There is something to be said for the modern need to shelter from the ever present neural assault. We were never supposed to be bombarded like this; contemporary society means our fight or flight is in constant use; we were just supposed to be hunting and gathering for goodness sake. To quote the theme tune of a popular comedy, ‘taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot…’
If you were making a wish list for everything you required out of a good bar or restaurant, where would high-quality audio sit on the list? I’ll be honest, even as a music writer—the sonic quality of the ambient music in a venue is something I’d never even considered before. Of course—the choice of tunes, and whether you have to shout yourself silly to have a decent conversation would be on there, but even then, it would very much be a secondary consideration. This is speaking as someone who gazes in admiration at people with the ability to have involved conversations in the middle of the dancefloor, whereas it’s all I can do to lip-read, ‘Do you want another drink?’
Yet, at listening bars, the audio is paired and prioritised with the fayre in the same way a fine glass of wine would be paired with a high-end menu. This is an idea—a philosophy really—which originated in Japan, and is now catching on in Australia: spaces for audiophiles with an appetite for great music, excellent libations and sometimes even fine cuisine, encapsulating the pursuit of multi-sensory satisfaction under one roof.
Listening Bars have been an institution in Japan since the 1950s, a country which prides itself on refuge, retreat and meditation—from the reflective experience of a water garden, via the womb-like nature of capsule hotels. This national mindset goes some way to explaining why this is the country where the listening bar was born—immersion, isolation, and the correct use of precious personal time are all of tantamount importance… that, and excellent audio technology.
Sequestered amongst the sensory overload of Japan’s neon cities, these bars are typically a lowly lit, darkly painted, hug of an experience. Immersing the patron in the deep-end of audio quality, finely tuned drinks are served with base-notes of precision-made and carefully sourced sound systems, allowing a singular sensory experience which, when you think about it, appeals to one of the most primal states which exists within us. A comforting, endorphin-releasing blanket—engulfing the human body in good sound feels primordial—like coming home.
“It’s a real mix, which is what makes it fun. Sure, we get some collectors and hi-fi nerds but it’s by no means just that crowd, there’s all kinds of people coming through, and that variety keeps the vibe fresh.”
Nick van Tiel is Head of Music and Nightlife at Merivale, the owners of Jam Record Bar, one of a handful of listening bars leading the way in Sydney. “We spent 12 months carefully curating the records, shopping far and wide to build a wide ranging collection that spans every era and genre, but all fits within the ethos and vibe of the venue. Additionally we have a tight roster of Sydney’s best and most experienced crate diggers who form part of our nightly DJ offering,” Nick continues.
The fundamentals, from Shibuya to Sydney to San Francisco, are the same: entire environments are curated to a fine point, far beyond the usual interior design mood board which goes into opening a new establishment. The positioning of the speakers, the colours, the wine menu, the cocktails and—when there is a culinary element—the flavours of the food, all feed (pun intended) into a complete experience, from the bass up. A comprehensive, curated list of vinyl lines at least one lengthy wall, each waiting their turn for a spin on the turntable —crucially not mixing decks—where each song is usually played to its conclusion without being in the mix… the whole sensory journey must and should be appreciated.
“People are bombarded with digital content and endless choice when it comes to music today, so there’s a growing appreciation for the tactile, immersive experience of vinyl, from the physicality of the record itself to the artwork and storytelling that accompany it”, Nick tells me.
Listening bars are now starting to capture westernised imaginations too—in Sydney with Rekōdo, Busby and Anti; Brilliant Corners, Bambi and Moko have recently popped up across London, with Frequence and Bambino to be found in Paris’s 11 Arrondissement, Unkompress in Berlin and Bird in Copenhagen. Of course, the US had to call it something different, which means you should ask for ‘Hi-Fi Bars’ when you’re there… but the principle remains the same. For a country quite in love with the sound of its own voice, however, an establishment where one listens and doesn’t talk is still a novelty.
It is a question of fostering a different kind of dialogue, an unspoken one carried on musical notes which develop a different, possibly more fundamental, type of connection a cut above small talk. Of course, if you still need to talk to your mate after a break-up, or bitch about your line manager to an equally perturbed colleague, the dive bar or pub will always be just down the road. As an antidote to loneliness and isolation however, the growing phenomenon of the listening bar may well feel, to a large swathe of adrift people in challenging times, like a new home from home. “It’s great to see a younger generation engaging with music in a new way and discovering the richness of analogue sound” says Nick.
As long as they keep appealing to one of the most fundamental needs within us, people will certainly be keeping their ears to the ground.
Jam also recently curated their own vinyl record – a limited press compilation of their favourite records from the first year called JAM Sessions – Songs from JAM Record Bar Volume 1, £46
