Yesterday and today's busking adventures have been synchronistic, cosmic and highly entertaining. Last evening as I came out of the "singing tunnel", my ears were happy to hear my friend Ron Coolidge blowing Cyndi Lauper's Time After Time from two blocks away at his spot on one of the corners of historic Union Square. There is a statue in the middle of Union Square that has been there since the late 19th century and was a primary meeting spot and a beacon of hope after the great earthquake and fire of 1906 that left San Francisco in shambles. I enjoy relaxing in Union Square after my busking shifts are through for the day. This evening I pretended like I was in a rainforest in the middle of the city thanks to the palm trees in the park and the automatic sprinkler system. I have an easy going imagination. Helps when you lead the lifestyle of a busker!
So Ron and I chat for a moment about all things busking which became more of a conversation about the ethical implications of buskers having their own "turf." He mentioned in particular a saxophonist who in his eyes has been moving in on his spot. They've been playing that game that buskers play sometimes, the "that's see who gets here first tomorrow!" game. Anyhow, I know the aforementioned saxophonist and jokingly predicted that he and another friend of mine would be down in the 4th St. tunnel where I was headed to play. Sure enough I was right, but that's jumping ahead of myself a little bit. As we talked, I recalled the night a while back when I had been playing jazz with my friend the Jazz Buddah and we had been whipping up a version of Carole King's It's Too Late. That particular evening I bumped into my trumpet wielding friend and told him about my jam that night. As I walked home that evening towards Chinatown his trumpet echoed out a spontaneous and very good version of It's Too Late.
We finished our conversation and Ron thanked me for reminding him of that tune. As I continued on my busking quest Ron's trumpet sounded out a fresh version of It's Too Late and my night began to take focus. As I thought about these great women songwriters and Ron's crystal clear sounding trumpet began to fade, the tones of an anonymous tenor saxophone began to grow more clear and like the perfect fade out/fade in I was immersed in this anonymous busker's version of Autumn Leaves. Tis the season for the great jazz standard Autumn Leaves. I've been playing that one a lot lately and having lots of fun with it! Anyhow this tenor man was in between the Macy's buildings and the echo from this tenor saxophone made it apparent to me that I was walking through an urban canyon...
As I reveled in this version of Autumn Leaves, ducked down the escalator past the Mac store and into the Powell St. BART station. There in the 4th St. tunnel, as predicted, were my friends the Jazz Buddah and the formerly mentioned saxophonist, my friend Aaron. Observing the synchronistic events of my evening so far I couldn't help wearing a huge grin on my face as I approached my friends. I stayed till the end of their song, greeted them and told them my little story about all the horn players in perfect "just out of earshot" distances away from one another. I told them I was headed to the Mission and to have a good busk. As I walked to the turnstiles and the escalators that would take me down two more levels underground, I listened to my friends improvise a very swinging and tasty version of...you guessed it...Autumn Leaves.
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