Tamil Jukebox 2022
Kathy Douds
A jukebox is a partially automated music-playing device, usually a coin-operated machine, that plays a patron's selection from self-contained media. The classic jukebox has buttons with letters and numbers on them, which are used to select specific records. Some may use compact discs instead. Disc changers are similar devices for home use; they are small enough to fit on a shelf and can hold up to hundreds of discs, allowing them to be easily removed, replaced, or inserted by the user.
Coin-operated music boxes and player pianos were the first forms of automated coin-operated musical devices. These devices used paper rolls, metal disks, or metal cylinders to play a musical selection on an actual instrument, or on several actual instruments, enclosed within the device.
In 1889, Louis Glass and William S. Arnold invented the nickel-in-the-slot phonograph, in San Francisco.[3] This was an Edison Class M Electric Phonograph retrofitted with a device patented under the name of 'Coin Actuated Attachment for Phonograph'. The music was heard via one of four listening tubes.[4]
In 1928, Justus P. Seeburg, who was manufacturing player pianos, combined an electrostatic loudspeaker with a record player that was coin-operated.[5] This 'Audiophone' machine was wide and bulky because it had eight separate turntables mounted on a rotating Ferris wheel-like device, allowing patrons to select from eight different records.
Later versions of the jukebox included Seeburg's Selectophone with 10 turntables mounted vertically on a spindle. By maneuvering the tone arm up and down, the customer could select from 10 different records.[4]
The word "jukebox" came into use in the United States beginning in 1940, apparently derived from the familiar usage "juke joint", derived from the Gullah word juke, which means "bawdy".[6] Manufacturers of jukeboxes tried to avoid using the term, associated with unreputable places, for many years.[7]
Wallboxes were an important, and profitable, part of any jukebox installation. Serving as a remote control, they enabled patrons to select tunes from their table or booth. One example is the Seeburg 3W1, introduced in 1949 as companion to the 100-selection Model M100A jukebox. Stereo sound became popular in the early 1960s, and wallboxes of the era were designed with built-in speakers to provide patrons a sample of this latest technology.
Jukeboxes were most popular from the 1940s through the mid-1960s, particularly during the 1950s. By the middle of the 1940s, three-quarters of the records produced in America went into jukeboxes.[8] Billboard published a record chart measuring jukebox play during the 1950s, which briefly became a component of the Hot 100; by 1959, the jukebox's popularity had waned to the point where Billboard ceased publishing the chart and stopped collecting jukebox play data.[9]
As of 2016, at least two companies still manufacture classically styled jukeboxes: Rockola, based in California, and Sound Leisure, based in Leeds in the UK. Both companies manufacture jukeboxes based on a CD playing mechanism. However, in April 2016, Sound Leisure showed a prototype of a "Vinyl Rocket" at the UK Classic Car Show. It stated that it would start production of the 140 7" vinyl selector (70 records) in summer of the same year.[10][11]
Traditional jukeboxes once were an important source of income for record publishers. Jukeboxes received the newest recordings first. They became an important market-testing device for new music, since they tallied the number of plays for each title. They let listeners control the music outside of their home, before audio technology became portable. They played music on demand without commercials. They also offered high fidelity listening before home high fidelity equipment became affordable.[4]
The term "jukebox" was used to describe high-capacity, hard disk based digital audio play due to their amount of digital space allowing a great number of music to be stored and played.[16][17] The term was popularised following the introduction of the Creative NOMAD Jukebox in 2000, which could store as many as 150 CDs of music on its six gigabyte hard drive.[18] In later years, the "classic" iPod would become the most popular product in this category.[16]
Using a music disc on a jukebox inserts the disc and plays music corresponding to the type of music disc used. Pressing use on the jukebox again ejects the disc and stops any music playing. Music discs play only once before they must be ejected and reinserted. Note particles emit out the top when sound is playing. The sound from the jukebox travels roughly 65 blocks in all directions. It supports all available music discs in the game.
If an amethyst shard is used on an allay dancing next to a playing jukebox, the allay consumes the amethyst shard, emits heart particles, and duplicates into two allays. Both allays have a 5-minute cooldown before they can be duplicated again.
Active jukeboxes give off a redstone signal when a redstone comparator is placed directly behind it or through an adjoining block; its strength depends on the ID of the inserted disc. The following table shows the redstone strength output for each disc.
Jukeboxes disable adjacent hoppers when a music disc is playing inside them, due to them emitting a redstone signal even without using a comparator. When the song ends, the hopper placed below the jukebox will be re-enabled, so the disc will be automatically ejected and stored in the hopper. A system of hoppers and droppers can then be used to automatically re-insert the disc, causing it to loop.
I arrived at the Lawrenceville auction site more than an hour ahead of time to examine the thirty-three jukeboxes, stocked with music, up for sale. As the start of the auction drew closer, prospective buyers walked up and down the rows of inventory, jotting down notes: Scratched display. Looks cool. Too much country. Records only. Good tunes!
All of the jukeboxes were sold off in barely more than an hour. Among the winners were an area pastor buying one for himself and one for his youth group; a cabinet-maker from Hoschton who deals in vintage records on the side; two Buford couples who are next-door neighbors; the aforementioned mother of two, who lives in Morningside; a Suwanee couple vacationing on an Alaskan cruise (thanks to the Internet); and this twentysomething writer. Oh yeah.
Whenever I'm feeling miserable, I scrounge a few dollars out of my jacket pockets and tromp up to the bar I don't like. The bar is about three-quarters of a mile from my apartment and wholly forgettable, but ostensibly a metal bar.
The first time I visited, I did what I do whenever I find myself in a new bar: Go to the jukebox and see what record is number 69. Here, it was Thin Lizzy's thoroughly nonseminal Jailbreak. I've never listened to that album the whole way through, and by the grace of God I know I'll never need to, for I know that Jailbreak features at least two songs: "The Boys Are Back in Town," and whatever song comes after "The Boys Are Back in Town," which reminds you that you need to hit rewind.
Let me make one thing excruciatingly clear: "The Boys Are Back in Town" is an incredible song and I love it. I love it so much. My heart beats bwaa-da, bwaa-dadada DAAH dah to match Scott Gorham's guitar riff, and this leaves my physician furious and unable to speak. When my roommate leaves for work in the morning, I genuflect toward his wonderful dog, who respects me. I press my forehead to his flank and I whisper "the boys are back" over and over again. The dog turns his furry brow to look into me and I know he respects me even more, for I have done as Messrs. Lizzy commanded. I have spread the word around.
I am pulled back again and again into this bar I do not like by an uncontrollable and carnal drive: a loyalty to The Boys and a congenital love of hollering. I am usually content to summon this song just once from the jukebox of the bar I do not particularly like, as even one play is a parade for the spirit. That's the life I lived for several months. I would enter the bar, queue up "The Boys Are Back in Town," slam beers until the jukebox arrived at my selection, then clap my hands, clutch them to my chest, and maybe recite a psalm from the mother tongue of my proud rural people (perhaps "oh, HELL yeah!!! HELL YEAH!!!," or "now THAT'S what I'm talking about!!!!") to the silence around me. Then I would leave.
Over the course of these past few months, I have come upon two bits of forbidden knowledge: One, this bar does not have a working "kill switch" (which allows the bartender to change a song in case someone plays, I dunno, the entire A-side of 2112). Two, this jukebox permits the same song to be played back-to-back if each instance was paid for with a separate bill.
It was 3 AM on a recent Tuesday when, standing in the dark outside my train station, these truths reconciled themselves within me. My compulsion became explicit and inescapable: I needed to stay up and play "The Boys Are Back in Town" as many times as I could. The thorns from the road ahead cleared themselves, and I walked toward the future amid roses to share the gospel with the other patrons of this unlikeable bar. The boys were back.
This is a familiar and lonely road. I play the same song over and over again in my apartment, and I've done it in bars, and I'll do again. One foggy summer evening amid the delightful garbage bars of San Francisco's Outer Richmond district, I watched a shot glass sail past my head when Annie Lennox's (rapturous! transcendent! holy, holy!) "Walking on Broken Glass" surfaced for the fourth near-consecutive time. I've been cut off by America's greatest bartender (the sunbeam who illuminates Wally's in Orlando) when she realized my plan to continually play different recordings of "The Monster Mash." I have compelled friends and strangers in a doomed bar of downtown Houston to listen to Soft Cell's "Sex Dwarf" on loop with me until I was certain that everyone's evening had been thoroughly ruined.