All the Hits, All the Time Richard Beban My brother fears the jukebox in his head, cranking out perpetual Fifties hits, the echoes of performers long since dead. "I think I'm going nuts," he gravely said, "from Frankie Lymon, all those Coasters bits." My brother fears the jukebox in his head is crowding out the brain cells that instead should be applied to living by his wits, not echoes of performers long since dead. In his strained voice I hear that growing dread of Jackie Wilson's apoplectic fits— my brother fears the jukebox in his head. I joked that he should line his skull with lead, block Frankie, Ricky, all those other twits— those echoes of performers long since dead. I'll never cop that I'm forever fed by Sixties flashbacks, Cream & acid hits. I dearly love the jukebox in my head, it flies the Airplane & the Grateful Dead.