Imagine wandering into a nightclub somewhere on the outskirts of time. A classic jukebox in the corner plays timeless music with oddly familiar modern lyrics, incongruously marrying the 21st century party vibe of Miley Cyrus or the minimalist angst of Radiohead is incongruously married with the crackly warmth of a vintage 78 or the plunger-muted barrelhouse howl of a forgotten Kansas City jazzman. The dance floor is full of revelers twerking in poodle skirts, while at the bar well-heeled hipsters balance a martini in one hand with a smartphone in the other. If such a place actually exists, no doubt the soundtrack is Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox.