Midnight Jukebox Hall: Thank you for your hard work! Elvis Costello / Welcome to the Working Week
Tonight's appetizer:
Bob Dylan / In The Summer Time
♪~In the summertime,
oh, summer days
In the summertime,
the summer when you were with me~♪
When the day ends and people hurry home, my day begins.
Business hours are from midnight until around 7:00 AM,
people call it the 'Midnight Jukebox Hall'.
In the corner of the shop is a 1951 'Seeburg M100B', my old partner.
The menu is just the 100 songs inside this box.
Other than that, if you toss in a coin and pick your favorite song, I'll play those old sounds as loudly and warmly as I can.
That's my business policy.
Do I get customers?
Actually, I get quite a few.
Past 1:00 AM.
The first to arrive was Midori-san.
'Good evening, Master.'
'Welcome.'
It was as if she had brought the hot, humid night air into the shop with her.
She sat in her usual seat while dabbing her sweaty neck with a handkerchief.
Still holding her bag, smartphone, and a half-read presentation document all at once.
Even after sitting down, she seemed a little unsure of where to put those three things.
'Make it strong today.'
'Should I add extra ice?'
'Yeah, please.'
'Coming right up.'
When I made and served the highball, she took a sip and finally let out a sigh.
'How was your day?'
'I wanted to quit about twice.'
Did you manage with just two?
I've even lost the energy to think about wanting to quit.
They said that and laughed. There was a little less strength in that laugh than usual.
A while later, the door opened.
A young man who still looked like he was being worn by his suit walked in, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat.
Um, are you still open?
We're open until morning.
The man sat at the end of the counter and ordered a beer.
New employee, are you? Midori-san asked.
Yes. I just joined this year.
I thought so.
Is it that obvious?
It is. You still can't bring yourself to move your bag off your lap, can you?
Wataru laughed, looking embarrassed.
You look tired, rookie. Did you get scolded?
Actually, it was the opposite today. I got a little praise, and so...
That's tough, isn't it?
I'm happy, but... I feel like I have to do even better from now on.
When you get praised, it leaves you with fewer ways to escape.
A low voice came from a seat in the back.
The day after you get praised is the day they make you work the hardest.
It was Chou-san.
Wataru smiled, looking a bit troubled.
Is that so?
Midori-san gave a wry smile.
Was it like that for you too, Midori-san?
Oh, absolutely.
Even now?
Midori-san adjusted her bag, smartphone, and documents all at once, and after a brief pause, she answered.
Even now.
Wataru looked a bit surprised, and then suddenly closed the distance between them.
Wow, so even you, Midori-san, still have moments like that.
This guy is getting too familiar.
Midori-san smiled slightly. It was her usual way of smiling.
Wataru was about to say something else.
Still holding her glass, she leaned her body slightly away from Wataru.
Her bag, smartphone, and documents. They were piled up on her lap as if they had nowhere else to go.
Well, never mind that, just drink.
Midori-san said only that and raised her glass.
Wataru looked a bit bewildered. He didn't ask anything more than that.
For a while, no one said anything.
Only the sound of melting ice could be heard.
Midori-san took a hundred-yen coin out of her bag.
"Master. I'm in the mood to listen to something. Which one should I pick?"
I stopped wiping the glass.
"In that case, B-7."
Midori-san stood up and walked over to the jukebox.
She left her bag, smartphone, and documents right there on the chair.
This was the first time tonight that her hands were empty.
She slid the hundred-yen coin into the slot.
Click. Clatter.
The sound cut off, as if the coin had gotten stuck halfway.
"Again?"
Midori-san tapped the area around the coin slot with her fist.
"Hey, hey, treat it a little more gently, will you?"
Thud.
My old partner needs this kind of rough treatment every now and then.
Without a word of complaint, it starts moving again.
An electric current flows deep into the sleeping machine.
A low hum travels through the floor.
The arm moves, tilting slightly toward the row of records.
It slides without hesitation and stops in front of the chosen one.
The claw lifts the disc, and the center hole aligns with the spindle.
With a sharp click, it settles into place.
Shhh.
Crackle, crackle-crackle, crackle.
A beat of silence.
Elvis Costello / Welcome to the Working Week
It seemed to start slowly, but then the speed picked up rapidly.
The entire song felt as if it were being constantly pushed from behind.
There is no time to cherish the gaps.
The guitar is distorted, chopped into abrupt segments without leaving any lingering resonance.
The drums have a hard, hand-clap-like sound, urging everything forward without a moment's pause.
The way the chords are packed together feels like running from desk to desk with documents in hand.
♪〜Welcome to the Working Week〜♪
In between, the chorus voices cut in briefly.
You are called out to, but before you have time to turn around, you are rushed along to the next thing.
That was how it entered.
For a fleeting moment, that interruption sounded like a voice calling my name.
♪~ G...ree...n.
♪~ G...ree...n.
In the middle of the frantic song, that one part sounded drawn out.
Even though I knew it was a mishearing, I couldn't help but hear it.
In just over a minute, he says everything he has to say and leaves.
Wataru just rode along with that frantic pace as he listened.
Midori-san stood in front of the jukebox and stopped moving for a moment.
The song ended, and the needle lifted.
Click.
Cho-san, swirling his glass, said quietly,
"So, another week of hard work, huh?"
No one answered him.
After a while, Wataru left his payment and walked out of the shop.
The sound of his new leather shoes faded into the distance.
Midori-san returned to her seat and remained sitting there.
"Master. One more, make it strong."
"Coming right up."
I said only that as I prepared the glass.
"Every Monday, someone comes in and plays this song."
Midori-san said nothing.
I just tapped the stack of documents once on the table to straighten them.
After a while, as Mr. Chou finished his glass, he suddenly glanced at the clock.
"Is it Saturday already?"
I just said that while wiping a glass.
"Saturday ends in a flash."
Mr. Chou stood up from his seat and left the payment.
Midori-san also took that as her cue to stand up.
"Master, thank you for the treat tonight."
"Good night."
When the two opened the door, the damp night air flowed into the shop.
Before the door closed, I put one last coin into the machine.
The final song for tonight:
Nick Drake / Saturday Sun
The sound of a vibraphone is ringing in the distance.
It was a song about Saturday sunshine.
Good times rarely last long.
Even so, the way it played was soft enough to make me feel it wasn't such a bad thing.
In the corner of the shop, the jukebox is sleeping quietly again.
The air outside was getting a little closer to morning.
Even so, the night still remains.
That is why I won't turn off the lights tonight either.
《B-Side Note: Welcome to the Working Week》
This song isn't a song of welcome. It borrows the form of a welcoming phrase to push working people right back to the same place.
The first track on Elvis Costello's debut album, 'My Aim Is True'.
It is also the B-side to his big hit, 'Alison'.
From the moment it starts, it's already in a hurry.
Without a moment to catch your breath, it drives you forward and forward.
The band playing is 'Clover', the same as on 'Alison'.
They were a West Coast country-rock band, and they didn't really mesh well with the East Coast sensibilities of the Velvet Underground or Television that Costello was interested in at the time.
Costello himself looks back and says that they probably didn't really understand what the song was about.
It was recorded without them understanding, without even time to think.
Perhaps it was a feeling where, even though they didn't understand each other, the performance just kept moving forward.
The producer, Nick Lowe, barely added anything to it.
He says himself that other than flipping the switches on the equipment, he didn't really do much.
At Pathway Studios in London, the entire album was completed in six 4-hour sessions, totaling 24 hours, for 2,000 pounds.
The lyrics are complex, filled with irony, anger, family history, and growing distances; they cannot be summed up in a single word.
In this shop tonight, all I could remember was the title and the final verse.
♪〜Why'd you want to be my friend
When I feel like a juggler running out of hands?〜♪
Why do you want to be my friend?
Especially when I feel like a juggler who has run out of hands, trying to keep everything in the air.
The appeal of the sound isn't just its speed.
The band 'Clover' was originally a group that played more earthy country rock. Because of that, there is a slight temperature difference between them and this nervous, stripped-down musical concept. That subtle misalignment leaves behind a strange sense of restlessness.
Perhaps that is why. Only the words 'Welcome to the working week' remain in my ears like a taunt.
In the gaps of the chorus, there are short, female-chorus-style interjections.
It is unclear whether they are words of encouragement or a rush to get to the next task.
It sounds like a welcome, yet it doesn't let you rest for a moment.
The hollowness of the title rings out as the very haste of the sound.
When you are exhausted and feel you cannot hold anything more, for some reason, someone approaches you.
Even though you cannot possibly welcome them, you cannot turn them away either.
When both hands are full, a person cannot properly reach out for what is offered.
And it is not always just objects that you cannot receive.
That is why the words 'Welcome to the working week' are repeated so dutifully.
Directed toward the place you least want to be welcomed to.
1 minute and 22 seconds.
Short.
Almost too short.
You are never given time to stop from the very beginning.
And so, when Monday comes, someone will play this song again.