餐館很棒，音樂很糟。坂本龍一決定親自幫他們選歌

Last fall a friend told me a story about Ryuichi Sakamoto, the renowned musician and composer who lives in the West Village. Mr. Sakamoto, it seems, so likes a particular Japanese restaurant in Murray Hill, and visits it so often, that he finally had to be straight with the chef: He could not bear the music it played for its patrons.

去年秋天，一位朋友給我講了個(gè)故事，說的是住在紐約西村的著名音樂人、作曲家坂本龍一。坂本看來是非常喜歡默里山一帶的某家日本餐館，頻頻光顧，乃至終于要跟主廚攤牌：他受不了餐館給顧客放的音樂。

The issue was not so much that the music was loud, but that it was thoughtless. Mr. Sakamoto suggested that he could take over the job of choosing it, without pay, if only so he could feel more comfortable eating there. The chef agreed, and so Mr. Sakamoto started making playlists for the restaurant, none of which include any of his own music. Few people knew about this, because Mr. Sakamoto has no particular desire to publicize it.

問題不是音樂太吵，而是沒放過心思。坂本提議說他可以來幫他們選音樂，不要報(bào)酬，只為他在這里吃飯時(shí)能舒心些。主廚同意了，于是坂本動(dòng)手為餐館做曲目表，完全沒有用他自己的音樂。這件事很少有人知道，因?yàn)檑啾緵]想刻意張揚(yáng)。

It took me a few weeks to appreciate how radical the story was, if indeed it was true. I consider thoughtless music in restaurants a problem that has gotten worse over the years, even since the advent of the music-streaming services, which — you’d think — should have made it better.

過了幾個(gè)星期我才意識(shí)到這個(gè)故事有多厲害，要是確有其事的話。我認(rèn)為餐館里播放的無(wú)腦音樂是多年來愈發(fā)嚴(yán)重的問題，哪怕是流媒體音樂服務(wù)到來之后——我們本來還以為那會(huì)改善這個(gè)情況。

If I’m going to spend decent money on a meal, I don’t want the reservation-taker, the dishwasher or someone from the back office to be cooking it; I want someone who is very good at cooking food to do it. The same should apply to the music, which after all will be playing before, during and after the eating.

要是花一筆可觀的錢去吃頓飯，我可不希望是訂位員、洗碗工或者什么后勤辦公室的人來做這頓飯;我想要烹飪高手。對(duì)餐廳里的音樂應(yīng)該也一樣，畢竟飯前飯中飯后都一直在放著。

I would prefer that music not seem an afterthought, or the result of algorithmic computation. I want it chosen by a person who knows music up and down and sideways: its context, its dynamism and its historical and aural clichés. Such a person can at least accomplish the minimum, which is to signal to the customer that attention is being paid, in a generous, original, specific and small-ego way.

我希望餐廳的音樂不是被當(dāng)作陪襯，也不是算法算出來的。我希望挑選音樂的人全面了解音樂：了解播放的環(huán)境，了解音樂的起伏，了解它在歷史和聽覺上的俗套。這樣的人至少能做到起碼的事：用大方、獨(dú)特、明確而又謙遜的方式告訴顧客，這里的音樂是花了心思的。

In February, I went to Mr. Sakamoto’s favorite restaurant, on 39th Street near Lexington Avenue, with my younger son. It is a split-level operation: On the second floor is Kajitsu, which follows the Zen, vegan principles of Shojin cuisine, and on the ground floor is Kokage, a more casual operation that incorporates meat and fish into the same idea. (A Japanese tea shop, Ippodo, occupies a counter toward the front of the street-level space.)

今年二月，我?guī)е鹤尤チ僳啾咀钕矚g的這家餐館，在39街靠近列克星敦大道。餐館分樓層經(jīng)營(yíng)：二樓的餐廳叫“嘉日”(Kajitsu)，主營(yíng)“精進(jìn)料理”的禪意素食，一樓叫Kokage，偏家常的菜式，在同樣的料理概念中加入了肉和魚。(一樓朝向街面的一片柜臺(tái)辟為日本茶鋪“一保堂”[Ippodo]。)

As soon as we sat down, the music pinned our attention. It came from an unpretentious source — a single, wide speaker sitting on a riser about a foot off the floor, hidden behind a serving table. (We were downstairs in Kokage, but the same music was playing upstairs in Kajitsu.) I asked a waiter if the playlist was Mr. Sakamoto’s. She said yes.

一落座，音樂就吸引了我們的注意。音源很樸素——一只單獨(dú)的寬體揚(yáng)聲器，放在離地一英尺的架子上，藏在一張餐桌后邊。(我們?cè)谝粯堑腒okage，但樓上的“嘉日”也在播放同樣的音樂。)我問一個(gè)服務(wù)員，這是不是坂本先生做的曲目。她說是。

Mr. Sakamoto, 66, is exemplary perhaps not only for his music but also for his listening, and his understanding of how music can be used and shared. He is a hero of cosmopolitan musical curiosity, an early technological adopter in extremis, and a kind of supercollaborator. Since the late 1970s, when he was a founding member of the electronic-pop trio Yellow Magic Orchestra, he has composed and produced music for dance floors, concert halls, films, video games, cellphone ringtones, and acts of ecological awareness and political resistance. (Much of this is detailed in “Coda,” Stephen Nomura Schible’s recently released film documentary about him.)

66歲的坂本龍一是音樂界的楷模，或許不僅因?yàn)樗囊魳纷髌?，也因?yàn)樗鸟雎?，以及他?duì)如何運(yùn)用和分享音樂的理解。他是對(duì)世界音樂充滿好奇的傳奇人物，很早就激進(jìn)地接納技術(shù)，他還是一個(gè)超級(jí)合作者。從1970年代末與人合創(chuàng)電子流行樂三人組合“黃色魔術(shù)交響樂團(tuán)”(Yellow Magic Orchestra)至今，他已為舞廳、音樂廳、影院、電子游戲、手機(jī)鈴聲、環(huán)保行動(dòng)或政治抵抗行動(dòng)作過曲或制作過音樂。(最近上映的斯蒂芬·野村·席博[Stephen Nomura Schible]講述坂本的紀(jì)錄片《終曲》[CODA]里，這些已大多講得很詳盡。)

Some of what we heard at Kokage sounded like what Mr. Sakamoto would logically be interested in. There was slow or spacious solo-piano music from various indistinct traditions; a few melodies that might have been film-soundtrack themes; a bit of improvisation. Where there was singing, it was generally not in English. I recognized a track from Wayne Shorter’s record “Native Dancer,” with Milton Nascimento, and a pianist who sounded like Mary Lou Williams, although I couldn’t be sure. This wasn’t particularly brand-establishing music, or the kind that makes you want to spend money; it represented a devoted customer’s deep knowledge, sensitivity and idiosyncrasies. I felt generally stumped and sensitively attended to. I felt ecstatic.

我們?cè)贙okage聽到的一些曲目，顯然是坂本會(huì)感興趣的那種。有一些舒緩或空靈的鋼琴獨(dú)奏，隱約源自某些傳統(tǒng)音樂;有些旋律可能做過電影配樂主題;還有少量即興音樂。有演唱的地方，通常不是英文的。有一曲我聽出來是出自韋恩·肖特(Wayne Shorter)的唱片《土著舞者》(Native Dancer)，合奏的有彌爾頓·納西門托(Milton Nascimento)，還有一位聽起來像瑪麗·盧·威廉姆斯(Mary Lou Williams)的鋼琴家，但我拿不準(zhǔn)。這些都不是那種可以塑造品牌形象的音樂，也不是那種讓你想花錢的;這些曲目代表了一位忠實(shí)顧客的淵博知識(shí)、敏感與獨(dú)特?？偟膩碚f，我感到不知該說些什么，但感官上得到了關(guān)照。我覺得心醉神迷。

He is not in the habit of complaining when he has a problem with music in public spaces, because it happens so often.

當(dāng)他對(duì)公共空間的音樂有意見時(shí)，他沒有投訴的習(xí)慣，因?yàn)檫@種事情太常見了。

I found out that Mr. Sakamoto had enlisted Ryu Takahashi, a New York music producer, manager and curator, to help him with the playlist. My son and I met them both, as well as Norika Sora, Mr. Sakamoto’s wife and manager, on a bright spring afternoon between services at Kajitsu, where the tobacco-earth smell of Iribancha tea permeated the dining room. Mr. Sakamoto was dressed in black down to his sneakers.

后來我知道坂本還邀請(qǐng)了紐約的音樂制作人、經(jīng)理人兼策劃人高橋龍(Ryu Takahashi)來幫他制作曲目表。我和兒子見到了他們兩人，還有坂本的妻子兼經(jīng)紀(jì)人空里香(Norika Sora)，那是個(gè)明媚春日的午后，在“嘉日”的營(yíng)業(yè)間隙，餐廳里彌漫著焙番茶的煙草和泥土氣味。坂本穿一身黑色，連運(yùn)動(dòng)鞋也是。

I asked if the story I’d heard was true. It was, he said. I asked if it would bother him if people knew. “It’s O.K.,” he said. “We don’t have to hide.”

我問坂本，我聽說的那個(gè)故事是不是真的。他說是。我又問要是這事廣為人知，會(huì)不會(huì)有些煩人。“沒關(guān)系的，”他說。“也沒必要隱瞞。”

He is not in the habit of complaining when he has a problem with music in public spaces, because it happens so often. “Normally I just leave,” he said. “I cannot bear it. But this restaurant is really something I like, and I respect their chef, Odo.” (Hiroki Odo was Kajitsu’s third chef, and worked there for five years, until March. Mr. Odo told me the music had been chosen by the restaurant’s management in Japan.)

在公共空間遇到有問題的音樂，他并沒有抱怨的習(xí)慣，因?yàn)檫@太常見了。“通常就是一走了之，”他說。“我忍受不了。但這家餐館我是真的喜歡，我敬重他們的主廚大堂。”(大堂浩樹[Hiroki Odo]是“嘉日”的第三任主廚，到今年三月已在此工作五年。大堂告訴我說，以前的音樂是餐館在日本的管理層選的。)

“I found their BGM so bad, so bad,” Mr. Sakamoto said, using the industry term for background music. (“BGM” was also the title of a Yellow Magic Orchestra record from 1981.) He sucked his teeth. “Really bad.” What was it? “It was a mixture of terrible Brazilian pop music and some old American folk music,” he said, “and some jazz, like Miles Davis.”

“我發(fā)現(xiàn)他們的BGM太差，太差了，”坂本說，他用了BGM這個(gè)行內(nèi)叫法來表示背景音樂。(“BGM”也是“黃色魔術(shù)交響樂團(tuán)”1981年出的一張專輯唱片的名字。)他牙縫間倒吸著氣。“真的很差啊。”是什么樣呢?“糟糕的巴西流行樂和一些美國(guó)老民謠混在一起，”他說，“還有些爵士樂，比如邁爾斯·戴維斯(Miles Davis)。”

Some of those things, individually, may be very good, I suggested.

我說這些音樂有的要是單獨(dú)聽，可能是很好的。

“If they have context, maybe,” he replied. “But at least the Brazilian pop was so bad. I know Brazilian music. I have worked with Brazilians many times. This was so bad. I couldn’t stay, one afternoon. So I left.”

“要是氣氛對(duì)，有可能，”他答道。“但至少那些巴西流行樂太難聽了。我了解巴西音樂。我和巴西人合作過很多次。但那些巴西流行樂太差。有一天下午我根本待不下去。我就走人了。”

He went home and composed an email to Mr. Odo. “I love your food, I respect you and I love this restaurant, but I hate the music,” he remembered writing. “Who chose this? Whose decision of mixing this terrible roundup? Let me do it. Because your food is as good as the beauty of Katsura Rikyu.” (He meant the thousand-year-old palatial villa in Kyoto, built to some degree on the aesthetic principles of imperfections and natural circumstances known as wabi-sabi.) “But the music in your restaurant is like Trump Tower.”

坂本回家后給大堂浩樹寫了一封郵件。“我喜歡你做的菜，我尊重你，我喜歡這家餐館，但我討厭餐館的音樂，”他記得他這樣寫道。“誰(shuí)選的音樂?把這個(gè)糟糕的集合混在一起是誰(shuí)的決定?讓我來做這個(gè)吧。因?yàn)槟阕龅牟酥每梢耘c桂離宮媲美。”(他指的是京都有千年歷史的皇家別墅，在一定程度上是依據(jù)所謂“侘寂”的美學(xué)原則建造的，這種美學(xué)原則追求的是不完美的、自然的環(huán)境。)“但你餐館的音樂卻像特朗普大廈(Trump Tower)。”

A bad musical experience in a restaurant these days may be a kind of imitation of a thoughtful one, or at least a sufficient one: a good-enough one. It can be the result of the algorithmic programming from, say, a Pandora or Spotify station. It can be one of the many playlists made by human curators at one of those streaming services, meant for broad appeal. Or it can be the result of the safe or self-absorbed choices from someone in the restaurant. As with restaurant food, so with restaurant music: Good-enough isn’t good enough.

在如今的餐廳，糟糕的音樂體驗(yàn)也許只是在模仿一種有考慮的、至少是充分的——還不錯(cuò)的——體驗(yàn)。這些選擇可能是來自一個(gè)Pandora或Spotify電臺(tái)的算法程序的結(jié)果，可能來自這些流媒體服務(wù)根據(jù)大眾口味人工編制的眾多播放列表。也可能是餐館里某個(gè)工作人員的保險(xiǎn)選擇，或只考慮自己的選擇。餐館里的食物與餐館里的音樂一樣：只是不錯(cuò)還遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)不夠。

Some feeling of lift or transcendence is essential.

有點(diǎn)提升或超越感必不可少。

I asked a few restaurateurs how they get beyond the good-enough in creating or controlling their own playlists. Gerardo Gonzalez, the chef at Lalito, in Chinatown, spoke of first encounters and parting impressions. He contends that music is the first and strongest sensory indicator of what a restaurant is about; he wants his customers to leave in a better mood than that in which they entered.

我問了一些餐館老板，他們?cè)谥谱骰蚩刂谱约旱母鑶紊鲜侨绾纬讲诲e(cuò)的。紐約唐人街餐館拉利托(Lalito)的大廚杰拉爾多·岡薩雷斯(Gerardo Gonzalez)提到了初次相遇和離別的印象。他認(rèn)為，音樂是一家餐館方方面面的首個(gè)、也是最強(qiáng)烈的一個(gè)感官標(biāo)志。他希望他的顧客們離開時(shí)的心情比他們進(jìn)來時(shí)的好。

Well-known tracks, he suggested, can be useful. But some feeling of lift or transcendence is essential. (He cited the jazz-harp music of Alice Coltrane and Dorothy Ashby as examples of music that does not go wrong.) Also, a great playlist for your customers is not equal to the music you listen to for own purposes. “I draw the line,” he specified, “at something I might listen to at home, which might be bleak and dystopic.”

他提出理由說，知名的曲目可能有用。但是，有點(diǎn)提升或超越感必不可少。(他提到愛麗絲·柯川[Alice Coltrane]和多蘿西·阿什比[Dorothy Ashby]的爵士豎琴音樂，認(rèn)為那是不會(huì)錯(cuò)的音樂的例子。)而且，為你的客戶做好的歌單，和你自己聽的音樂不是一回事。具體來說，“我在家里可能會(huì)聽的一些東西，可能感覺暗淡的、反烏托邦的，我是不會(huì)碰的。”

Brooks Headley, the chef of Superiority Burger in the East Village, and a musician himself — he has played drums in punk bands since the early ’90s — sent an iPod around to some discerning friends so they could load it up with their suggestions. “Nothing too moody or serious,” he cautioned them. They took his request seriously, and he likes not knowing everything that plays. (A hit in his restaurant: the album “Rock and Rollin’ With Fats Domino,” played in its entirety, all 29 minutes.)

位于東村的Superiority Burger的主廚布魯克斯·黑德利(Brooks Headley)自己就是一名音樂人，他從1990年代初開始一直在朋克樂隊(duì)當(dāng)鼓手，他把一個(gè)iPod交給了一些有識(shí)別力的朋友，讓他們把建議的音樂添加上去。他提醒他們“不要太情緒化或太嚴(yán)肅的。”他們認(rèn)真地按照他的要求去做了，他不見得知道正在放的是什么音樂，這是他樂見的。(他的餐館有一次大獲成功的嘗試：全專輯播放《與胖子多米諾一起搖滾》[Rock and Rollin’ With Fats Domino]，共29分鐘。)

Frank Falcinelli, a chef and partner at Prime Meats and the Frankies restaurants in New York, dreads restaurant-music clichés, and has developed ways to avoid them: playing original versions of songs made much more famous by covers, or playing deep cuts from well-known popular records. For instance: “Moonlight Mile,” from the Rolling Stones album “Sticky Fingers,” but not “Brown Sugar.” (Please, not “Brown Sugar.”)

弗蘭克·法奇內(nèi)利(Frank Falcinelli)是紐約連鎖餐館Prime Meats and the Frankies的主廚兼合伙人，他特別害怕聽?wèi)T了的餐館音樂，并想辦法避免之：比如播放一首歌的原版，而不是被翻唱者唱得更出名的版本，或者播放有名的流行唱片中不廣為人知但有代表性的曲目，比如，從滾石樂隊(duì)《Sticky Fingers》專輯中選播《Moonlight Mile》，而不選《Brown Sugar》。(別放《Brown Sugar》，拜托了。)

Siobhan Lowe, manager of the restaurant (Reynard) and bar (The Ides) in the Wythe Hotel in Brooklyn, hired the sound-design firm Gray V to make its varied and frequently updated playlists. She will give instructions — “make a playlist for a rainy afternoon in the Ides that would not freak out my dad but that music nerds will be impressed by” — and then lets the experts do their work. Like Mr. Falcinelli, she has seen the seductive power of the deep cut over her customers: Her example was a live version of Talking Heads’s “The Big Country.”

布魯克林威思酒店(Wythe Hotel)餐廳(Reynard)和酒吧(The Ides)的經(jīng)理西沃恩·勞(Siobhan Lowe)雇了聲音設(shè)計(jì)公司Gray V來為餐廳和酒吧制作不同的且經(jīng)常更新的歌單。她會(huì)提一些要求——“為酒吧的一個(gè)雨天下午做一個(gè)歌單，里面的音樂不會(huì)嚇著我老爸，但能得到樂迷的稱許”——然后讓專業(yè)人士們?nèi)プ鏊麄兊墓ぷ?。與法奇內(nèi)利一樣，她也看到過不廣為人知但有代表性的曲目令顧客神往的力量：她的例子是Talking Heads樂隊(duì)一次現(xiàn)場(chǎng)表演《The Big Country》的錄音。

I asked Mr. Sakamoto whether the exercise of creating a restaurant playlist was as simple as choosing music he liked. “No,” he said. “In the beginning, I wanted to have a collection of ambient music — not Brian Eno, but more recent.” He came to the restaurant and listened carefully as he ate. He and his wife agreed that the music was much too dark in mood.

我問坂本，制作餐館歌單是否像挑選自己喜歡的音樂那樣簡(jiǎn)單。“不是，”他說。“剛開始的時(shí)候，我曾想做一個(gè)氛圍音樂集——不是布萊恩·伊諾(Brian Eno)，而是更近期的。”他來到餐館，邊吃邊仔細(xì)地聽。他和妻子一致認(rèn)為那些音樂太陰暗了。

“The light is pretty bright here,” Ms. Sora said. “The color of the wall, the texture of the furniture, the setting of the room, wasn’t good for enjoying music with darker tones, to end your night. I think it depends not just on the food or the hour of the day, but the atmosphere, the color, the decoration.”

“這里的燈光很亮，”空里香說。“墻壁的顏色，家具的質(zhì)地，房間的環(huán)境，都不適合在欣賞深沉音樂中結(jié)束你的夜晚。我覺得，這不只是取決于吃的東西，或一天的時(shí)段，還取決于氛圍、顏色和裝飾。”

Mr. Takahashi reckoned that he and Mr. Sakamoto made at least five drafts before settling on the current version of the Kajitsu playlist. Some songs were too this or too that — too loud, too bright, too “jazzy.”

高橋估計(jì)他和坂本至少改過五次，才確定了現(xiàn)在的嘉日版歌單。有些歌曲太這個(gè)、或太那個(gè)——太大聲，太亮，太“爵士”。

“Playing jazz in restaurants is too stereotypical,” Mr. Sakamoto said. Jazz pianists are a particularly vexed issue for him. You will hear Mary Lou Williams, but not (at this point, anyway) Duke Ellington. You will hear Bill Evans, but not his famous “Waltz for Debby.” You will hear solo Jason Moran and Thelonious Monk.

“在餐館里播放爵士樂太老套了，”坂本說。爵士樂鋼琴家對(duì)他來說是一個(gè)特別棘手的問題。你會(huì)聽到瑪麗·盧·威廉姆斯，但不會(huì)聽到艾靈頓公爵(反正不在這個(gè)時(shí)候)。你會(huì)聽到比爾·埃文斯(Bill Evans)，但不會(huì)聽到他著名的《黛比的華爾茲》(Waltz for Debby)。你會(huì)聽到杰森·莫蘭(Jason Moran)和塞隆尼斯·蒙克(Thelonious Monk)的獨(dú)奏。

One of the solo-piano songs that slayed me turned out to be the first movement of John Cage’s serene “Four Walls,” played by Aki Takahashi. (“It’s so pop,” Mr. Sakamoto marveled. “It’s like a radio hit.”) Another was Gavin Bryars’s “My First Homage.” A few others that moved me, piano or not: David Shire’s “Graysmith’s Theme,” from the score to the film “Zodiac”; Roberto Musci’s “Claudia, Wilhelm R and Me.” All of this music stood at a particular angle with regard to the listener: It was riveting, moderate and unobtrusive.

后來發(fā)現(xiàn)其中一首征服我的鋼琴獨(dú)奏是高橋愛(Aki Takahashi)演奏寧?kù)o的約翰·凱奇(John Cage)《Four Walls》第一樂章。(“這么流行樂，”坂本驚嘆道。“好像一首電臺(tái)熱播曲。”)另一首是加文·布萊爾斯(Gavin Bryars)的《My First Homage》。還有一些讓我感動(dòng)的鋼琴曲和非鋼琴曲，比如大衛(wèi)·夏爾(David Shire)的《Graysmith’s Theme》(來自電影《十二宮》[Zodiac]的配樂)，羅伯托·穆西(Roberto Musci)的“Claudia, Wilhelm R and Me”。所有這些音樂都從一個(gè)特定的角度對(duì)待聽者：吸引人、溫和、不會(huì)打攪你。

Mr. Sakamoto objects to loud restaurant music.

坂本反對(duì)大聲的餐廳音樂

It was also not very loud, and here we arrive at an issue that may concern older customers more than younger ones. Mr. Sakamoto objects to loud restaurant music, and often uses a decibel meter on his phone to measure the volume of the sound around him.

而且都不是很大聲，這可能是年長(zhǎng)一些的顧客會(huì)更關(guān)心的問題。坂本不喜歡餐館的音樂太響，他經(jīng)常用手機(jī)上的一個(gè)測(cè)量分貝的應(yīng)用軟件來測(cè)量周圍的音量。

He has composed original music for public spaces before, he said — a scientific museum and an advertising-agency building in Tokyo. He used light and wind sensors to change the music during the day. But the only experience he has had making playlists of the music of others, for other people, has been for family members.

他說，他以前曾為公共場(chǎng)所寫過原創(chuàng)音樂，比如為東京的一家科學(xué)博物館和一家廣告公司大樓。他使用測(cè)量光和風(fēng)的傳感器來改變一天中播放的音樂。但是說到給別人制作歌單，他此前唯一的經(jīng)歷是給自己的家人制作。

He made one for his son, when he was learning to play the bass guitar; Mr. Sakamoto carefully excluded the bassist Jaco Pastorius, for reasons of personal taste, but his son found out about Mr. Pastorius a week later and scolded his father for the omission. Mr. Sakamoto made one for his father, during a hospital illness. And he made one for his mother’s funeral. 在

兒子學(xué)習(xí)彈奏貝斯時(shí)，他曾為兒子做過一個(gè)。出于個(gè)人喜好，坂本刻意沒有把貝司手杰可·帕斯透瑞斯(Jaco Pastorius)演奏的曲子選進(jìn)來，但兒子在一周后發(fā)現(xiàn)了帕斯透瑞斯，并對(duì)父親不選他的曲子很不滿。坂本在父親生病住院期間給父親做過一個(gè)。他還為母親的葬禮做過一個(gè)。

Was that, I asked, a collection of music she liked? Mr. Sakamoto paused and laughed and shook his head. “It was, kind of, my ego,” he said.

我問他，那是匯集了母親生前喜歡的音樂嗎?坂本停頓了一下，笑了笑，搖著頭說，“那算是我的自我主張吧。”

Mr. Sakamoto and Mr. Takahashi plan to change their playlist with each new season. Mr. Odo’s next venture, a bar named Hall and a restaurant named Odo, is scheduled to open in the Flatiron district in the fall. Mr. Sakamoto, again, has been retained as chief playlister.

坂本和高橋打算在每一季更換一個(gè)歌單。大堂浩樹的下一個(gè)項(xiàng)目、一家名為Hall的酒吧和名為“大堂”的餐廳，計(jì)劃于今年秋天在曼哈頓熨斗區(qū)開業(yè)。坂本已經(jīng)被聘為首席歌單師。