Midnight Jukebox Hall: The B-Side Way - The Rolling Stones / Through the Lonely Nights
Tonight's appetizer:
Bob Dylan / Pretty Saro
When the day ends and people hurry home, my day begins.
My business hours are from midnight to around 7:00 AM,
and people call this place the 'Midnight Jukebox Hall'.
In the corner of the shop sits 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 that old sound as loudly and warmly as I can.
That's my business policy.
Do customers come?
Actually, they come quite often.
2:00 AM.
Pushing aside the damp air of the back alley, the woman walked in.
Her well-tailored suit looked somewhat weary, and after tossing her large bag onto the counter as if she were throwing it away,
she spoke first, her voice sounding terribly dry.
'Master. Play me something for a fight. Something intense, like Beethoven's Symphony No. 5.'
'The fires of war don't suit my jukebox, Eri-chan.'
I smiled quietly while wiping a glass.
In her hand, she clutched a single 100-yen coin.
'Anything is fine. I quit my job today. I fought so hard, thinking it was meaningless unless I was always in the middle, always running in first place. Now, I have nothing left.'
'In that case, H-10 it is.'
Eri said nothing, wobbling toward the machine and sliding the 100-yen coin into the metal slot.
Click.
Clatter.
Thud.
An electric current flows into the lungs of the sleeping old machine.
A low-frequency hum makes the floor tremble.
The select pin pops out at a single point without hesitation.
It rings briefly with a 'ping,' and a signal runs through the entire mechanism.
The metal arm begins to move.
First, it tilts slightly just once toward the row of vertically aligned records.
A quiet beat, as if measuring the angle.
Then, it slides without hesitation.
The arm stops in front of the target record.
For a moment, it remains still.
The thick claws open slowly.
The tips touch the edge of the record.
The moment they touch, pressure is applied.
With a firm, yet not rough, force, it grips the disc.
A claw lifts the record.
The arm pulls back as if dragging the disc out.
The hole in the record aligns with the center spindle.
With a single, sharp click, it locks into place.
The pickup arm, which had been waiting, gently engages with the outer edge.
Shhh.
The record begins to spin, and the needle tip scrapes against it.
Crackle, crackle-crackle, crackle.
One second of silence.
A phaser-effect guitar flowed smoothly into the amber-colored space.
Something layered over the dampness of that shimmering sound.
It was the sensation from a few minutes ago, when I passed through the neon-lit street and stepped through the doorway of this shop.
The Rolling Stones / Through the Lonely Nights
All the sounds emerge layered from a single speaker.
The bass coming from the 38-centimeter aperture makes the glass door at the entrance tremble faintly. Mick's voice and Keith's guitar, both from the same place.
It is a single mass of sound that cannot be separated.
Eri said nothing, just watched the jukebox.
Mick's voice crawls low, like a whisper.
In the back, Keith's guitar rings out, swirling.
A faint wrinkle forms between her brows.
She had asked for a song to fight to.
What came out was a sleepy song like this.
It was when the song was past the halfway point. (01:38~)
From behind the vocals, a guitar suddenly steps forward.
It is thick, sweet, and stretches out long.
At the end of its stretch, it went quiet.
Even though the place hasn't changed, someone there has.
The skeptical wrinkle from a moment ago changes into a different shape.
She remained silent for a while.
Then, she finally opened her mouth.
"Who's that on the guitar solo just now?"
Cho-san, who had been sipping bourbon in the back, stopped his hand from swirling his glass and turned only his eyes toward us.
"That's Mick Taylor."
He continues while swirling his glass.
"They recorded this song in Jamaica. Back around the time of 'Goats Head Soup'."
He takes a sip.
"In the end, it didn't make it onto the album. Later on, it was just quietly released as a B-side to a single."
I take a sip.
"But because it was on the B-side, I was able to meet Eri here tonight."
I continue, my hand still holding the glass, motionless.
"Taylor's way of playing, it doesn't show off speed or power. But even for a guy like me, it's enchanting."
I take a sip.
"It's just a little lower than body temperature, about 35.8 degrees Celsius—that's what that sound is."
Her usual habit started again.
While brewing coffee, I place a cup in front of her.
"They're not the type of person who stands out."
I say only that, and return to my work.
Eri said nothing.
She just looked toward the jukebox once more.
In the corner of the shop, the jukebox is spinning slowly.
The chrome plating softly reflects the amber lighting.
The needle lifts, and the arm slowly returns.
Click.
A quiet silence falls.
Eri takes another hundred-yen coin out of her bag.
Without placing it on the counter, she walks straight to the jukebox.
She inserts the hundred-yen coin into the slot and turns around.
"Master."
Hmm?
They smile, looking a little embarrassed.
One more time. This time, I want to properly hear the part where the guitar sings.
I nodded.
Sure thing.
As I take the coin, I say it suddenly.
You know, a jukebox is half B-sides to begin with.
I say just that, and operate the machine again.
The sound of the coin rolling down the rail echoed through the shop at night.
In this shop, I think about it sometimes.
A single hundred-yen coin can change the scenery of the night.
That's why tonight, too, I won't turn off the lights.
《B-Side Note: Through the Lonely Nights》
It was Mick Taylor who played this solo.
It appears for only an instant.
It slips in from behind Mick Jagger's whispering vocals.
The moment it appears, the center of the stage shifts there.
The lead role is quietly stolen from the vocals by the guitar.
The solo has no length. It doesn't insist on staying.
While having stolen the center, it hands it back to the song.
Steal it, and return it. It manages to do just that without raising its voice.
It happens once, and it doesn't repeat.
It never returns to the same phrase, nor does it settle in as a riff.
After returning the center, the solo itself vanishes.
When it appears next, it doesn't announce itself again.
From the shadows of the song, it just adds a little bit of warmth.