Not having much to do yesterday—because bah humbug, we don’t do Christmas—we finally started loading singles into my Wurlitzer jukebox. Singles, for those born this century, are little circular vinyl yokes with one song on each side. We hadn’t quite gotten around to it before, having only moved in here six years ago.
My brother bought me the jukebox for my 21st birthday, so it’s been travelling with me for the past 42 years and, much like myself, despite some wear and tear, it remains in fine working order. Which is just as well, as Wurlitzer has since closed down, apparently no longer having a place in this world. The end of an era.
At the time, I’d just bought my first house: two storeys over basement, acquired for the princely sum of £30,000 and sold a few years later for 60,000. When it was sold again in 2021, it fetched 1.195 million euro.
I carpeted and wallpapered the living room in black. The only furniture I allowed was a curiously shaped black metal coffee table, a sound system ( record player/radio/cassette player), and a designer sofa, so uncomfortable we had to sit on the floor. I was the original minimalist before minimalism was invented, so when my brother told me he’d bought me a dining table and chairs, I was horrified. Flat surfaces encourage clutter. Then the jukebox arrived. Relief. Delight. The colours looked enchanting in the total blackness of the room.
When I moved to Amsterdam in 2000 and started a holiday rental business, the Wurlitzer was installed in one of the apartments.
one of our vacation rentals in Amsterdam
How it survived the experience is anyone’s guess, but survive it did, living to make the return journey to Ireland in 2014.
I still have boxes of 80s singles, the soundtrack to my youth, and watched by four admiring hounds, we spent a fine Christmas Day dancing away to such classics as (White Man) In Hammersmith Palais - The Clash and The Smiths - Cemetary Gates.
Real music!
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
