Pitchfork

So I've written out all the ideas for Couch, my soon-to-be-open restaurant. And you lucky devil, you'll be the first to hear about it. Well, then. Everybody knows the primary determinant of a pleasurable dining experience isn't the food, but rather the ambience. Accordingly, our space will be antiseptically clean and uncluttered, cavernous, yet oppressively well lit. Décor: super-minimalist. Only light, cold colors and straight lines. And, of course, nothing made of wood. In fact, nothing that could even be construed as having originated from the earth. Any metal you might see you see will have been smelted from the ore of meteorites. Or a mine in western Pennsylvania, but that's yet to be determined.

We are acutely aware that a leading cause of restaurant failure is lack of demographic focus. We're not going out like that. Our target clientele consists of affectless, highly sophisticated, urban twenty-somethings who majored in German and/or speak a Scandinavian language. Oh, and people who work for Artforum, too. Bring 'em along.

There will be a strict unisex dress code requiring all patrons to wear lederhosen and horn-rimmed glasses. Prada shoes optional. Hey, we can't be totally inflexible. Bottled water will be served in two sizes: sake glass size, or full gallon stein. Sake will be served at the sake bar across the street. Sorry.

Now, on to the food! To "open the appetite," as they say, all our diners will be shown a video installation entitled Aperitif! by the renowned Finnish video artist Fritz Rasmussen. Mmmm. For the main course, you will have your choice of vegan bratwurst or free-range bratwurst, served on rice cakes smoked over burning plastic.

Our eponymous house band, Couch, will provide our diners with mathematically precise rhythms they can match their pulse rates to, and by which they can time their inane chatter. Did I say inane? I meant urbane. But on the down-low (and suffice to say, any customer overheard using an expression like "on the down-low" will be unceremoniously thrown to das curb), Couch was very reluctant to have anything to do with my restaurant. Actually, we came to an agreement on money issues just yesterday after a long, often contentious discussion about my vision for the restaurant versus their self-image as a band. Some excerpts:

Stefanie Böhm (keyboards): Herr Leslie...

Me: ...Please Stefanie, call me Camilo.

Stefanie: Herr Camilo, I believe we are in a misunderstanding. We are not cold and bloodless, robotic, fascist gallery curators like the people you would like to attract. We play real instruments! And we are just a band from Munchen that...

Me: Wait! Your PR person said you were from Munich.

Thomas Geltinger (drums): Sheisskopf!

Michael Heilrath (bass): What Thomas means is that-- though we are oft-compared to Chicago post-rock, play to a metric perfection, and experiment with abstraction that some could find off-putting-- even a lazy listen to our record will reveal many levels of melody, and warmth, and...

Me: I don't know. I mean, I guess so, but it's just... so... mathematical.

Jürgen Söder (guitar): Perhaps it is true some songs, "Ich Bei Davor" and "Heimweg 78" in particular, might sound to some like hipster Muzak, but you cannot be in denial of the rocking aggression of songs like "Slogan" and "Gegen Den" and...

Stefanie: ...and "Camaro!"

Jürgen: Yes, I thought that one was particularly bitchin'.

[awkward silence]

Me: Nevermind. I suppose I see your point. Fantasy is not just one thing. It's pretty, as well as...

Michael: Multidimensional! At points it soothes, and then at certain parts dissonant, droning guitar chords, layered over crisp hi-hat and dancy bass build tension to unbearable levels.,p. Me: Yeah, like on "Linie Gegen Strich!"

Jürgen: Yah!

Well, I suppose I ought to stop on a positive note. They finally came to understand my bemused appreciation for their music, and I, in turn, agreed to let them perform behind a huge white curtain so they wouldn't have to look at my pretentious customers. All the better. German post-rock shadow puppets, weekday nights at Couch. Or maybe we'll just bill them as "electronic musicians pretending to be instrumental musicians that sound like electronic musicians." Hmm...