McKowski’s jukebox memories #1

Welcome to a new branch of the Boneyard tree, where I pick a record from my old 1958 Rock-Ola jukebox, and blabber about it.

But first, a little background…

Let me ask you something.

Have you ever had your heart broken?

That feeling when you break up with a girlfriend/boyfriend?

Or lose an important part of your body, like an arm?

Well… This happened me recently, when I very foolishly sold my beloved jukebox.

It all happened in a flash.

I was talking to an acquaintance who had just opened a new venue, and he mentioned how he wanted a jukebox for one of the rooms.

Without thinking, I blurted out that I had one, and would consider selling it; not expecting him to take me up on it.

But he did.

I’m not sure exactly what was said, but five seconds later, we were shaking hands, and making a deal.

I don’t know how it happened.

He played a Jedi mind trick on me.

Or, I played one on myself.

Either way, the very next day I was delivering the juke to him.

I didn’t think about it until I was handing it over.

Then it hit me.

Hit me good and hard, too.

It felt like I was giving away a part of my soul.

…What was I doing?!

I had that thing for ten years of my life; it had become a part of me.

It was love at first sight when I first acquired the beast.

And I didn’t just fill it up with any old records that were lying around.

I took great care and consideration when choosing and sourcing my absolute favourite records from the era.

I even had it split up into categories: ‘Midnight boppers’; ‘golden jivers’, ‘magic slowies’, and anything past the year 1958 I labelled ‘future artists’.

So many good nights with that juke.

It was tough saying goodbye to that ton of metal.

My one saving grace about letting her go is the knowledge that she is being taken care of, being enjoyed, and being loved by many.

For those who wish to enjoy the juke for themselves, it resides in the upstairs lounge of The Courthouse, in Bangor.

Bring a pocketful of shillings for the slot.

I make frequent visits there myself.

To see it again.

All that faded chrome.

The blinking lights.

The wonky selector, that sometimes picks the wrong record or plays the same one twice.

I’ll miss those quirks and perks.

Some day it will be mine again… Some day.

First up, a song from the Magic Slowies section… Santo and Johnny’s Sleepwalk.

The first time I heard this song, I thought I must be dreaming.

It stopped me right in my tracks.

A real ‘what the feck is THAT’ moment.

It was being played on an old toy record player, and I thought it must be broken, or playing at the wrong speed… Or I was asleep and dreaming/nightmaring.

There was no way this music could be real.

It’s records like this that makes me think that I heard it before I was born.

From the first time it entered my earlobes, I felt like I instantly knew it; like it was engrained in me, or already in my blood.

It’s truly a magical thing.

It hits that weird spot in the soul that makes you feel happy and sad at the same time.

There’s a wonkiness to it that makes everything around you suddenly seem very surreal.

Like you are on a different planet or something…

It’s a hell of a wonk to be honest.

When I listen to Sleepwalk, past present and future all become one, and time ceases to exist. It transports me to an ancient carnival world, where all the rides are broken, and the clowns aren’t humans with face paint, but are actually born-as clowns, who have always been there and always will be.

Where the circus tent is tatty and grey, and outside is always raining.

Where everything sways and you feel seasick just being there.

A place that could only exist in a ‘50s B-movie, or a demented cavern of the mind.

That’s pretty much what happens when this record plays.

Or at least that’s what happens for me.