Sunday, August 29, 2010

Gdańsk-ing with myself, Day 1

Gdańsk lies rather further than I expected from Kraków. I'd decided to skip Warszawa in the interest of time and on the assurances of my various hosts that I wouldn't be missing much. On the long ride over I seated myself by a nice old man and we managed to communicate quite well and happily despite my poor Polish. Now just before arriving in Gdańsk we passed through and near lovely trussed frames as the tracks began to split. The sun fell slowly through the clouds and the light mixed perfectly with the reflected flourescents through the window. My camera can't capture sufficient light without an unacceptable shutter speed, but I did manage a shot or two before the glorious frames.





Małgosia, my host, met me at the station and took me to her lovely village home near the airport. What a beautiful family! They bid me sing them some songs - her cousin knew Apologize and Relax, Take it Easy, which I found amusing - and I ate till I was truly full for the first time in many days. Her father was a touch drunk and very friendly because of it. The language barrier was completely nullified by Gosia - he was very curious about my hair, wondering if it was naturally so black and straight. He had me write some Chinese for him (I realized later I butchered the word for eat), asked about chopsticks, whether we have tomatoes in the United States, searched for alchohol to share with me. A very jolly time.

The countryside where I stayed.


I wanted to go to the local village church with Goscia's family but we all awoke a bit tardy so I headed into town instead. This day (8.22.10) marked the end of an arts festival in Gdańsk so as I toured the center I found it packed. A cello/violin duo under an arch at the east end of the long street, Ulice Długa (it means long street), helpfully told me when they'd finish but when I returned the German Culture celebration nearby had begun their musical set - large and horrible (school children) highly amplified brass and wind ensembles. A nearby waitress resignedly told me they'd be there till six.

Zebra on Zielony Most.


On my way to an illegal pitch further west on Długa I passed a busking act I certainly hadn't missed - panflutes and caricaturing costumes (feathers and leather and stomp-dancing) setting up with large amplification near the fountain. I want to throw in a quick note on standardization here. I noticed all over the fair most of the kiosks sported goods also on display a few stands down. T-shirts, frog toys, barking dogs... Even the art was generally uninspired, with landscapes mostly indistinguishable from one artist to the next artist 20 meters down. I try to avoid standardization, catering to "safe" successful songs in my own performance - and seeing the busking and shop styles made me quite proud of this. The statues... usually statues aren't so inspired. One pretty girl simply dressed well in 18th century style clothing and a parasol and got tips after taking photos with others - basically for being pretty I guess. I'm sure she made much more than me. The Andean act played a standard repertoire featuring El Condor Pasa and standard movements and dress... Eh, I know what I want to say but it's not coming out right. Just standardization really kills the whole idea of street art and fairs...

The view from Ratusz.


I set up coincidentally facing an Asian restuarant of some kind and my pitch started off wonderfully. I got multiple tips for my first song, and so by the general rule of "if the first 15' are good, the rest of the pitch will be" I was set to do well. After a few songs, however I got an audience: three girls soon to be seniors in high school from Gdynia and Gdansk who were visiting the fair. They gathered around me and requested songs (they went all giddy at Hey There Delilah, at how sweet it is). Now sometimes having an audience behooves me but in this case it somehow threw me off. I'm not sure what exactly - maybe that they were standing directly in front of my case and thus blocked off access by other passersby. Maybe that they were so enthusiastically giving requests I didn't know when they'd stop. Whatever it was by the time they left my good vibe had departed and the rest of the pitch went pretty badly.

About halfway through the pitch a young man asked very amiably how long I'd stay for. He needed to set up a stand for selling shirts and had a small megaphone for it. Extremely polite of him and I assured him not much longer since the tips were rather poor. We fell to discussing the reasons for this (it's been bad for him, too) - the fact that it's a Sunday and the evident racism he readily admitted, especially prevalent in this older crowd. As always I tried my racism experiment and voila, tips. Aside from Hallelujah, which I can always count on but saps my voice, these were essentially my only earnings. My new friend was both amused and disgusted.

He requested Hey Ya and then we talked a bit more. Apparently he knew french and by some marvelous coincidence liked the song Liberta. He told me the younger generation is more like that song but the older one is very suspicious and very much in the thrall of post-Socialism. To underscore what we'd talked about, after Liberta a man came to my case, stared with a goofy smile at me like I was some monkey and slavishly said "Konichiwa" with no tip. I responded with a thank you, and though he looked confused a second he persisted with another "Konichiwa." I tried to explain I know one Japanese song but I'm American (in a mixture of English and Polish) but I needed my new friend to help explain. He didn't get it (well dressed businessman, educated looking type) and when he left he kept looking back at me, confused and smiling idiotically.

After bidding my new friend farewell and leaving him to his salesmanship, I passed a tiny gypsy girl of maybe 7 sawing at a violin with a little purse in front of her: she was killing it in money. This is why I'm getting to despise busking. It's what you look like and not what you sound like. Ugh. I decided to hit up the exhibit on Solidarność Gosia recommended. I spent the better part of two and a half hours there - one of the best overviews of Socialism I could imagine. Simple, concise and effective it showcases both how terrible we can be and how we can hope. As only the second museum type thing I've been to thus far on this journey it was well worth the five PLN. One thing it reminded me of was how much I'd forgotten from all my East European history classes - I kept recognizing names and places and dates but not remembering the context or the event in great detail. I pride myself on my memory and this was quite disappointing for me.

Monument for the Fallen Shipyard Workers of 1970. It's poignancy is incredible when one knows the entire story not just of it's commemorating event but how it came to be.


When I entered the exhibit the sun shone intensely and hot but when I arrived the sky was so completely and thickly overcast it felt like nightfall. I ran to the Fountain of Neptune to rendezvous with Gosia and we met just in time to duck into a jewelry store to hide from an absolute deluge: rain on a level of honesty I haven't seen since being in Florida - thunder and all. As luck would have it I met a wonderful woman in the shop who hailed from Inverness and West Hartford (how close can you get to my most recent homes, eh?), an artist who wished me the best of luck and confirmed me in my thoughts on art therapy and early childhood education. A blessed encounter for sure.

Gosia and I seized a short letup to dash to the tram station. Our bus didn't leave Wrzeszcz (yes, that's seven consonants and one vowel) for another hour so I set up a pitch in the underpass. I felt uneasy doing so with some raucous young football fans (of the local Lechia) nearby but with Gosia there I felt I was safe. It turns out I was right to wary of them. As soon as I started they moved in a pack from the bottom of the stairs to the liquour store across the way and as they passed they jeered with "Ching Chongs" and pulled at the corners of their eyes. It was a long line for them, however and their moods changed.

Im guessing the initial outburst was a display of macho-ness and dominance and not their true personages, because after another song two of them left the line to tip me, with apologies etched in their eyes. They spent most of the rest of the time in line faced towards me and my crowning achievement was at the end, when one of the original jeerers, the second to last to acquire his alchohol, took his precious 3,17 PLN purchase and set it carefully in my case. Now that's a huge tip in terms of emotional value. Gosia later translated his exchange with his buddy: "Why'd you give him the beer?" "He sings really well!"

Police passed me during this short pitch and stopped at my peripheral to listen till I finished. Many couples and other passersby stayed too. Unfortunately none of them tipped. The tunnel was also frequented by many homeless and gypsies, which surely didn't help my image - one of these begged a sandwich off Gosia but wanted money, eventually tossing the sandwich in the trash after walking away. The amount of "monkey out of his cage" stares I got here was staggering - I wouldn't have perservered without Gosia. And the beer? Well, I gave it to Gosia's dad, happily, with a "Prosze."

Zebra drinking a rainbow for less racist days.


Earnings: 35,38 PLN + (can) beer, 1.5 hours
Song of the Day: Libertà - Pep's

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Busking at the Kraków Dawn (Ok, Night), Day 3

Why not return to Floriańska?(8.20.10) One of my best pitches but it flowed so well and felt so short I don't remember much of anything specific. I started a little after noon at the same spot near the McDonald's after checking out other possible pitches - Rynek sported the same guitarist by a massive crafts fair and a band setting up behind Kościół Mariacki which were the only other promising spots. At Floriańska I sang my best songs - all sadder or at least pensive and the people really responded.

The windowsills didn't have enough space for the young people gathering to sit and listen so they spilled out to sit cross-legged on the street in front. One pretty girl with ringletted brown hair and a kind smile sat for a long time, never moving her gaze away. It made me quite nervous and I think this made the music better. Many young couples (few small children this day) stopped and looked (rarely succesfully) for change. After staying half my pitch the girl left with an "I'll be back, Thank you!" look in her eyes and returned shortly thereafter with five of her friends.

I was just beginning Hallelujah at the time. My best song. Almost every passerby stopped. Many tips. By the end quite a few had gathered by the opposing wall. I often rush songs in the nervousness of street performance but the audience calmed me (strange, huh?) and the verses came out at the right speed - the notes lingered and weren't suffocated by the clumsy chord changes I'm prone to. When I finished the girls jumped up and led the street in applause. If I could blush I'm sure I would have. As it was I smiled sheepishly and bowed.

I beckoned the first girl over for a request and they gathered around me for Tears in Heaven. Very close, eyes fixed on me, smiling - gosh I was distracted trying to sing to them, meet there eyes but not falter. I had the hardest time looking at the girl with the brown hair. Her meltiness made her me sort of melt also. They tipped as well as they could, the girl gave me a breathy, "You have some new kind of voice." and looked for a second like she wanted to hug me or something. She glanced back with shining eyes after every slow step she took back out the gate.

After a stressed session at the library computer trying to decide on my next destination I met up with Casey for a meal at a Bar Mleczny - a "milk bar" which he promised was part of the the genuine Polish experience - super cheap food where you pay for the plastic silverware and the prices are precise to numbers like 5,87 PLN. We met his girlfriend there, dropped off his delivery tricycle and headed to Kazimierz, the old Jewish destrict of Kraków.

They gave me a nice walking tour, during which I started to feel a little uncomfortable what with the tension between them and the effects of lugging my ~8 kg case around. The place Casey recommended me to play, Plac Nowy, had a rough, off feel to it - but he seemed so unhappy about my disapproval that I decided to play him some songs there anyways. He loves Jim Croce, so after Operator he gave me my second ever Jim Croce song tip. A man sitting at an opposing bar looked surprised after I started and really appreciated my music, dropping me a 5 zloty coin (which is a lot in Poland - like a meal) when he finished. Aside from him, however, I had just two other tips, both from passing couples (one very kindly as I packed up). A set of three young girls stood before me near the end, giggling away, and took some photos with me. My voice felt awful from drinking the tap water which I was told later was not exactly potable.

I watched Casey demonstrate some footbagging tricks (which drew a lot of attention, too) and we played some ping-pong with his friends before I headed back to Rynek for the night.

This writing was a little.. scattered. Sorry. I just wanted to get to the Rynek evening. It was one of the most synchronous moments of my life. I sat in the middle of square, leaning back on my guitar case like a chair against a statue's pedestal in the brightly illuminated night time company of singing scouts, buskers, drunks and tourists. The scouts sang alternately brilliantly (one girl) and terribly (all the guys). One busker in front of them performed a fire juggling show while another drummed away at the south edge. Every now and then one could make out the sound of a Hang player or the accordion trio resolutely playing their William Tell. When the trumpeter sounded his tragically abbreviated call at the turn of the hour the buskers respectfully stilled.

I sat near the center and thus back from the main thoroughfares as I drew the church, but when I neared the end a girl complimented my work greatly, despite it being a touch crooked. Aided by her two friends, she convinced me to sing a song for them - Falling Slowly. It fit the vibe perfectly. The scouts were taking a break, the juggler finished his show with a flourish, the accordionists were packing up and the drummers were long gone. I lent one of the girls my guitar afterwards to sing while I touched up the drawing as best I could and we were joined by a set of buzzed Polish men. One of them spent the time watching me in amazement (his inebriation no doubt) while a girl proudly said, "Dobrze Bardzo, nie?"

Earnings: 44,15 PLN, 1.5 hours
Song of the Day: Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen

Busking at the Kraków Dawn (Ok, Night), Day 2

I got the center only just before I was to meet with Casey, my host for the next two nights. We were to meet at the gate at the north end of Floriańska street. I walked past a band of traditionally dressed accordian/recorder seated on Planty and under the gate onto Floriańska, which looked like a very prime spot. Naturally I moved some meters in (the gate provided complete sound insulation from the other buskers but it never hurts to be polite) and went for it.

Rain threatened the entire half hour pitch, in a very schizophrenic way. Large droplets with sun, misty drizzle under beautifully light suffused slate clouds... At one point, when the rain threatened the most I sang Here Comes the Sun and voila - it returned, improbably. That got me some tips :). Kraków, though stingy, yields very fun pitches. I sang all happy, quick songs, not because I felt I had to but because I felt that way. The girls tending the nearby jewelry and tour shops stood at their doorways watching. A young man handing out pamphlets completely forgot to offer them to passersby for a good fifteen minutes just watching me. Many youngsters gathered on the low windowsills of the McDonald's to my right.

This weekend was apparently scout weekend in Kraków - nearly half of the passersby were youngsters in brown uniforms affixed with colorful cloth badges. Many of these stopped or gathered around me. Some, of course, gave me the stink eye. When I finished the young man with the flyers came up shyly to give me a smile and a thumbs up.

Casey took me straight to his flat in Nowa Huta, the socialist planned area of Krakow (geometric streets, large green spaces, concrete block housing. Quite nice actually) where he made me a gorgeous pizza. We talked at length before venturing back out - as the first American I'd couchsurfed with and his first American he'd hosted in Europe we had rather a lot to babble about. He also taught me some rather useful Polish grammar rules.

On re-entering the center I started by ducking away from the rain in a church near the city's castle. Three old ladies were seated at a pew in front of me, chanting/singing something and the sound was very comforting - really helped me meditate and pray for I have no idea how long. I wandered through Wawel with Zebra and then looked for Andrew on Szewska, but he wasn't around - likely the threat of rain was too much.

Wawel


Zebra's got all sorts of cool friends.


I tried again at Floriańska, but at a less ideal place closer to Rynek. Rynek itself was sonically dominated by three busking acts - a trio of accordionists playing classic pop like the William Tell Overture (who were quite good), a crappy long-haired guitarist playing bar chords and shouting but raking it in, and an obnoxious electric guitarist playing over backing tracks. My original pitch was occupied by a large group of scouts sort of spilled on the sidewalk singing Polish campfire fare.

After just a few songs met during which I was almost entirely ignored, the lady in the opposite clothing store gave me a scathing glance and yelled out her door: "Prosze!" her arms gesticulating forcefully for me to move away. Something about her demeanor really hurt my feelings and I packed up.

Rynek


The highlight of this day in the city, however, occurred a couple tram stops away from the center. Casey met me at a beautifully unspoilt former quarry - a place for climbers but also swimmers. Where Viggelandsparken in Oslo epitomizes picturesque approach, this Zakrzówek represents the sublime. It's technically illegal to enter at all, expressly illegal to swim in the quarry - but even on this coldish day we saw quite a few others. I tried a drawing while Casey bathed... but the lack of light spelled a crummy result. The sky just before we headed there boiled gloriously.





Earnings: 21 PLN + €0,50, 1.25 hours
Song of the Day: Here Comes the Sun - The Beatles

Busking at the Kraków Dawn (Ok, Night), Day 1

As is my wont, upon arriving in Kraków (8.18.10) I headed straight for the library, wandering through the old town on the way. When I emerged I gleaned from other buskers the general state of busking in Poland, and thereby of laws in Poland: that it's essentially anarchist. The laws that exist that are routinely broken and unpunished while people are often punished for abiding by other laws. One of these buskers I spoke with sat on a low windowsill on Szewska and after helping me asked if I'd like to play with him.

Andrew plays guitar magnificently, at a virtuosic and fluid level I haven't yet seen. He doesn't sing so well but he makes up for it in spades with his improvisational skills. Somehow he integrates classical guitar flourishes into blues riffs, with flamenco picking, sometimes right after some shredding. I could tell him a key and instantly he had it. The best part of his talent was it's infectiousness. For the time we played I soloed as well as I ever have. I lost that fear I generally have for improvisation because I knew he could fill in whatever holes I left.

All this to say that in my humble opinion we sounded awesome. He knew many of the same songs and of course with the two of us being capable musicians either of us could start a song the other didn't know and after a few seconds it wouldn't be a problem. I harmonized or played call and response off his songs, gave him space in my songs to solo... We played to our strengths but felt comfortable enough to test (and happily succeed) our weaknesses - his voice and my playing. If he fell flat I'd cover him. If I came up blank soloing...

A bit redundant because it was really that awesome. Like love at first sight but with music. Now to say the tips sucked would be quite the understatement. We didn't really care though. Every now and then we'd just play some instrumental improvisation to take a break. Once a drunkard borrowed Andrew's guitar but when Andrew and I started to play along (Andrew on his harmonica) he declared it shit and Andrew quickly recovered his guitar. Shortly thereafter this same man got a guitar from some other drunkards and started playing not ten meters away but we drowned him out without any effort and he moved along.

Szewska is a bit of a wider pedestrian street that leads to the surrounding traffic circle but sports many low window sills to compensate. What I mean is that we gathered quite a large seated audience. The men seemed to favor Andrew's skillset while the women gravitated towards my voice. Keenest of these was a group of two girls who all but swooned when I sang Falling Slowly. They ran off one song after and returned with another three friends and requested it again. Andrew'd just learnt it (though he knew the tune from watching the movie) but backed me up perfectly - and my voice perservered for another go around at the demanding range. The girls loved it -reacting afterwards in a manner reminiscent of screaming Beatles fans - bidding us "You're amazing"s as farewells with tears in their eyes.

I was due to meet Kris, my host for the night, at 21h. Try as I might I couldn't find the bus stop (it turns out it was on the other side of the train station entirely, which allowed for me to practice quite a lot of Polish enquiring for directions or help from passersby. I finally received some relevant advice from a young English speaking man, who gave me a rather inefficient suggestion: Bus 105 -> 114 -> 154. I was an hour late and spent the first fifteen minutes at his flat apologizing, but at least I made it. The earnings Andrew and I split happily covered my bus ticket.

Earnings: 5 PLN + €0,20, 1.5 hours
Song of the Day: Falling Slowly - Soundtrack of Once

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Wronged in Wrocław, Day 3

A big reason I fell off updating for a while was this day. I didn't want to detail it until sufficient time passed for me to recover. I'd say it's not for the faint of heart or family but you'll read anyway so meh. It's the reason I've named the city series as I have.

Tomek recommended I play at Tumski Most, the lover's bridge, where many tourists go on sunny days. Unfortunately it was a wettish day on this day (8.17.10) also, but I went for it anyways. I thought things were going my way, even, when after singing Here Comes the Sun the light drizzle stopped and the sun came out. The passersby were thin but as Tomek implied mostly tourists - I got some euro and even met an Asian couple from Canada - the same couple I'd been seeing all over Wrocław as they were the only other Asians I saw during my time there.

I really liked this spot. It's called the lover's bridge for the multitude of locks secured to the grating with couples initials or names affixed. It's beautifully situated between the old part of town and the central market square. There's no natural amplification but with cars so rare and a quiet feel to the place my voice carried just fine, even in its banged up shape. And best of all, I could sing slow, romantic songs of all sorts and avoid the happy stuff. The Canadians remarked it was a good place.

Gorgeous pitch


The locks


I was followed to this pitch by four very young boys, of ages 10, 11, 11, and 12, who hung around the whole time. They kept me afloat. At the beginning they were very curious in me and stared and talked amongst themselves, gesturing towards me but unmaliciously. When they noticed the slowness of the pitch they took pity and dropped me some grosz. They darted back not long after and gave me a tram ticket stub. Then a straw with red streamers. Then a combination lock. When the sun came out my luck turned and I knew it would be a lucrative pitch, also - each person from one small tour group dropped me a few euro cents, and about every other passerby at least patted their pockets.

Now the thing about busking and why it's the best way to see the world is that you really get a feel for a place. You stay in one place and really observe how people are in the place, and they reveal things by interacting with you that reveals things otherwise kept secret or buried. You put yourself out there and you see and hear and experience everything no other tourist would undergo - both surprising generosity and equally baffling spite. This day highlighted both.

It began with racism. Not long after my fortunes seemed to turn well a loud guy on a red bicycle trundled nearby and offered me some sneering sarcastic Polish words before leaning his bike against the opposite railing to watch. Then his friend arrived, on foot. Let me describe this friend. If you've seen Full Metal Jacket, this man looks exactly like Private Pyle - right before he went off. Heavyset, easily twice my weight (literally). Blue eyes with a stupid slavering expression reminiscent of a cows. Shaved head. A cruel grin with shiny teeth. Wearing a white wife beater, olive green shorts and sneakers too big for him - some approximation of basketball style completely undone by his lumbering way of moving.

This man loped slowly towards me with an expression of disgust on his face. I smiled at him - I figured he had a bad day and I thought I'd try and help. He stood directly before my case until I finished my song, saying nothing, expression now neutral. As I slid my capo to a different fret he looked into my case, eyeing my coins and then bent down slowly and deliberately, counted seven złotych and waited for me to stop moving before rising to look at me. I thought this time I could be a little more assertive than the previous time with that gypsy in Vienna but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I began with "Czy mowiscie po angielsko? (Do you speak English)"
No response.
"Do you need change?"
A mocking grin.
"Are you taking my money?"
He grins wider. "Yes. I am taking your money."
"Why would you do something like that?"
"Because I am asshole. I am bastard. You know this word?"
"You don't have to be an asshole to me."
"Yes yes I do. You from Chinese? Japanese?"
"No I'm from America."
"You take our money back to America yes?"
"No I use it to go the next place. I work very hard for this money, that's all I made since I've been here. You can't just take it!"
"To travel. Good you leave. You have too much the money so I take. I am teef."
"I need it to eat, too. Why would you do this?"
"I am teef. I am asshole. I am (polish word). I not nice person. I am teef. You know this word?"

We then had a long discussion about "teef" which I'd never heard before and he used to insult my intelligence "You say you come from America and you never heard of teef? Your brain is much small." Later night I'd discover he meant "thief." Now here is where I got a little too frustrated and angry and told him I'm probably many orders of magnitude more intelligent. He seemed to have no intention of walking away without getting me riled up and unfortunately I was baited. I just got angrier and angrier and more incredulous as the interaction was drawn out. The four children stood at the other end looking scared and uncertain. His friend lingered by them with his bike and regarded us like his entertainment.

A man in gray came by then and tried to pacify the man, speaking to him in Polish to give me back my money. He spoke quickly and calmly and in a reasoning tone, sort of a "Don't do this, man." He was mostly ignored. The self described asshole even had the gall to comment to me, confidingly, "This man cannot even speak English." right after my ally departed, but I think the irony was lost on him.

We'd become quite a scene - with me continually demanding more and more firmly for him to give me back my money and him repeating that he was (insert word for asshole here). When it became clear I was not going to fight him he started to walk off and his friend joined him, taking his bike. I waved angrily at him, still beseeching him, and he took this opportunity to turn around, as if affronted.

It was tense enough already but when he faced me again and walked over it felt unreal. I've never felt so alone or terrified. In a foreign country with only absolute basics for language (where most don't speak English) and no phone or other way to communicate or seek assistance, where the police are not my friends. He strode slowly and menacingly towards me, widening his already immense bulk by holding his arms out from his side and his hands balled in fists. The children across the way started looked even more scared than I felt.

"Do you like yourself?"
I raised my hands to indicate that I'd stop beseeching him. It's interesting the good that can come of these horrible things. Because I answered without hesitating "Well, yes." and it was true. That was nice to know.
"Do you like your face?"
I'd been playing with my back to a brick wall just at the end of the bridge so as to give passersby a wider berth. I now regretted this choice. He was now quite near to me. I felt sort of empty and powerless. In the quiet I just prayed. People slowed and stared as they passed but didn't stop.
"Your face must be punish." A sneer. His friend laughs in delight and leans his bike against the opposite wall. "Your face must be punish." And raised his fist. The very odd thing in this moment of inevitability I no longer felt at all scared - I had only an absurd worry that my guitar would get broken. It's amazing how many thoughts can run through your head in a short time - I figured, hey, my body with heal but not my guitar. And my guitar was my income. I felt painfully aware of the kids nearby and kept praying, now for them, the thought going through my mind of what a bad example this asshole was.

This was when, out of nowhere, a bespectacled bicyclist wheeled in between us. He wore mostly gray - polo shirt, khaki pants, the look of a college student - and began speaking quickly in Polish and sometimes English to my aggressor. Though nearly as slight as me and just a little taller he spread his arms between us as he faced the larger man. I don't know or remember what he said or exactly how long it was but somehow he convinced my would be attacker to leave me - at least a little while. I thanked him profusely as I absently strummed my guitar. He turned to leave on his bicycle and was at the other end of the bridge when the the two racists turned around with a little gleam in their eyes and taking up his "Your face must be punish" refrain again.

The children had now gathered around me, asking how much he took from me and asking if they could help me. They helped me gather my things and pack my guitar so I could walk away to the join bicyclist, who was beckoning me, worriedly to follow him. As I fell in step he explained he'd convinced the guy to depart for a little while but that I shouldn't stay. "If you want to make money this way you should play in the center, Galeria Dominikanska, where there are more people - here there are a lot of racists. I am not a fighter and I don't think you are, either." "No. Not at all." "It is good I stopped him but he may come back. Stay in the center. I am very sorry you have to see this kind of person here in Poland and I wish I can say he is the only one. These guys are just trying to show off. They have no job and they are just angry..."

He felt truly terrible I would have such an association with his country. Ashamed. He offered to take me to Galeria Dominikanska but I knew the way and the kids promised him they'd accompany me. Oh the kids. Szymon, Kuba, Filip, Lukasz. They talked with me the whole way - we basically talked about their ages and where they live. But the company - oh I might have shattered without them. They took me the whole way, waited till I was settled at a new pitch at the Galeria and then bid me farewell.

Now that exhausted me to write. So I'll just jot a few notes from the other pitches of the day.

I started singing right away, worship songs and I got some small tips. It wasn't really any better, however. I tried a racism experiment and sand "golden hits" for a while to no response and then singing my two asian songs to immediate tippage. One young guy said "I love you!" enthusiastically when he heard Ue Liang. A group of young boys wanted to borrow my guitar but my nerves were in no shape to put anything of mine in further danger.

During the interim I walked around (staying within the town center area) before gathering the courage to return to the bridge for a photo. The sky, as always, gave me comfort - no matter how shitty my day is or how good, the clouds and the blue make me feel safe and marvel at the beauty of this world - to stop thinking of my own problems. I went to Tomek's favorite "bar" (restaurant) for some pierogi and I played with Zebra a little and had him interact with the gnomes.

You're always there for me


Bit of a slavedriver, isn't he?


In the evening I returned to the other tunnel and experienced equal frustration. A old lady begging on the steps with two dogs received more than me (excepting the tips from my second racism experiment, which had similar success). For whatever reason people in Poland are very keen on borrowing my guitar - one friendly beer drunk man borrowed it saying he hadn't played for a long time and wanted to play one song. Then he kept it for a long long time, trying to prove himself after saying "This song will be popular just you see." He sang horribly and I nearly had to wrest my guitar back. Exactly one song after he left a smelly seventeen year old girl borrowed my guitar, very briefly and then engaged me in conversation for a long while.

Tunnel on Widok.


The two youngsters who'd claimed this other pitch the previous day returned and we had another amiable exchange where I promised to relinquish the pitch after one last song. They and the girl spoke great English and I latched on to them, speaking quickly about my perception of the racism - which they confirmed, the girl especially, who'd experienced it growing up as she's half Moroccan (physically she doesn't look different at all - but the knowledge her father is Moroccan was enough for her classmates and their parents.) They commiserated with me for the tip scarcity and I tipped them as I left as thanks.

On my return to Tomek's flat he was home with two friends (one was Joana from before). I sang them an impassioned Falling Slowly on their request - their favorite song from their favorite movie and spent the rest of the evening on Tomek's computer, escaping into anime, research about Schengen visas. When he returned we spoke long and shared music - he also felt horrible that I had this experience in his country - and by the time we called it a night around four AM I found it possible to sleep.

Earnings: 27.72 PLN + €0,90 + $0.01 + straw with streamers + combination lock + tram ticket, 2.2 hours
Song of the Day: House of God, Forever - Jon Foreman

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Wronged in Wrocław, Day 2

Since leaving Vienna I've sped up my journey twofold, spending no more than three days in any one place. This has been tiring and a little crazy for me - trying to balance seeing the cities and singing - and so writing has fallen off rather a bit. I discovered on this day (8.16.10) that the Schengen Tourist Visa isn't simply for 90 contiguous days but rather for 90 days total within a 180 day period. I did some research on overstaying and basically the consensus was that no one knows - I could get away with it entirely or end up with a Ban from Europe for five years and a healthy fine. After pondering awhile I figured the possible wouldn't be worth it.

This dashed my vague plans to wander in spirals through Western and Southern Europe - hence Poland. Now Poland is a non-ideal place to busk for a variety of reasons, many of which will become apparent through my recountings but I'll just denote them here for reference.

1. Poland is a rather poor country. This makes it easy to survive on very very little money (converting from euros) but earnings don't go proportionally down but decline drastically. When people are struggling to make enough to eat and pay rent they wont give you less money, they'll give you no money. It's an interesting dynamic - Polish currency is the Złoty, a quarter of a Euro, but the number on the prices of most things is the same: 5 for a meal, 2 for a metro ticket, 37 for a train to another city, etc.

2. The legacy of Communism. You can really feel it here, even in the air. The older generation is extremely suspicious, very guarded, not at all open. As a rule they'd give me a stinky stare or an incredulous sneer.

3. Vices. Here we begin to stray into the realm of stereotypes. Most of the men on the street I've seen are at least slightly inebriated, with many completely gone. They've tended to be gentler drunks than in the states, but their friendliness and enthusiasm actually serves to brand me as the same kind. Everyone smokes. This is not so good for an asthmatic with a bad voice.

4. Racism. There will be more on this in the next post. I've noticed, however, that the stares I get and the double takes mostly have to do with my appearance - my asian-ness. Everyone I've couch surfed with confirms my suspicions when they've come to see me play so I know it is not in my head. When people tip they often do so with a Konichiwa or a Arigatou. I get Ching chongs and kung fu moves from passersby. I also dont think it helps that my browner skin automatically associates me with the gypsies.

OK, so that's the brief tour. You'll get much more detail as I write more from Poland. For now I'll focus on this second day. I spent most of it wandering around the center of Wrocław, revisiting the delightful gnomes/dwarves scattered throughout the town. Wrocław is not a picturesque city but it has a very young vibe and there's art of all kinds everywhere. These were scattered near Rynek and all within Stare Miasto.

Like me in New Haven or mom in Toronto on a windy day.

Buskers? Dporters go nuts.

My motorcycling brother in bronze gnome form.

What's the difference between a gnome and a dwarf anyways?

Or a hobbit?


Busking wise, the entire day felt off and this has carried through to the rest of Poland - perhaps it's the problems denoted above, perhaps I'm just weary, perhaps it's coincidence... But it's hard to feel comfortable playing on a street in the first place - right as I begin the passersby are somewhere between strangers and comrades and it takes a few songs to start thinking of them as friends and start singing for them and not just in their general direction. In Wrocław this day I felt extremely uncomfortable the entire time, as if I was some kind of exhibit from all the stares and unkind laughter.

Tomek showed me a couple good underpasses and I headed to the unclaimed one just as it began to rain, a little passage adjourning the mall Galeria Dominkanska, passing beneath a major street and providing access to the trams. The vibe was wrong from the get go. My moving audience consisted mostly of youngsters in troublesome moods. A first set of them kindly stayed and listened at the other side. When I waved them over and gave them my request list, however, the man from the nearby laundry shop pulled them aside warningly and spoke rapid Polish to them, indicating from what I could tell that I was not to be trusted and that they should keep their distance. This is what I read from the changed looks in their eyes from excitement to wariness, the quick return of my sheet after enthusiastic perusal with heads down, their quick departure and the man's folded arms. Ironically enough this same man lingered outside his shop my entire set - apparently it wasn't ok to tip me or trust me or even communicate with me but it was ok to enjoy my music.

The main experience that marked this pitch however was the arrival of a group of five girls. They dropped me a few grosz (cents) and then one asked if she could borrow my guitar. I allowed her to, but immediately regretted it. She played badly and was loathe to return it - and the other girls enjoyed crowding in on her admiringly. One particularly scantily dressed and buxom girl seemed intent on putting me out of sorts by staring directly at me once I finally got my guitar back, comporting herself in an obviously suggestive manner. It was rather disgusting display. I was glad to be rid of them at the end - they blocked the path to my case, gave me a negative vibe and made me scared for my guitar (she played with it so nonchalantly and carelessly).

This was the pitch that I began to notice the racism - after a few encouraging tips for my first song, Yellow, I received nothing at all until I sang Ue Liang Dai Biao Wo De Xin, during which the entire atmosphere changed - from hostility to curiosity - like I'd gone from being a menace to a interesting sideshow freak. Later I played Ue Wo Muite Arukou and experienced the same feeling. This was when I got my first "Domo Arigatou" of Poland. The tips I got during these two songs were essentially it - which I think is telling. I was especially amused by the very confused looks people gave me as I sang Liberta. I left in an amiable mood, however, as the boy handing out flyers gave me an encouraging "Very nice."

My second pitch failed even more completely than the first. I tried first at the other tunnel but a man power washing the other end decided to wander my way so I moved back to Galeria Dominkanska. A group of passing kids there asked me where I was from "No where are you /really/ from" and requested a Chinese song. So I sang Ue Liang... once again. And voila, tips. Many stopped and listened to me with no intent to tip or even acknowledge me, passing me then stopping and listening right as I'd fallen out of their peripheral.

The last experience of the day was a positive one, however. A girl stopped with her mother and took a huge interest in my music - a well traveled girl with dyed black hair who requested Iron & Wine and Bon Iver and asked for my myspace or some way to follow my music. As I have not the former I gave her my blog address.

Earnings: 33,50 PLN +€0,50, 2 hours
Song of the Day: Ue Liang Dai Biao Wo De Xin - Teresa Tang

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Wronged in Wrocław, Day 1

Traveling alone can be rather nerve-wracking, especially with a total language barrier - the Slavic languages have very few cognates. Today (8.15.10) I decided to take the cheapest way to Wrocław(that's Vrot-suave, my dears) and this involved a cute border juggle. I'd counted on others departing at my stop and performing the same change but I got off at Lichkov alone. It's a microscopic town. I had no idea where the train station was from the bus station but luckily I gathered the information after a polish/czech conversation with the owner of the one restaurant. From there I took a nine minute ride across the border to Miedzylesie, for about €0,60. I had exactly 20,80 polish złoty to my name, given me by Mates - and perfectly the train to Wrocław from Miedzylesie cost 21 and the conductor was kind.

Yep. One car.


I arrived at around nine twenty and was to meet my couchsurfer, Tomek, at ten. As I exited the platform I noticed the perfect barrel vault beneath and I couldn't resist. I played twenty five minutes, my first tip came from a stumbling drunk and my second from a group of poorer folk who asked where I came from. Every now and then the PA would sound and I'd alternately wait it out or sing over it. Falsetto sounded perfect down there. Two policemen smiled as they passed but after passing turned about and motioned for me to shut my case. They didn't seem terribly firm about it but three youngsters took the opportunity and emptied their entire change wallets into my case - as a screw you to the police, no doubt. They stuck around a bit and a pair of girls joined the audience but regrettably it was nearing ten and after some Radiohead and some Once I had to head on.

Rather than Tomek, his friend Joanna met me at the station and took me in her car to the center for a tour. Wrocław for a charming tour. Despite it being Sunday and so late the central square, Rynek, was still very much alive, and she bought me a kebab for my supper. We passed a wonderful two hours together walking around the old town. After half an hour we discovered we both speak Spanish and spoke nothing else henceforth. And so in two days I've had conversations (in order of complexity) in English, Spanish, Cantonese, Polish, and Czech. I'm not a language adept by any means - so this makes me rather proud.

Earnings: 15.53 PLN, 25 minutes
Song of the Day: Fake Plastic Trees - Radiohead

Czeching Praguematically for Police, Day 3

It would seem I have a penchance for being on display. I spent the early afternoon (8.14.10) drawing Frank Gehry's Dancing House from a bridge across the Vltava. I sat cross legged out of the way but every single passerby slowed and looked at my rendering, some lingering for as long as a minute. This would be a good time to notate why it is I'm so amused at myself for being a street performer. I'm everything a street performer shouldn't be - shy, extremely sensitive, timid, unassertive... (with strangers, of course). It's quite funny to me.

One of these passersby struck up a conversation with me - he'd passed me the night before, singing at Karluv most - and we had a happy conversation in Cantonese. The drawing took rather longer than I'd provided for. So after a lovely walk by the riverbank I only had time for a short pitch before returning to make an improved avocado gnocchi for supper. I made a detour to check out a couple of other prospective pitches but inevitably ended up at the same tunnel


Cue Smetana, it's the Vltava.


I bid the Pizza Lady good day, in Czech, to add to my morning transaction for my 24h ticket, where the convenience store girl referred to me as Russian to whoever she was conversing with on the phone. I felt rather frazzled when I began, back in front of the closed (other) pizza shop, but things turned around thanks to one kindly faced man. He reminded me strongly of the Danish busker I met in Oslo, same weathered face and sympathetic eyes, same contemplative smile. He gave me a fifty crown coin and stayed for almost all of my pitch, watching with his back against the wall, eating a slice from the wonderful pizza lady, burgundy tee and slate trousers fitting well with the environs. He even tipped me once more with the change from that pizza.

I knew I couldn't split after such generosity so I remained a while, singing songs in the same tone as that he tipped me for, slow and dreamy. His presence was reassuring - after a young kid looked pointedly at me and stuck his fingers in his ears as if pained I looked back to the man and he smiled back. And after a sharp bark from a passing dog rattled me a nod from the man brought me back to my song. I gave him my list and he requested Stand By Me before departing. Appropriate. He had.

Mates was captivated by my packing skills.


Earnings: 128 CZK, 35 minutes
Song of the Day: I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You - Colin Hay

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Czeching Praguematically for Police, Day 2

Busking is generally prime from the early afternoon and improving as night approaches and sets. As such I tend to sleep in quite a lot. Today (8.13.10) was absolutely no exception and I didn't leave for the city until 14h. I had a couple of short hours to wander through the city before meeting Mates for another pitch, but these hours were enough for me to decide that Praha is easily the most picturesque city I've yet been too. Perhaps photogenic or paintable - I'm not saying it's the most beautiful; Bergen retains that title. Ambling down from the spectacular castle through a moat-turned lush valley free from cars and then passing down cobblestone streets across the fabulous Karluv most into the old town... Well it's actually the old town which I find the least interesting. That part is the same as any tourist city - exchange bureaus, tourist information centers, cafes, small streets.. but the charm of the architecture in Prague stands alone.

Zebra wants to crawl up, too!


I met Mates a few minutes before my 24h travel card expired and pressed for time to make a decision we returned to the same pitch. Rain had begun to fall outside so our options were limited, anyhow. Mates summed up the pitch well: "I think you made a lot of people happy but gave you anything." Which is OK, I think. The store I'd stood before yesterday was open so I stood at the bend instead. Mates later told me he thinks I'm too good for this pitch - we saw a junkie looking guy with a guitar slung over his back walk past us three times, probably looking to play there - but with the above ground saturated and populated by a high volume of hostile police...

We greeted the pizza lady as we passed with a smile, and halfway through the pitch she was happily dancing away outside the store. Mates bought a slice from her, too. The now open store was also a pizza store, with a young Asian girl running it. She positively glowed while I sang Ue Liang Dai Biao Wo De Xin, accent and all. A pair of Asian girls had bought pizza before I began this song (and Ue Wo Muite Arukou) and they lingered for another four songs at the end of the tunnel, even after they finished eating. No tip, however.


Ue Liang Dai Biao Wo De Xin - Teresa Tang



Ue Wo Muite Arukou - Kyu Sakamoto


Whether it was the rain or something else, the passersby were remarkably tight fisted, though the smiles came fast and thick. It was busier at this earlier time, with bikers squeaking by from time to time. Some of those passersby who slowed to listen were impatiently overtaken. Quite a few of these rather serious looking 30-50 aged men tipped me, too: slowing, stopping, nodding to themselves and then meticulously counting out a tip. One actually stood in line at the nearby liquor shop and tossed me a coin from there - he finally decided not to buy anything and tossed me his remaining 10 crown piece - maybe I can stop alchoholism! Other than them, the tips today came from the regular suspects: younger females. One was accompanied by her grandmother while I was playing Wonderwall - and stood for a while looking for money. I thought this great - music probably totally not the grannie's style but she still appreciated it.


Must've been a sad song...


We returned home for a quick dinner (improvised by yours truly) and at nine, after many minutes of indecision, I headed back into town alone. I knew where I wanted to go, but it took a lot of internal battle to work up the bravery to even set out, but set out I did, emerging from the Malostranska stop into a beautifully dark, cool night. I'd forgotten my water and my map - all I had with me was my guitar and my wallet but I was committed by then.

Karluv most. Probably the most highly policed (and thus most highly illegal) spot to busk in Praha. I set up beneath a street lamp on the north end of the bridge facing west. An orchestra was playing at the opposite end - some classical pop - and fireworks flashed over the river across from me. People meandered slowly across, the street lamps gave just enough soft light - it was like I was on a stage on the most magical, romantic theatre in the world.

My music shines in the evening. I rarely play then because I'm usually eating/spending my time with a friend/couchsurfer, prohibited, wary of police, wary of safety or finding my way back. But what I like to sing is slower, more romantic and it fits nighttime - just after twilight - perfectly. I didn't have to sing anything happy tonight.

I began with a shaky If You Want Me, from Once. Crazily nervous, expecting police to materialize any moment, or to be shouted away. After this first song though, I used that nervousness, turned it into vibrato, channeled it into emotion - Pontus really is right, you sing best when nervous. Couples began to gather across from me, and my section of the bridge became something like a slow-dance floor or a quiet, romantic bar. By each lamp post and in between they embraced each other, kissed tenderly, watched me singing and swayed in gentle unison. Like a ballroom where one couple stayed for a song or two and then waltzed off to be immediately replaced by another.

Those who passed nearer to me stayed on either side, in the light. Many spoke with me - an encouraging "Thank You!" and smiling eyes here, a sing or mouth-a-long there. A couple of older Brits waited until I finished Scarborough Fair just so they could tell me "You sing very well" as they tipped. My tippers met my eyes when they left their change, acknowledging me and thanking me not just with their purses but their souls.

I'd just begun Lionel Richie's Hello when the police came. I'd gathered twenty or so people by either side by now and though a little scared I sang strongly towards them: "Hello, is it me you're looking for? I can see it in your eyes-" They were firm with me, cutting me off there with "You can't play here." I made a small protesting "I can't? It's so perfect!" but they shook their heads and repeated "No. You can't play here." Happily, No fine. So it ended. The longest most romantic half hour yet.

Earnings: 448 CZK + €1
Song of the Day: Tears in Heaven - Eric Clapton

Czeching Praguematically for Police, Day 1

It's starting to become standard for me to arrive and start a pitch almost right away. I had quite the fiasco this morning (8.12.10) getting to the bus - my laundry, which had been in the dryer all night decided to get damper because the austrian dryers best setting is "schranktrocken" slightly damp. What's the point of a dryer if it doesn't dry things, may I ask? Hence I had to pack my clothes schranktrocken into my rucksack, which causes two undesirable things: a heavy pack and smelly clothes. Happily everything after I left Haus Erasmus went perfectly - each metro pulled in just as I got to the platform and some nice Austrians I accosted very happily helped me out after I solicited them in German - one pointed me towards the bus stop (hard to find) and another agreed to take my stamped letter and postcard to the post office.

I met up with Mates with no problems and after a quick supper we headed into town to a delightful little underpass by the National Muzeum. Busking is completely illegal in Praha except for three locations - where you need a permit which you can only obtain if you're local and attend a monthly meeting in the middle of nowhere. Mates told me police weren't too heavy handed with the fines, though. Just inside the pedestrian tunnel, he asked a woman at a pizza shop about busking at this pitch - people had been harrassed by police before - but we decided to try anywho.

The sky outside the underpass.


It was a great great first pitch in Praha. Mercifully no police showed up and I was able to sing for about an hour. I got tips often - small ones as Czech people aren't so wealthy as others - but the vibe of the pitch was extremely positive. Lots of people lingered, From the beginning the whole tunnel was hopping. The pizza lady came out to the doorway of her shop and watched, smiling madly. I pulled out all the popular "hits." A unique pitch for me because everyone gave, not just younger women or older folks. Poor men passed by and tipped with grins. A young man told me to "Keep it up."

Mates stayed for about half the pitch and I think that contributed loads to the vibe. After he left it slowed down (the shops also closed and the traffic petered). Something about having company gives me a lot more confidence; it's like I don't worry about messing up or getting a bad reception because I have an ally, giving requests, etc. And I think passersby seeing another person video-ing me and photographing me makes them notice me. Another benefit of having Mates there was his translation of what they said. One girl said to another: "We don't need to go to the club, the music is so good here." A set of gypsies talked for a bit with Mates, telling him, "He's so good, we didn't expect it!"


I Started A Joke - Bee Gees


Mates wasn't my only ally down there. One cheery young man in a green shirt actually outstayed him. He began to pass me as I was starting Hallelujah and his reaction - I'll never forget how enthusiastic he was. He dialed his girlfriend almost immediately and held spoke excitedly into the phone for a second and then held out his phone towards me, people passing the hole while. He stayed almost till I finished. Smiling at me the whole time. At the end he offered me a cigarette, very apologetic about his lack of money, but I assured him I didn't mind, and that his presence was the best part of my day. He requested Hallelujah one more time from me and my voice surprisingly obliged.


The wonderful man and his girlfriend via phone.


A final note about this great pitch. For some reason or other I took an about face from the other day in Wien, singing all male songs. Towards the end people came in spates, becoming progressively more male and rougher looking. One of these, in a yellow sporting shirt, sang along to The Boxer. I couldn't go wrong this night, and that's a great feeling.

Earnings: 242 CZK, 1 hour
Song of the Day: Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen

Monday, August 16, 2010

Wienershithole, Day 4

I absolutely love playing in the rain. I love the feeling of defiance and how much happier I can make the street. The whole feel changes from drab to romantic. I arrived for my first pitch (8.11.10) just before it began to pour, with strongish winds blowing north up Barnabitengasse. I played close to the wall at the north end of the archway, and people were very generous. Again I played songs I hadn't in forever - slower contemplative songs that fit the mood. I got my first tip for a Jim Croce song with I Got a Name and even had a go with Fast Car.

At one point the sun shone through the rain and I took the opportunity to very happily sing Here Comes the Sun. People gave me bewildered looks but then looked and noticed the bright sun and smiled. Rainy day pitches have funny dynamics, too, since all my tips from this time were either €0.10 or €2.

Now one expense I've omitted from the tablature I wrote up is my letter writing. Mostly because it's quite a bit more expensive than one'd expect. If you've received a letter from me - and chances are if you read this and I have your address you have - you know I take a lot of time selecting paper and envelopes. One of the first things I do upon arriving in a new place is scour it for a paper store, which seem to be a dying breed since no one writes letters anymore. So between pitches today I finally found one, Mastnak, enormous and sort of a paradise for a stationary devotee like myself.

Back to the music. My second pitch was notably dryer and the tips went similarly. For whatever reason I decided to sing only girls' songs. Nothing of note occurred till Geoffrey wandered down to meet me and I sang him Painting By Chagall and a wonderful pair of Filipina ladies paused, smiled and tipped me after rooting for a while. I sang them an extra chorus.


This is how I tend to carry my guitar down the street. Cuz it's heavy, especially after tips.


Geoffrey and I walked to the city center where he treated me to some breaded pork, Wienerschnitzel, which was excellent - if mostly for the protein factor. Oh yea, and that it's meat. It was a perfect last night together, with great conversations, ice cream and some anime. On the way back we encountered a bad-toothed young busker sitting inside the metro - counting on the lateness, no doubt, to be safe from polizei. He was singing Coldplay's Fix You, very well and I tipped him a euro, then asked to learn it from him. We sat a few minutes while he went through it and another Coldplay song and we exchanged some tips about good busking songs. Perhaps I should venture out late to circumvent the lovely peacekeepers, too.

The namesake of the titular pun.


Earnings: €29.08, 2.3 hours
Song of the Day: Fast Car - Tracy Chapman

Wienershithole, Day 3

Sometimes one can stagnate with the safety of the known. With a regimen and a schedule. This was not one of those times. I decided to try and branch out in location a bit today (8.10.10), so I looked around at a few of the more outlying pitches that weren't completely ruled out by a single glance at Google Maps. Now I started the day intending to rendezvous with Geoffrey at Museums Quartier. This failed but wandering about that "mall of museums" for an hour or so made me appreciate all the more what perfect locations are going to waste. Instead of live music they have some insipid American dance-pop issuing from speakers mounted on the poles supporting the covered sections of outdoor cafés.

So I thought: there are so many musicians, good musicians out there. There are tons of festivals and gatherings and outdoor and indoor restaurants and bars and things playing shitty music. Can't something be figured out here? That's when I remembered it's not happiness and quality that runs the world now, but rather profit. So lets charge larger royalties for recordings, eh?


Zebra in Museums Quartier


I then wandered off for a look at a few other spots - I forgot to mention that the happy little sheet of pitches also specifies times - usually a four hour window - and MariaHilfer wasn't quite kosher yet, even with my sketchy reading of the location.

Burgasse-Stadthalle, Wien Public Library

Märzpark. See all the people? Oh wait...



Kardinal-Rauscher-Platz, could be good if it didn't suck.

Inevitably, I ended up back at Barnibetengasse for another memorable day marked by a few interactions. I'm wondering if my retellings of specifics with song successes or people tipping are getting boring and a bit like more of the same old, so this time I'll try to keep it more succint. I shall probably fail.

As soon as I set down my case a passing goth couple perked up with "Yay! Musik!" They marked my whole first pitch. From the get go I had requests, and they chose a great one, Radiohead's Exit Music (For a Film). An impressive one what with the slow buildup and the large range both in volume and in pitch. I got quite a few tips to start. Now this couple left briefly to duck into the Comic shop nearby. The guy grew up in Seattle so language was not an issue at all. They passed back and tipped me handsomely, promising a return and asking if I'd like anything from the grocery store they were headed to. I'd forgotten my water - how perfect that they bought it for me, and with carbonation too (which is perfect for singing, i think).

When they returned they stood by my case, embracing and being cuddly and wonderful in an awkward counter-culture sort of way, dressed all in black with odd sleeves and glovelets and dyed hair. I tried to suggest they sit across the way and give requests that way as they were obstructing the path of least resistance to my case - which is a huge deal, people are lazy - but they demurred and told me they preferred to stand and "rock out" with me, swaying away. Eventually they realized the dilemma and stood against the opposite wall. Their presence rejuvenated me so much I sang them Hallelujah, full voice and all - and my voice felt great, finally. Later on I mentioned my mum had likened my singing to John Denver's and they very nicely told me I was better. Um. what do you say to that, eh?

The best part of their presence was a sense of camraderie despite the largely unappreciative passersby. The girl started to get frustrated at them and pointed nicely at my case when someone passed for a short period, or tried to intervene kindly in German to no avail. And whenever anyone tipped they lit up or gave me thumbs up or clapped. Like before, having an audience signalled it was ok to sit for others and another couple sat with their child on the steps opposite for a while, also. Before the couple left they tipped me once more, asked if I needed a place to stay or some food "It'd be horrible if a musician had to sleep on the street" and offered their number. Simply wonderful

My second pitch was also met with a large batch of audiences. After I sang Bette Midler's The Rose a nice man spoke hung back and spoke excitedly and gratefully in German - something about how wonderful it is that someone is singing this song about Jesus Christ's love and how few people know what it means - that's what I gathered anyways from cognates and stuff. His smile was a beautiful tip. I'd moved back to the archway for the acoustics as the Jewelers had closed and many of the passersby motioned up towards it to their companions as they passed. So I guess I can highlight architecture, too. Today I also debuted Ue Liang Dai Biao Wo De Xin to great effect. Like Ue Wo Muite Arukou, european tourists love it since they think I'm singing in my native language or something. A gaggle of girls even gave me a "Xie Xie" after they passed, before erupting in a fit of blushing and giggling.

Now a short interlude on beggars in Wien. There are a lot of them and some of them seem to like hanging around buskers to ask for their money - parasitic, rather, but effective. I gave a couple euro cent to one kind one who'd tipped me the first day. And again to another who hung around for most of my second pitch for being a kind audience. Now this, and my experience with the fabulously dressed ultra-rich, have cemented the absurdity of the theory of trickle-down economics to me. Anyways the same guy who stole from me yesterday passed by but as he neared I shut my case and glared at him.

I particularly enjoy days when I sing nothing from the day before. So today was wonderful in that I hardly sang any songs I'd sung in a week. One of these songs was Falling Slowly - I hadn't been up to it previously, but today my falsetto was really there. As I sang an Austrian girl, Maria, passed by and tipped me handsomely, telling me she loves this song. She appreciated the beauty of singing this song while busking (from a movie about a busker) and stuck around for a few requests. She loved what I did to Kids - better than the original she said - and passed me her email and her blog to obtain Jónsi's version of MGMT's Time to Pretend. So kind, so earnest. I sent her off with Such Great Heights.

Earnings: €25.72 + water, 2.2 hours
Song of the Day: Exit Music (For a Film) - Radiohead

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Wienershithole, Day 2

It seems like every time I take a plane trip I get ill in some way. Generally my sinuses act up or something. This was no different. My voice continued to suffer so I rested for a record three straight days before venturing back out. I wrote little then and generally just wandered, occasionally checking out more fail spots. So here I'd like to explain a bit why Wien actually was awesome.

That reason would be Geoffrey. After so long away from close friends, staying with Geoffrey, having a consistent room I could call home for a week, having a kitchen I could use to cook - these things were completely priceless. Geoffrey was also extremely generous and acted as my "patron," thereby enabling me to worry less about money and rest up as I needed to. I tried to pay him back as I could by concocting excellent dinners. These were vegetarian, of course, which made it fun for me - how to make something savory and filling without meat? How to get enough protein?

I made a few wonderful meals but the standout of them all was a Gomiti-like pasta with an avocado garlic butter/olive oil sauce, mixed with fresh buffalo mozarella and tomatoes at at the end - which I came up with on the spot and was very very pleased with (I have since improved it, I think, in Praha where I am typing this post - it tastes best with Gnocchi). On one night we visited a family friend of his which where I felt extremely uncomfortable surrounded by the oppulence and being fired comments like "So you'll need to go back for another major" after revealing that I concentrated in art.

I finally ventured back to the mean streets of Wien on 8.9.10. My voice still wasn't so hot so I avoided my more emotional sad songs and veered happy ish again. I noticed some of my repertoire sounds happy enough to a foreign ear and capitalized on the language barrier - the Beatles, for instance. I played two sets back at the same pitch by the church. Shortly after I began the first pitch, the Jewelry shop owner nearby kindly asked me to move a few meters down, which robbed me of the acoustics granted by the archway but I didn't mind so much, he was so gentle about it. Well, not like I had much choice. A set of police officers passed by at one point but they just smiled at me.

The first pitch was marked by a profusion of youth. Hence, Torn by Natalie Imbruglia was quite the hit. It seems young people like to watch me singing a popular nineties girl's song or something - also I sing it with feeling which must be funny to see. I was tipped right away from the first song - the Mario Kart Love Song I so dearly love - and the pitch didn't really slow down.

I remember the second pitch better, somehow. I decided to start off the pitch thanking God with How Great is Our God, something I'd promised to do in Copenhagen but was too shy to do. As soon as I got to the chorus people were tipping. I was bewildered, even. This pitch was characterized by many passing families. One three generation group stuck around from the middle of Somewhere Over the Rainbow until the end. Another hung back on the insistence of the father and children during Country Roads. Something about that song seems to always speak to men rather than women. An elderly lady ducked into the jewelry shop to get change at near the end of my pitch, during Hotel California, and shuffled back to tip me.


The lovely street, Barnabitengasse


Now this day featured two standout experiences. The first involved a Swiss family. They passed me near the start of my first pitch, clustering around me after Let it Be. The two high school age girls did most of the talking as my German is... non-existent. The elder of the two favored intense eye contact, and I looked right back for many songs, taking the opportunity to sing to someone. She was also quite pretty. She requested I'm Yours and Stand By Me and between those two songs all four of the family members tipped me from their individual wallets.

They wandered on south down the street... but during my second pitch, near the middle, they passed back up. This was wonderful. I was just finishing a song - it was perfect timing for more requests. About the parents a little: I quite liked them. The father was great fun and a bit silly. He'd sing along or vocalize randomly in a jolly fashion. The Mom was kindly scatterbrained and shyly worried and reminded me of my mum. So the pretty, gray-green eyed blonde girl requested Apologize and sang along. Then Mika. Then No One, which the whole family loved. They told me they liked my voice, asked if I was hungry - to eat dinner with me (I declined as I had an appointment to chef for Geoffrey). They tipped me again before they left, even giving me Swiss Francs as they'd run out of Euro coins.

The other experience brought me to the other end of the emotional spectrum. During their second passing, a slightly stumbling scruffy man starting hanging around. I focused on the family (and on the eyes of the girl which locked upon mine) instead, but as they departed they warned me he, a Romanian, had been eyeing my coins. I thought nothing of it as he'd disappeared. Well towards the very end of my pitch he returned. A couple had just taken a seat on the steps opposite so I couldn't very well have stopped mid song, I thought. Well this man walked slowly up to my case, bent down - by this time I stopped singing and just played chords, I was so thrown off and a little worried - and took about three euro. He even had the gall to count it out in front of my face, in his palm, his own face leering and ugly and breath reeking of alchohol as he said something about beer.

Indignant I asked, "Are you taking my money? Are you really taking my money?" But I didn't do anything. I'm too meek for that, especially with a guitar in front of me that I need to protect and an audience. He just laughed, waved his hand as if it was something I shouldn't worry about and walked slowly away. I did the only thing I could do do recoup my spirits - I asked for a request from the couple and sang Fake Plastic Trees with all my pissed-off, violated emotions. The performance, at least, was quite good.

Earnings: €25.11 (€28.11) + 2 CHF, 2 hours
Song of the Day: Apologize - One Republic