“I love rock’n’roll, so put another dime in the jukebox, baby!”  Joan Jett’s 1982 smash is just one of many songs to reference a truly iconic piece of Americana—the jukebox.  Coin-operated music players have been around in one form or another for over a century.  The forerunner of the jukebox, the Nickel-in-the-Slot machine, was unveiled in 1889 by Louis Glass and William S. Arnold.  The device was a coin-operated Edison cylinder phonograph in an oak cabinet that required users to use “listening tubes” since the machine had no amplification.  Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it?

What eventually came to be known as jukeboxes were called Automatic Coin-Operated Phonographs by early-20th century manufacturers; the term “jukebox” didn’t appear until the 1930s.  No one knows for sure, but most music historians believe the name came from either “joot,” an African word meaning “dance,” or “jook,” a word meaning “disorderly or wicked” used to describe “jook houses” where field workers would go for dancing, carousing, and the like.

Whatever the origin of their name, jukeboxes have spurred spontaneous hip shaking and toe tapping for nearly a century.  From bars and bowling alleys to diners and rec rooms, jukeboxes were ubiquitous for years in the U.S.  I wasn’t born until long after the heyday of jukeboxes (I was born in 1978 in case you’re wondering), but I popped many a quarter into them growing up.  One of my favorites was in a dingy Waffle House in the town where I went to college. 

With digital music such a burgeoning business and many restaurants and businesses moving to customized radio, jukeboxes are harder to find these days.  But in Memphis, a city synonymous with legendary music, I figured there still had to be some killer jukeboxes, so last week I embarked on a musical pilgrimage of sorts, a quest to find the best jukeboxes Memphis has to offer.  And there are some good ones—if only a few.  You just have to know where to look.

Day One

Following a tip from my editor, I began my quest with a stop at Old Zinnie’s.  Just as a building, it holds historical interest.  Located at the corner of Madison and Belvedere, the turreted building is over a century old.  It was home to a drug store and a beauty parlor among other things before the bar opened in the early 1970s.  Eager to see the first jukebox on my quest, I stepped through the door and there it was against the far wall, a tall, slender jukebox with a soft amber light and the Geico caveman.  The Geico caveman?  What?!  Yes, there he was wearing a polyester suit, doing the hustle on the touch screen.  Disappointed, I took a seat at the bar, hoping that by some small chance there was a vintage jukebox in the back room.  No such luck.  The bartender, a very amiable lady, told me the old jukebox had been hauled off recently and replaced with the digital one.  She said she missed the old box but liked the seemingly limitless selection the new one offered.  “Just the other night,” she recalled, “we were listening to Louis Armstrong one song and The Clash the next.”  You can’t argue that the digital boxes don’t offer a wider choice of songs, but they sure don’t have the magic of the older models.  They’re basically iTunes in a large, glowing box.  As I continued chatting with the bartender about my jukebox quest, she recommended I try next-door at the Lamplighter.  So I finished my drink and chips and headed over.  And, man, was I glad I did.

The Lamplighter is the epitome of a hole-in-the-wall—old and small with a low ceiling, a bit smoky.  But as is often the case with such places, what it lacks in catchy décor, it more than makes up for in good food and rich history.  I learned quickly that Ann Bradley, a delightful lady who has been the proprietor for thirty-two years, not only can make a tasty burger but also has enough intriguing stories to tell that you’ll want to return just to hear some more.  Before we even got to talking about her jukebox, she proudly showed me the November issue of New York Magazine, which mentions the Lamplighter in an article on the renowned Memphis photographer William Eggleston.  Eggleston used to be a regular at the Lamplighter until one night he got so drunk he threw a hamburger at Shirley, the bartender, and was banned for life.  Surprisingly, the two still keep in touch, though.  (The Lamplighter has been a favorite stop for a few other famous folks as well, including The White Stripes’ Jack White.)  When I finished reading the article, Ann was more than happy to show me the bar’s jewel—the jukebox. 

There was no caveman this time.  No, Ann owns an old ANI box that still spins 45s.  The song listings were a veritable treasure trove of classic acts—Dr. Hook, Patsy Cline, Bobby Darin, The Moonlighters.  And all on vinyl!  But that wasn’t the half of it.  The records in the jukebox were just a small fraction of the Lamplighter’s collection.  In cabinets behind the bar, Ann keeps loads of 45s; she estimates she has 10,000 total.  She pulled out a box for me to thumb through, telling me, “We’ve never even played any of the records in this box.”  I sorted a few more boxes, too, amazed at the wealth of music.  My favorite find was a worn copy of The Troggs’ “Wild Thing.” 

After talking with Ann a bit more, I headed home for the day, delighted with my unexpected find and anxious to continue my quest the next day.

Day Two

Stepping in from a rainy afternoon, I hadn’t been through the door at Alex’s Tavern for more than a second before I was greeted with a hearty welcome from Rocky Kasaftes, the bar’s owner and manager since 1978.  Rocky took over when his father, Alex, who had opened the bar in 1953, passed away.  Celebrating its 55th anniversary this year, Alex’s Tavern is the oldest family-owned bar in Memphis.  

As Rocky showed me around the bar, I couldn’t help noticing the number of awards and recognitions decorating the walls—everything from Best Dive Bar, Best Bartender, Best Burger, and Best Jukebox awards from the Memphis Flyer to a resolution from the Memphis City Council in 1993 that awarded the tavern with a key to the city.

An integral part of the bar’s success has been Rocky’s adherence to his father’s motto:  “It’s not how many customers come; it’s how many customers come back.”  And part of what keeps the customers back is the jukeboxes.  Oh, yes, there are two.

An article about Alex’s by Peter Olfason from the old Memphis-Press Scimitar hangs on the wall above the jukeboxes.  It begins, “The greatest concert in the world took place in Memphis last night.”  Flipping through the song selections, I could see why Olfason had been so impressed.  The jukeboxes, both of which play CDs, offer customers a myriad of tunes from the past five decades—rock, pop standards, blues, surf, big band, and on and on.  In addition to the regular CDs, the boxes include compilations made by Rocky. 

But what makes Alex’s jukeboxes so special isn’t just the songs, but the stories connected to them.  Pointing out a note on one of the boxes that says “Sinatra is on 32,” Rocky told me he put the note there to let a regular know his favorite album—which Rocky had removed in order to make one of his compilations—was back in the box.  The note was still there because the customer had said it made him feel special.  

Before showing me some of the old 45s from the original jukebox, Rocky played me his two favorite songs on the boxes—America’s “Horse With No Name” and Frank Sinatra’s “Summer Wind.”  The first he actually got to perform with America when they came through Memphis; the second, his father’s favorite song, has held a special place at Alex’s since the bar’s earliest days.  When Alex returned from WWII, “Summer Wind” played over the PA on his ship as it sailed into San Francisco.  To this day, long-time regulars at Alex’s take off their caps in honor of Rocky’s late father when the song plays.  It’s stories like that, along with the music, the special Greek burgers, and Rocky’s warm, engaging personality that make Alex’s such a welcoming, one-of-a-kind place.

* Alex’s Tavern is located at 1445 Jackson Avenue.

From Alex’s I headed downtown to Earnestine and Hazel’s.  Located at the end of the trolley line on South Main, the bar, which was originally part general store/part brothel, is truly a Memphis landmark.  As a hotel in the ‘50s, it saw a host of musician guests, including Elvis.  In the ‘60s it became a favorite haunt for the likes of Otis Redding, Howlin’ Wolf, Rufus Thomas, Solomon Burke, and others.  The bar has been featured in several films in recent years as well, including Cameron Crowe’s Elizabethtown.  With its history, beer and burgers, music, and rumored ghosts, it’s a popular stop for locals and visitors alike.

As I entered the bar, I heard the sizzling of hamburgers and Prince’s “Controversy” pulsing from the jukebox.  Burgers and music—a winning combination.  After I enjoyed a “soul burger,” the bartender was kind enough to show me around.  The wall opposite the bar and the front window are covered with pictures of musicians and actors—B.B. King, Little Richard, Albert King, Hank Williams, Etta James, Howlin’ Wolf, Sean Penn, Robert Duvall, Orlando Bloom, and many others—who have spent time E&H’s.  

And then there’s the jukebox.  It’s easy to see why E&H’s, too, has received the Flyer’s “Best Jukebox” award.  If you want to hear some classic Memphis music, the jukebox has plenty, including Al Green, Booker T. and the MG’s, B.B. King, and box sets of Sun and Stax.  According to Russell George, the owner, the jukebox plays by itself at times.  There was no trace of the paranormal while I was there, though—just a middle-aged couple listening to some of their favorite tunes over a few drinks.  But as I strolled around the cracked dance floor and listened to the music, trying to take in the atmosphere and appreciate the history of the place, the walls didn’t talk, but I wished they had.

Day Three

The last planned stop of my jukebox quest, Printer’s Alley, called for a late start.  If you’re looking for a 4-6 happy hour, Printer’s Alley isn’t the place.  In fact, they aren’t even open then.  But if you’re a night owl looking to wind down after a night on the town, then Printer’s Alley might just be the perfect place for you.  The bar, located on Cleveland just north of Peabody, opens at 10:00 p.m. and doesn’t close until 6:00 a.m. or so.  

When I arrived at 10:20, I discovered I was the only person there besides the bartender.  But I thought, “Great, I’ll have plenty of time to check out the jukebox and ask questions.”  Unfortunately, two seconds was all I need to check out the jukebox, another touch screen digital model.  According to Detra, the bartender, Printer’s Alley had indeed had an older jukebox, but it had been replaced with the digital one about a year ago.  Alas.  On a tip from Detra, I decided to visit one last place before calling it quits.

Since “Jukebox Hero” was blasting from inside Murphy’s as I approached their door, I figured it would be fitting if a circa 1981 awaited me.  But, no, the Foreigner classic was blaring from yet another digital jukebox.  Tired and disappointed, I ordered a drink and sat down at a table to wrap up my notes for the story.  It was certainly an anticlimactic end to my quest.  But ultimately good music is good music whether it comes from a classic jukebox or a gussied up computer, so I slid a dollar into the machine, selected the Stones’ “Tumbling Dice,” and for three minutes and forty-five seconds lost myself in song.

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As cool as it was to see the insides of the Lamplighter’s jukebox or to scroll through Earnestine and Hazel’s selections of classic blues and soul, I discovered that the nostalgia attached to jukeboxes is only part of their appeal.  Whether it’s a Wurlitzer 1015 (man, how I would’ve loved to see one of those in person) or a touch screen with a dancing Geico caveman, the deepest appeal of a jukebox is simply the music.  Songs move us for the duration of their playing time, but they do more than that.  They connect us with friends, family, and even total strangers.  They etch themselves indelibly in our memories.  They shape our stories.


Jason Middlekauff