Cum on feel the noise
I was listening to NPR the other day and Danny Elfman was chatting with somebody about musical scores and soundtracks for movies. He was dissing people who insist that scores should be “invisible,” meaning an audience member should only really subliminally be aware of the music, that songs should come and go under your conscious radar, adding ambiance, mood and meaning without you even noticing.
To that he says “feh.” Music front and center, he says.
Which got me thinking about music in restaurants. A couple times recently music has been so intrusive and so off-putting that it affected my ability to eat a meal. I went to Café Bohemia in St. Petersburg one day for lunch, eventually abandoning my sandwich because the system was blaring something that sounded like tires squealing over irritable cats. A few weeks before that, I was on a review meal at Cheap in Tampa and the gloomy trance music caused my daughter to ask, “can we go now?” incessantly until threatened with bodily harm. Obviously, music doesn’t have to suit everyone or appeal to the lowest common denominator. Then we’d all be listening to early Beatles songs or a Musak version of "The Girl from Ipanema" all the time (as an aside, here's the world's most killer article about Musak). But when it’s really aggressive or loud or lyrically offensive, it strikes me that customers are entitled to complain.
When I'm reviewing I don't do that kind of thing (send stuff back, whine about the music or the temperature or a dirty fork). I try to stay on the down low. But on my own time, I'm going to start getting oral about the aural assaults.





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