
Photos by Jonson Lee.
They say the customer is King, and that includes the customer’s right to talk freely with other patrons in dining or drinking establishments. But some of the “cafés” I visited in Korea did not respect my right to freedom of speech. Instead, the only thing allowed to speak freely was the audio system. The point—no, the rule—was not to fill the air with your own voice but allow a good hi-fi rig to do so in your place.
That’s why in none of the three places I visited was the seating arrangement set up where people could face each other to facilitate talking. Invariably, the chairs faced frontward, like in a movie theatre or a religious congregation, our attention directed at a stage up front occupied by the real king in the room: the sound system.

The first place I checked out was Music Space Camerata. I never imagined such a place would be so crowded that I would have to put my name on a waitlist and wait 40 minutes for a seat. There were about 30 seats in all, placed along the length of a tunnel-like space. I could sense a quiet, suppressed excitement as people sat together amid strangers to listen communally to music played back on a vintage audio system.
Unlike at audio shows and dealers shops, most in the crowd were young. I saw several couples in their 20s and thought it was an interesting choice for a dating place. No liquor. No talking. No kissing. Just holding hands and listening to classical music in an old fashioned way, on Western Electric horn speakers from the 1920s.

The next place I visited was Cello. Sanghoon Lee, the nice gentleman who owned the place, was pretty new to the whole audio thing, having gotten into it only as a result of starting his business. With a system consisting of Tannoy Autograph 15” Black/Silver Original speakers driven by McIntosh monoblocks, the sound was top-notch, the best of the three places I visited, maybe because of the smaller size of the room.


Visually, the most striking of the three places was Concino Concrete. First, the building itself, designed by architect Hyunjun Min who also designed the country’s National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, looked like a monument for the ages. The interior was no less impressive. The sheer scale of the space, the beauty and size of the Western Electric horn speakers, and the presence of hard-to-find audio-related artifacts made this venue as much a place to listen to music as an audio museum, and a shrine for audio enthusiasts like us. Technically, this place wasn’t a music café; the only thing you could drink there was a bottle of water, included in the $14 admission fee.
Just as in Camerata, I saw a lot of young couples, but this time a lot more people were taking pictures. Was the Concino Concrete mainly a photo op? I certainly felt like taking a lot of photos. It was one of the most visually stunning places I’d been to.
I also loved the warning sign at the entrance, which read:
“This space isn’t a café but a music listening hall. Do not bring in any food or drink. Do not take photos in a way that interferes with others listening to music. Refrain from talking while music is playing. You may talk while we change records but only softly.”
Some might find the strictness a bit too… strict. Those who are used to an environment where the customer is King might find a place like Concino Concrete too confining. But I wonder sometimes if it’s healthy for us to have access to whatever we want, whenever we want it. It can put pressure on us to have everything right away to maximize our pleasure. We can become entrapped in the fear of missing out, or FOMO. The endless stream of our unfulfilled desires becomes the real thing that confines us.


Streaming services allow us a seemingly unlimited selection of tracks we can listen to whenever we want. It wasn’t like that in the era of radio and LPs, when the music we had access to we either owned or was played for us by someone else, like the DJ at a radio station. Streaming eliminates those restrictions, offering complete freedom—but with that freedom comes a new kind of pressure; I often find myself anxiously choosing the next song in my head before the one that’s playing is over. In a world of endless choices, our brains race ahead, generating new desires before we’ve even finished experiencing the old ones, leaving us in a constant state of anticipation.

So, as I sat in these communal places, listening to whatever was played for me, I felt relief that there was a command in place that said, “No sir, this time you can’t do whatever you want, because we rule.” It was a demand made for the right reasons—so we could enjoy listening to music collectively on a great sounding hi-fi.
In those places, I didn’t mind giving up some rights as a customer. In fact, I found it liberating that I didn’t have to be the King for a while, or have to be always right.

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