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And theyвЂ™re all just listening.вЂќ Such attention to sound seems utterly foreign in multi-tasking America. вЂњPeople go on their work breaks or lunch or whenever they have time,вЂќ Ling says. Often owned by a single, music-obsessed barman, the meticulously controlled spaces value silent, contemplative listening. Some kissa played only Western classical music. When Tokyo music fans developed a love of American jazz, they compensated for the lack of live acts through вЂњperformancesвЂќ from crystalline vinyl. Music-focused kissa were born in postwar Japan and designed to take advantage of the increasingly sophisticated sound systems entering the market. Cowie: вЂњIt wasnвЂ™t too long after that that we were both in Japan studying some places together.вЂќ Ling texted Cowie the next day to schedule a meeting. long enough to know the idea-to-execution ratio is pretty high: вЂњPeople give you grand offers, and IвЂ™ve just come to expect nobody to follow through.

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At a nearby table, producer Dan вЂњthe AutomatorвЂќ Nakamura listens with a friend.ДЇor Cowie, who earned an Emmy nomination for his work on the Netflix comedy вЂњMaster of NoneвЂќ and picked songs for Maya Rudolph and Fred ArmisenвЂ™s new Amazon Prime series вЂњForever,вЂќ LingвЂ™s pitch at the party didnвЂ™t seem crazy. Soft, bell-like pulses and gymnastic synth melodies permeate the air. Weaving through the room as they talk is breathtakingly clear ambient music by the late Japanese composer Susumu Yokota. Ling, an artist manager and owner of the club No Name in the Fairfax district, casually mentioned the idea of a hi-fi bar at a party a few years ago where Cowie was DJing.Д®xcitedly, Cowie interrupts to finish the story, his eyes aglow as he recalls his enthusiastic, informed reply to Ling: вЂњвЂLike the ones in Japan? Really? Really?вЂ™ And Bryan was like, вЂDo you want to build one of those?вЂ™ I was like, вЂYeah!вЂ™вЂќ HeвЂ™s sitting next to Ling in one of the roomвЂ™s two booths.

He knew he wanted a pizzeria, but then it turned out that the space he coveted was a little bigger than he needed.ДЄs he relays this information, his collaborator Cowie laughs knowingly. To hear co-owner Bryan Ling recall it, In SheepвЂ™s Clothing wasnвЂ™t always part of the plan for his new Arts District venture. This is such a great time to be a music listener, but no oneвЂ™s listening. Where a restaurant website might list its farm sources, In SheepвЂ™s Clothing lists its audio components. Designed to evoke first-glimpse wonder, the minimal room, with blond wood, a half-dozen bar tables and mismatched Mid-century Modern chairs, has a sound system that costs as much as a luxury car. Located on the other side of an unassuming door within a larger complex, In SheepвЂ™s Clothing - offering tea, coffee, cocktails, craft beer, wine and Japanese whiskey - was inspired by Japanese jazz cafes, known as jazz kissaten, or jazz kissa. WeвЂ™re in a funny time now with music where everything is available, but itвЂ™s all been pushed into the background of peoplesвЂ™ lives.вЂќ

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The underlying mission, according to Cowie: вЂњTo teach people how to listen again. TheyвЂ™d been primed for the experience when DJ and music supervisor Zach Cowie had presented a casual lecture on the album - its influences, creation and aesthetics - and played music that reclusive Talk Talk founder Mark Hollis has cited as inspiration over the years, including works by Claude DeBussy, Bob Dylan, John Coltrane, English singer Robert Wyatt and German experimental rock band Can. Any chitchat was whispered, as if this were a screening room and not a late-night cafe. No one took a selfie or live-tweeted the event. On a recent Sunday afternoon at a little lounge downtown called In SheepвЂ™s Clothing, 50 people sat facing two pulpit-sized speakers, curtains drawn, smartphones off, and listened to British art rock band Talk TalkвЂ™s 1988 masterpiece вЂњSpirit of EdenвЂќ from start to finish.

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