Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Sacramento, Day 1

I never wrote notes for this spontaneous busking day in Sacramento. Oh well. On my way to Chicago courtesy of the reroute I had a five and a half hour layover in Sacramento. With the train station adjacent to Old Sacramento, I decided to wander out for a breakfast and a Subway sandwich (cheaper than train food by far) for that day's lunch and dinner. I'd hoped to find some Banh Mi to stock up on, but no luck. The charming tiny "Chinatown" estate's Vietnamese restaurant wouldn't open until 11am, minutes before my train was to depart. I took my guitar with me and gave my backpack to left luggage.

After a Denny's "slam" breakfast which I amusingly discovered a way to pay rather less for via "create your own slam" and selecting the same items. Flaw! I headed to a pedestrian tunnel passing beneath the freeway and linking Old Sac to Downtown. Unfortunately, this tunnel isn't entirely enclosed, with large gaps between lanes/directions of the freeway and on ramps above funneling the roar of traffic and amplifying it throughout the tunnel just as I hoped to harness the acoustics myself. Add to that the man blowing away leaves at one entrance of the tunnel and a rather large width - maybe thirty feet? and it made for an un-ideal pitch. But I wanted to, morning and all. And there was a nice mural in there.

I'd been practicing a few songs on the train from Seattle. Sheikh's workout was beginning to catch up to me but I could still play, if a bit less deftly. I sang to a steady trickle of pedestrians, most of which gave me confused looks or ignored me. Some smiled, but I think most were to in their own heads to pick out the music from the ambient roar. A latino couple, boy sweeping girl into his arms into a Disney princess carry despite her girth more than equaling his. Three elderly women in business casual chatting with separate suspicious glances cast furtively towards me. A poor latino man with the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat clinging to him staying for two songs enthusiastically, apologizing for no money, kissing my hand, telling me not to cut my hair. A confused family hurrying on at first sight, slowing down, turning around, slowing down, turning again, ambling on. A woman jangling her change specifically as she neared, passing close as if to tantalize. A blind woman turning a few times before I called out "I'm here" and advising me on the specific cross-streets in Old Sac, smiling then turning on. A college student racing head down, ashamed.

The greatest wonder of all, however, remained my sole tip of the day. A middle-aged Chinese gentleman on his morning walk approached during Nowhere Man while the family I mentioned before followed twenty feet behind and watched his behaviour. He strolled, pace neither quickening nor slowing as he dropped me a dollar and turned his head to keep grace me with a faint faint smile. I guess experience and stereotypes don't always hold. There's still room to be surprised.

Earnings: $1.00, 45 minutes
Song of the Day: Nowhere Man - The Beatles

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Buskless in Seattle, Day 2

The title of this post is already wrong, but I wanted to keep it in line with the first one (and the bad pun). It's funny I've put off writing it so long, as I generally like to write happy posts immediately. Chicago's been incredibly busy, however, and as I've needed to wake and sleep at the same time as Brent, I don't have those late night hours I usually do to write posts. Things are cooling down just a touch now, so I can finally write a tad. Oh, before I forget, the day before the day which this day treats, I had a wonderful cafe meeting with my former counselor. My mind's still whirling with happy possibilities for my rather uncertain future.

I woke at four to walk the two and a half miles to the train station in Vancouver to catch my five thirty transit down to Seattle. From there I was to make a connection to a train to Sacramento and then a another connection to Chicago. When I arrived I noted a line forming for travel to Seattle - people with customs cards and all, and with no staff to indicate otherwise I naturally joined that line, with everyone else. It turned out (to my chagrin and to others' minor annoyance) that this was the line for the six forty five train. Who starts queueing for a train an hour and a half early? Apparently I was meant to take the bus which arrived and left without announcing itself. Scheduling fail. I jumped on the train anyways, knowing I could stay with Sheikh in Seattle should I be stuck there. Calls to Kevin and Amtrak yielded no alternates to staying a night in Seattle before picking up my journey as planned a day late.

Now something truly momentous happened as I detrained. The ribbon Kristjiana tied onto my guitar handle nearly two years ago broke. I put it into my jeans pocket. I'm not sure where it is now. I arranged via text to meet Sheikh downtown after work for the busride up to his place in Ballard, which left me with about three hours to kill. I spent them inside one of my favourite buildings in the world - the Seattle Public Library by Rem Koolhaas. The volunteer stopped me when I entered to check with security whether I could bring in my guitar. Apparently I wasn't allowed to and there were no coat check options. Freakin' overachieving volunteer types. Luckily the security guard told me after the volunteer returned to his desk that I could have the guitar with me inside the library so long as I was going to use the music room on the eighth floor upstairs. So I signed up for a four o'clock spot I wasn't planning to make anyways. I did end up using the room when someone didn't show for their two o'clock slot and happily murdered Chopin's C# minor nocturne for an hour.

Sheikh enthusiastically roped me into a crossfit style workout session before dinner. Prior to this I hadn't done any exercise aside from walking for... a year? Pride intervened. I failed spectacularly on pullups and our closing pushups (resorting to knee pushups for the last set...). I did surprise myself with the relative ease of the goblin squat sets. I guess I'm becoming a t-rex. Maybe it runs in the family. Watch out, Brent, you're next.

After dinner I decided I really wanted to go for a busk. I walked with Sheikh near the spot where we'd seen a busker a week before and I spent a few minutes scoping out the various store entrance alcoves for acoustics/visibility/visual pleasantness. I chose the front of a barbecue store. Sheikh started me off with two songs I felt quite rusty on. The precise reason I love having requests - it keeps my songs fresh! He said my Don't Speak started off meh before progressing to a lot more fun. I'd asked him for a couple dollars of seed change (I'd left mine at home), which he frustratingly refused to take back at the end of the night. During the beginning of his second request, Exit Music (For a Film) a group of hipsters slowed and one skinny jean-ed male doubled back for a quiet dollar tip.

Sheikh left to continue his post-dinner walk while I sang the songs newest and oldest to repertoire. So a lot of Beatles. A trio of homeless hippies gathered around me shortly after, smelling strongly of marijuana, cigarettes and alchohol. The tallest of them, wearing a brown carpet as a poncho that matched his druid elder in the forest look, blabbered incessantly about energy and connection and LSD and what being high really was and tree hugging. The other two alternately closed their eyes to listen to me or stared at the tall one to quiet down a bit. Between songs they impelled me to come to "The Gathering." Just as Hobo Joe had in Gainesville six months prior. I politely declined. They stayed for quite a few songs, effectively chasing away any passersby but also jumpstarting my confidence and comfort level. I sang songs "you think I'd like" - Streets of London, Nature Boy, Liberta which left them nodding along, shaking my hand, crying, and yes, tipping. Multiple times.

Right after they courteously left (recognizing that they were limiting my income), I received a smiley tip a renewed set of new/old additions. By the time Sheikh returned with Court I'd amassed a small collection of bills, and felt content. I sang them a couple more requests, for which Court tipped me, and was ready to head off when a couple stopped in to "buy a song". I love how mass psychology works. Since Sheikh/Court already stood before me being couply, this other couple felt subtly safe to do the same. The bright, friendly guy requested There She Goes for his girlfriend who'd leave the next morning. As I sang the incredibly repetitive tune (which I need to re-arrange), both pairs danced in that wonderful sixties style between a jive and a waltz in little circles in front of me. Oh! how beautiful.

The man tipped me a ten and requested an apparently appropriate Norwegian Wood for leaving music. Sheikh and Court went to finish their walk and would fetch me on their return. But I didn't leave then. You see, that's precisely when the pitch picked up. Between songs a young man with a soft, kind manner very thoughtfully requested Leaving on a Jet Plane for his own departure. I suppose everyone was set to quit Seattle that coming day. As I sang it directly to him, voice warmed up and allergy less, an audience gathered. By the time I finished there were eight people watching. A young couple with a pretty girl tipping just before I concluded. A cute hippie girl who dashed in to leave me a bunch of wildflowers and a feather. An older couple. An old man. A former busker. I sold the first young man my CD on his inquiry on which tracks were on it. Happily his request starts the record off :).

The older couple already tipped me but I asked them to make a request anyhow. They danced a little to The Boxer before leaving. The old man, Jud, and former busker watched throughout, the latter closing his eyes, bowing his head and turning up his palms in a gesture of receiving God - I took as the absolute best compliment. Both averred that I'd blow every other busker in Seattle out of the water were I to play during the Saturday Market. Jud cried a few times, especially when I sang Operator - as he said he'd known Jim Croce. The busker apologized many times for having nothing, but his constant "God Bless You"s and inoffensive supportive manner were enough for me.

Best of all they liked my originals best. Both stood in stunned weeping silence after I sang an impassioned Stamsund. I knew it went well with my confidence and comfort very very high. I sang a few more before Jud tipped me a twenty bill for my fifteen singles in change. This left me with two twenties, some silver coins, a bunch of wildflowers and a feather in my case. I think this strange ensemble deterred the subsequent would be tippers. I only received one more, from a guy promised to return after hearing my From Dawn to Busk. I'm glad he returned when he did, delayed as it was. I had to stick out out several songs during which I really really really needed to relieve myself. An occupational hazard of a busker with a lima-bean sized bladder and a voice that needs rather a lot of lubrication.

Earnings: $43.43, 2 hours
Song of the Day: There She Goes - The Las

Friday, July 1, 2011

Vancouver Renewal, Day 3

I think the recurring theme throughout busking Vancouver is my obstinate enthusiasm to busk despite non-ideal factors. My busking time is limited by a desire to spend time with Claudia and making sure my schedule fits around Sylvia's - so on Saturday I didn't head out to busk until six in the evening. I'd needed to wait at Sylvia's place until she returned, and then coordination confusion with Claudia and/or Sylvia for dinner ensued. Sylvia went out shortly after me to watch/listen to me busk. She investigated the acoustics - best at the ends of the bridge (I stood in the middle), and had a good share of comments on how I might busk better. Which I found a bit condescending as I have been doing it for fourteen months and I do know pretty well how to choose songs or spots. I'm privileged enough not to need to do it for money, really, so I do have the choice to uphold my artistic integrity. And that is oh so important to me. I avow, often, never to gimmick myself or sing any song I don't enjoy simply because it's lucrative (Don't Stop Believing, Godfather's Theme, Stairway to Heaven, etc.), nor ever to play a song I do like that is lucrative more than once in a set unless requested to. I have my rules.

I noticed that the rare pedestrian passersby on this cloudy, windy day seemed less willing to pass in front of me than the previous times. On seeing or hearing me they'd choose to walk across the bike lane and walk under the bridge in the roller bladers' lane. They'd still smile - even the old Asian ladies would smile after a blank confused look, no looks of disgust - but happily had the convenient excuse of distance to not tip. With a clientele similar to the morning pitch, people exercising aerobically in various speedy ways, especially on wheels (and a strange profusion of bicycles with tiny wheels and a lofted frame in a standard firetruck red or spoiled lime green as if rented from the same company), I naturally garnered little in the way of monetary attention. My first tip came from a smiling man before I'd even begun - a loonie. My only other tip came near the end one other tip from a couple with a just-teen daughter. Funny how the tips bracketed the time again. This trio had passed some ten minutes prior, and tipped on their return journey in a very kind and thoughtful way. Where the daughter took time to select coins from the proffered coin purse of the father, both parents smiling down at her while she considered each disc seriously.

I'd played Heart of Gold for Sylvia as I know it's one of her favourite songs when she arrived. She also rather enjoyed Nowhere Man (for which I received that second tip). She spent most of the time sitting at the end of the bridge out of sight, noting the expressions and dispositions of the passersby as they exited the shadow of the arch. The report: eight of every ten emerged with what looked to be fresh smiles upon their faces. If in groups, she would hear them discussing my performance amongst themselves. Apparently the most common comment was:

"Well, I think he sounds so good because of the acoustics."

So I guess they didn't tip me because they'd rather tip the stones of the bridge. Well, at least they thought I sounded good.

Earnings: 3.55 CAD, 1 hour
Song of the Day: Collide - Howie Day