Serious advice for White Horse Tavern and other misguided bars

Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" should never be played to a crowd of wheezing drunks in a half-empty bar at 2 a.m.

The drunk id has bad taste in music. I have the iTunes purchases to prove it. (Hello, "Somebody Save Me" by Cinderella.)

Mp3 jukeboxes do nothing but empower this bad taste. My humble prediction -- mp3 jukeboxes will be the ruin of many good bars.

Just like a good bartender knows when to cut people off before they puke or start a fight, a good bar should know that drinkers from all walks of life shouldn't be given instant access to thousands of songs -- many of which suck, qualify as guilty pleasures, or are actively despised by all but two or three patrons.

The scene at a generally good, if inconsistent, West Village mainstay at 2 a.m. on Sunday:

• one member of my group is visibly passed out;
• one lectures me about the evils of A-Rod;
• a third plots his Journey selections for the jukebox;
• and "Isn't She Lovely" turns the bar into my own Abu Ghraib.

I made my exit before Journey came on, but not before two half-witted 22-year-old fucktards (I think they were interns at a Gap) got their grubby paws on the mp3 jukebox, selected Mr. Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely," an assortment of current dance-punk (or whatever you call that Bloc Party, Killers-style bullshit), "Hotel California" (some dance to remember, I'll dance to forget), and other audible assaults that no one needs to hear when it's one beer too many and several tequila shots too late.

In that situation, "Isn't She Lovely" should only be played to clear out customers so staff can go home.

I'll defend my musical tastes against anybody's, but like driving ability, it's impaired by alcohol. My mind turns back to college, and I'll want the likes of Skee-Lo, Chumbawumba or (forgive me, but yes) Hanson. Mildly amusing in an apartment with five friends. Not cool in a public drinking establishment that doesn't specialize in karaoke.

The bar should not give those choices. White Horse Tavern should know better than to make every last English-language song available to every moron with dollar bills, y'all. In this situation, we are all victims, and if given the opportunity, we will all be perpetrators. And the dirty bar that smells like piss will take on the ambience of a wedding reception.

We need our options limited to the bar staples: the Stones, Bowies, Velvet Undergrounds, and Johnny Cashes; some John Fogerty and some old U2. The only time Billy Joel ever sounds good is after midnight on a jukebox. If you're not a hardliner, you can get some Wilco. I'm no tyrant.

But at 2 a.m., you want to shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

What's another alternative? That somebody's body is a wonderland. That John Mayer will come onto an mp3 jukebox, and by virtue of song choice, that body's wonderland will demand to be bruised and broken and brought to justice by an angry mob of drinkers.

[Note: Many thanks to Gawker for the link. Now that our site has been linked by Gawker, Thrasher's Wheat, and a Daily Kos diary, we've hit the trifecta and can die happy.]