We know what makes a jukebox good: selection, selection, selection. Take Election Night, 2004. We stumble into the Bikini, where the beer and cable TV are flowing. Before long, we realize some things won't be resolved that night things about Ohio. But we need closure, some way to process recent events, and we spy the jukebox. Five dollars buys 25 tracks and puts red states and blue states behind us for a while. Our personal, cathartic, ephemeral mix tape: Marvin Gaye, Rolling Stones, Zevon, Clapton, Beatles, Righteous Brothers, Zeppelin, Elton John, Nat "King" Cole, Hollies, Cat Stevens, Joplin, John Hiatt . . . a lullaby for an aging hippie. (You'll also find Nelly, Lindsay Lohan, Hoobastank, TLC, Billie Holiday, Merle Haggard, Morphine, and Shakira in the stacks, covering pretty much every musical movement since the wax cylinder.) Next day, Mom asks about toasty, English-speaking democracies she can migrate to. That'd be Gibraltar.