Let the Music Play On...

Shakespeare wrote in his play The Twelfth Night, "If music be the food of love, play on!" Obviously, Shakespeare didn't have to listen to Daniel's playlist. I grew up in a houseful of music and musicians. My maternal grandfather and all his ten siblings were musicians, mostly violinists. Although the musical talent gene skipped my mother, she did appreciate and love music.

My father also came from a musical family. Although he never took lessons, he could sit at a piano and plunk out tunes by ear. We were the first in the neighborhood to have a HIFI, and we always had music playing in the house. Broadway show albums were my mother's favorite, while classical albums, usually conducted by New York's own Leonard Bernstein, were my father's choice.

I played flute, my brother did a short stint on trumpet until he fell in love with sports, and my sister was a struggling violinist. Unfortunately, she, like my mother, lacked the musical gene, so I'm sure anyone in hearing distance joined us in celebrating her decision to quit violin. Her teachers made a futile effort to convince my mother to encourage her to continue. We were relieved that we no longer had to be tortured by her off-key playing.

Daniel is a terrific musician. He is a self-taught banjo, guitar, and dobro player and actually loves practicing. When we have a break at the restaurant, he sometimes sits on the patio and plays his banjo for fun and practice. He's even had a few pennies thrown into his case!

Luckily, when it comes to listening to music, we usually agree; both of us have a very eclectic taste in music. We enjoy Bluegrass, Jazz, Classical, and Opera. I also love Motown, Oldies from the '60s and '70s, and of course, the smooth, swinging sounds of Bobby Darin, Sinatra, and Bennett.

Daniel has recently become a fan of the mellow "Rainy Day Jazz" station, which he streams on Spotify. Maybe it's his way of calming down when things are crazy, but I immediately fall asleep when he turns that on. That would not be an issue at home, but he is now trying to get me to change the "playlist" that I've curated for the restaurant to this mellow, sleepy jazz station.

When the clock strikes 11:30 a.m., Daniel's immediately in the front of the house to make sure the music is on and the volume up. Although he has finally given up trying to foist his mellow music on our customers, he insists on turning up the volume. Then, of course, when the first customers come in, they ask if I could please turn down the volume because it is bouncing off the brick walls.

At lunchtime, I usually stream the oldies from the '60s and '70s, or the songs from the British Invasion list, with lots of Beatles, Rolling Stones, and The Who. Remember those bands?

Sometimes, I go for the Essential Summer Love songs, but that starts to sound a little sappy for lunchtime. So, I quickly switch to something more upbeat.

Dinner is my personal curated list, a mix of Sinatra, Rock, Country, and Jazz. So far, no one has complained about the musical choices; in fact, customers' comments have been very complimentary.

And this year, I need some validation.

I lost my garden competition to Daniel and worse, to Mugsy. My zucchini and cucumbers had bugs, and the tomatoes were lacking this year; I've even killed the succulents I bought for the restaurant. So, I listen to swingin' Bobby Darin sing his hit "Artificial Flowers" and say: "Play on!"