimental fool, I still have my collection of 45's. Remember when stores like Hastings sold them? That was before cassette singles took over that particular market. But same thing. A kid on an allowance could buy her favorite songs without the more expensive investment of an album that might not have any other good songs (not to offend any Ratt fans out there, but did anyone else feel burned by the purchase of Out of the Cellar?) Added bonus: the 45's came in attractive square dust jackets perfect for school locker decorating.
My mom still has a plastic tupperware-like contraption from the 1970s that stores a huge stack of 45's sitting in her closet. I used to pull that out and play her vinyls on my Sesame Street record player. My favorite was "Lollipop," by The Chordettes. She had some really good ones in her collection, like the Jackson 5's "Rockin' Robin" and "The Leader of the Pack" by The Shangri-Las.
I found out in a recent conversation with my mom that her own mother used to get the cast-off 45's from the jukebox at the diner where she had worked in Great Bend, KS, back in the 1950s, and many of those same 45's still sit in that funny little container. I never knew my grandmother, Alice May Thomason (1919-1966). She died before I was born. Unfortunately, my mom has no pictures or writings of my grandmother, so the 45's that Alice May added to my mom's record collection may be our only mementos of her.
I hope to write more about Alice May at another time, and since it's a rare day that passes in the Reardon household without music, I expect I'll write more about the music-loving legacy that continues in our family. Although I don't play any instruments (yet), my husband plays guitar, my oldest daughter plays piano and guitar and is a professional dance choreographer, my 5th grader plays piano and ukulele, and my kindergartener, he of "Juice Box Hero" fame, is learning to play piano, although he says he really wants to learn to play guitar. When I see him go crazy rocking out to "Eye of the Tiger" (do I really need to name artists ... okay, Survivor), I know it is in his blood, and I wonder how many other juice box heroes are in our family tree? Got any in yours?
The other night my husband was practicing due diligence as a parent and playing Van Halen songs for the kids. "Jump" came on, and they got excited -- because who doesn't at the sound of that synth riff? Hearing the lyric "I got my back against the record machine," it occurred to me to ask them if they knew what he was singing about? I mean, do kids these days have any idea what a record machine is? (Before I go further, let me just say that I'm assuming a record machine is a jukebox. If you know differently, keep it to yourself and let me have my fantasy for this post, okay?)
The jukebox holds a special place in my heart, and I suspect most people older than 30 feel some nostalgia at the sight of one, or at least have an understanding of its cultural significance. Before there were mainstream portable musical devices (think boombox, walkman, iPod), people who were out and about had to wait for their favorite songs to be played on the radio. Pop a coin into a jukebox, and voila - instant gratification and playlist shared with everyone in the bar!
I know there are still "jukeboxes" around (and not the ones you buy on eBay or spot in a specialty place like a Johnny Rockets restaurant), but they are not the ones from my childhood. Today, everything is digital. It's not the same. Now, don't get me wrong, I think digital is great. I love my Google music library. There's just something about having a limited selection of songs available to play with the actual vinyl records housed inside ... it's like the machine has its soul in there. Today's digital jukeboxes seem like just part of the background, not the iconic characters that populated many a song from the 1950s on. (My personal favorites: "I Love Rock and Roll" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts and "Don't Rock the Jukebox," by Mr. Alan Jackson.)
Crazy beautiful jukebox
My hometown drugstore had a soda pop fountain and was a favorite after-school gathering spot for kids. Guess what the drugstore had? You got it! A jukebox for my friends and I to play "Owner of a Lonely Heart" by Yes fifty billion times. We also wore out "Karma Chameleon" (Culture Club) and "Break My Stride" (Matthew Wilder) (remember that one?), among others.
My family lived down the road from a bowling alley. At some point in my childhood, my parents managed it for a couple of years, but I feel like I grew up there because I always seemed to be there. A childhood friend's grandparents owned it, so I was scurrying around with her behind the lanes and in the kitchen long before my parents got involved. I also bowled there on the weekends, taking lessons every Saturday morning from the incomparably patient Louise Garetson. Guess what the bowling alley had? You got it. A jukebox! I begged my parents for quarters to play such classics as "Angel of the Morning" (Juice Newton), "Back in the Saddle" (Aerosmith), "Celebration" (Kool and the Gang), and "Funkytown" (Lipps Inc.) so that my bowling alley friends (kids whose parents were in week-night bowling leagues) and I could dance the night away.
Nothing says fancy like a jukebox title strip from the '80s
My favorite jukebox hangout, however, was at the bar on my hometown's main street, The Branding Iron Lounge. (Yes, I hung out there as a kid, too, but before you get all scandalized by it, it was usually on Sundays, when it was closed, to help my mom clean (can I just say, gross)). Maybe simultaneously with the bowling alley - these details are fuzzy in my memory - my parents managed this local business for a few years, too. The bar's jukebox had really good stuff: "Mr. Roboto" (Styx), "Play the Game Tonight" (Kansas), "Jack and Diane" (John Cougar, back then), "Another One Bites the Dust" (Queen) and "Hungry Heart" (Bruce Springsteen) for starters. But, the best thing was that the bar's jukebox paid dividends. When a record was taken out of rotation, the jukebox guy (I'm confident that's what I called him) gave me the 45's to keep. Score!
Jukebox Dividend with Jukebox Guy's Handwritten Note
Because I'm a sentimental fool, I still have my collection of 45's. Remember when stores like Hastings sold them? That was before cassette singles took over that particular market. But same thing. A kid on an allowance could buy her favorite songs without the more expensive investment of an album that might not have any other good songs (not to offend any Ratt fans out there, but did anyone else feel burned by the purchase of Out of the Cellar?) Added bonus: the 45's came in attractive square dust jackets perfect for school locker decorating.
This dust jacket spent time in my locker, can you tell?
This one has lyrics on the back!
My mom still has a plastic tupperware-like contraption from the 1970s that stores a huge stack of 45's sitting in her closet. I used to pull that out and play her vinyls on my Sesame Street record player. My favorite was "Lollipop," by The Chordettes. She had some really good ones in her collection, like the Jackson 5's "Rockin' Robin" and "The Leader of the Pack" by The Shangri-Las.
Picture the above in yellow-orange
I found out in a recent conversation with my mom that her own mother used to get the cast-off 45's from the jukebox at the diner where she had worked in Great Bend, KS, back in the 1950s, and many of those same 45's still sit in that funny little container. I never knew my grandmother, Alice May Thomason (1919-1966). She died before I was born. Unfortunately, my mom has no pictures or writings of my grandmother, so the 45's that Alice May added to my mom's record collection may be our only mementos of her.
I hope to write more about Alice May at another time, and since it's a rare day that passes in the Reardon household without music, I expect I'll write more about the music-loving legacy that continues in our family. Although I don't play any instruments (yet), my husband plays guitar, my oldest daughter plays piano and guitar and is a professional dance choreographer, my 5th grader plays piano and ukulele, and my kindergartener, he of "Juice Box Hero" fame, is learning to play piano, although he says he really wants to learn to play guitar. When I see him go crazy rocking out to "Eye of the Tiger" (do I really need to name artists ... okay, Survivor), I know it is in his blood, and I wonder how many other juice box heroes are in our family tree? Got any in yours?
Did I mention my mom had one of these tabletop jukebox cassette players?
Comments
Post a Comment