It was about 8:30 when they swung long, dangling light bars from their hiding places to fill much of the stage almost like long icicles dangling in a cave. The stage was quicly flooded with dense chemical smoke and just as the sun set over the back of the stage at Verizon Wireless Center I saw a band of dark figures wander on the stage, fueling a frenzy of cheering and applause. I, along with thousands of other adoring fans, had been anticipating this moments for months so much so that we all spent no less than fifty dollars just to step into that ampitheater, not to mention driving hours from surrounding states with cars packed full of sweaty friends smelling of clove cigarettes and incense. It was time.

Without hesitation Thom Yorke leaned into the microwave and let loose what can only be described as a powerfully haunting melody that shook the audience out of their humid, dull lifelessness. And I was enveloped in not only what some might call a "concert", but an experience. The lights danced in time with each song as a movie of the concert was artfully showcased in a hovering position over the band. There was no hope of looking away for even a split second as each song folded into the next with unrelenting diligence. After the main set was over they spent the rest of their energy on six songs in an encore; after that, a moving second encore with three more songs. I was nearly speechless as a walked away from that place, knowing that I had been given something far greater than noise to fill my ears; I was personally given the gift art. Radiohead painted a picture in my mind that will not soon fade away.

So what does this have to do with coffee? Maybe Radiohead does not equal coffee anymore than 2+2=5, but maybe there's something to this. I went to a place and spent a relatively large sum of money, but it wasn't because I was looking for a product; I was hoping for an experience. I also had a great amount of expectation for the experience shaped on previous experiences I have had listening to their music. I am emotionally connected to the art of Radiohead's music so much that I will plan a whole evening around being a part of the experience they are creating, and this experience is so emersive and that it is undeniably pleasurable.

Coffee IS, by nature, a product or commodity. It can be weighed and sorted by quality and assigned a price value. But the moment that the coffee enters the hands of preparation that are skilled and passionate, it becomes an expression of art. Just like music, even with the right instruments there is no guarantee of great expression for the barista. Yet, driven by emotion, dedication, and passion, the barista creates and gives the art away for the purpose of experience. The cafe is not a sterile environment, but it evokes a certain response from all who enter its doors. The room is heavy with the smell of fresh beans and the ears tingle with the sound of grinders and the hissing of steam wands. The light and colors on the walls as well as the art all contribute to an immersive experience.

Is this what we are to accomplish? I must insist on it. People are built to be experiential. They crave being in places and taking in things that evoke emotion and pull from the deep places of the mind to enlighten and fulfill. We must build out our cafes and train our staff to reflect the great privelege it is for people to come and experience coffee with us. I believe that, if we think like this, we will draw people in and they will spend their time, money, and energy with the same great expectations that they have when they walk into a stadium or concert hall.

Forgive my rantings; for a minute I lost myself.