Ghosts in the machine

And therein lies the appeal of the vinyl jukebox, being able to find that rare and unknown B-side not compiled on any mass-market CD. It's the thrill of discovery or the rush of rediscovery, those first few notes that peek through the cracks and pops of worn grooves, that makes a vinyl jukebox so special and a CD jukebox nothing but a ghost of a machine--the body with no soul, as William Bunch writes in his book.

"The best jukebox," he said, "somehow knows when to belt out Frank Sinatra when you're on top of the heap or B.B. King when you've been dumped. [It's] in perfect sync with its time and place."

And at the Metro Diner, with Muddy Waters singing his blues at 3 a.m. on a Sunday morning, there is no better time or place in all the world.

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