It's true, of course, that familiar music often gets to be familiar because it's good. But still there's lots of unfamiliar music, and I'll bet I'm not the only one who'd be grateful if, at a really good restaurant , the music playing in the background could be as sophisticated as the cuisine. Not that I'd expect to ignore the food and my companions, because the music was more fascinating. What I'd like, instead, would be music that sits quietly in the background, never seizing my attention, but rewarding me with something utterly delectable, even if I listened to it only for a moment.
What music would that be? I've heard jazz in restaurants that worked the way I've just described, along with world music, intriguing singer-songwriters, and even dance tracks, which turn out to be perfect for a crowded dining room, because they're lively, full of tasty details, but also unobtrusive. My own selections, though, will all be classical, not because I think classical music is superior, but simply because I know it best.

And my first classical thought was to pick a Haydn symphony. Haydn -- living in the 18th century, employed for years by a music-loving prince -- was a great entertainer. Better still, he wrote more than a hundred symphonies; even classical music experts aren't likely to know most of them. I certainly don't, which made me wonder how I'd ever choose one.
But the choice turned out to be simple. I looked through my Haydn CDs and noticed that one symphony, the 63rd, had an enticing nickname, "La Roxelane." Roxelane, it turns out, was a feisty character in a comic play that Haydn wrote some music for. He then used that music in the second movement of this symphony, with results that work wonderfully for dinner. First you hear a firm little tune, quiet but rhythmic, and also oddly sad. You smile at that, if you're listening, and then, with no fuss at all, Haydn turns it into a graceful march. You smile again, and go back to your meal.

Next I turned to a work I've loved for many years, Stravinsky's "Apollo," a civilized ballet that's also rich in melody. Stravinsky's plan, in fact, was to suffuse the piece with melody, not just on its surface, but also in its corners and its shadows. So it's tuneful everywhere you listen, even if you're drawn, for a second or two, toward a bass line, or to some ornamental counterpoint.
And for something more contemporary, I thought I'd try Steve Reich's 1985 piece for many clarinets, "New York Counterpoint." The sound of all those clarinets at once is somehow both detailed and plush, cushioning your ear but also offering details you can savor. Best of all, the music dances; toward the end, you'd swear that you were hearing a wry, delicate and almost cubist form of ragtime.

But here's a final thought. Why don't restaurants commission something new? That would be wonderful for composers, who'd get exposure for their work -- if, that is, they could bring themselves to write not for the ages but just for random moments (which, given how self-important classical music can be, would be a useful exercise). Restaurants, I'd hope, would sell CDs of the music they commissioned, since, if this works, people would hear the newly written works and ask, "What's that? Where can I buy it?"
Restaurants, though, could also profit, beyond the proceeds of CD sales (which in any case they'd share with the composers). They ought to get cachet, a trademark sound, a reputation for doing good, and even advertising, since the composers' pieces could be premiered on an existing concert series, with the restaurants' names prominently publicized. And, if restaurants were enterprising enough, they could share the costs, if several of them commissioned works together, or if they partnered with music funders, who'd be commissioning music anyway.
How about it, restaurateurs? Are any of you interested?

No restaurant owners have taken me up on this. But Meet the Composer, one of the better new music organizations, says it's going to try to make something happen.

And I've made a parallel suggestion to a classical radio station. They should commission composers to write music that would fit their playlist -- music, in other words, no more disturbing than Vivaldi or Mozart, but which might make the station's sound a little more contemporary. And, of course, which would give composers an opportunity, both to have their music heard, and to give people the idea that maybe they should look forward to hearing something new.

Wall Street Journal, August 27, 2002