Busking Blues and Worn Out Shoes

Busking blues and worn out shoes.   I've been wearing out the tread on my hiking boots for a solid 9 months now in the great city of San Francisco, busking my fiddling heart out for a very diverse citizenship and an international onslaught of tourists.  I've learned a lot so far in this experience and the lessons learned continue to unfold themselves.  More then anything I have learned about being in the moment and surrendering to the flow.

Busking in itself is polite anarchy.  It stands to reason then that a busker's working environment is unpredictable and sometimes chaotic.  A typical 8 hour day for me as a busker is probably more in the range of a 13 hour day after all the trekking from one spot to the next,  looking for a peaceful/suitable place to play.  What seems to be an ideal spot one moment can be a chaotic mess the next moment.  Sometimes you can play through.  For instance, I've become very good at playing through the intercom announcements at the train stations.  Sometimes I even catch a rhythm with the announcements and perhaps it is sometimes even an intentional synchronicity with the train station agent when I finish a song and the intercom kicks on and I'm kicking off my next song as the intercom voice finishes the announcement with a thank you.  Other times though there is no ignoring a sonic interruption no matter what the cause.  A jackhammer for instance can put a quick end to a session.  Loud amplified music from above ground can get in the way.  Lawn mowers, pressure washers, boom boxes and other such noisy interruptions can also put a quick end to a session.

  Something that is more personal for a busker is when another busker interrupts a session.  What was a good spot for making music turns into an instant cacophony of awful dissonance.  This unfortunately happens all the time in the world of struggling musicians turned buskers.  The struggle for personal survival sometimes overwhelms any sort of honor code between buskers.  This is an unfortunate and unnecessary oversight by many unexperienced and/or careless buskers.  Some buskers don't stop to consider the "honor code" that exists between buskers.  I personally have been challenged to know when it is an alright time to communicate these ideas with other buskers and when the path of least resistance calls me to "exit stage left immediately" so to speak.  Sometimes I try to plant the seed for future cooperation between myself and other buskers.  I did that this morning when an electric guitarist set up around the corner from me, very much in ear shot.  I introduced myself and we had a conversation about busking ethics and I asked him for more cooperation in the future.  Other times I have had to stand up for myself, even confronting a 4 man a cappella group, more then once, who continued to ignore my busking presence in their own attempts to busk.  Often though I find it is best to just move on and view the moment as a nice opportunity to take a break.  I did that this morning.  After the conversation with my new busking associate, I went above ground knowing that this busker was after the exact thing I was after this morning.  Breakfast.  I wished him luck knowing that he would do well in that spot and would eventually enjoy breakfast as I was about to.  I went and got a cup of joe at the Bean and enjoyed a very tasty Cinnamon Danish from Eppler's Bakery.  These lessons in Zen Busking continue to reveal themselves as I allow my perspectives to shift and begin to see the bigger picture.  We are all in this quest for survival together.  Together we survive and together we thrive.

Yielding to the Force in Busking

I have had madcap adventures in the San Francisco busking underground in such a perpetuating fashion that I feel as if I've become a fiddling blur.  On a continuous journey, fiddle case in hand, always searching for a good spot to play.  A spot with good acoustics ideally.  A place to connect with the community.  A place to potentially fall into harmony with other buskers.   With this in mind, if I can get excited about my performance and potential spontaneous collaborations with busking buddies, the necessary aspect of generating some income follows naturally.  The music flows, people are often brought into the moment and some sort of positive group momentum seems to be achieved.  After all, we do make our Universe what it is, individually and then collectively.  A jolt like stumbling upon a dynamic spontaneous live performance can spur a contagious excitement in an appreciative audience member.  It's hard to comprehend the ripple effect that then takes place.  I know when I feel moved and inspired by somebody's music or art, I take that sensation with me as inspiration and that sense of joy I felt originally, carries over for a long time sometimes.  Profound musical experiences and memories stay with me forever and continue to inspire me.  This is what I mean by the ripple effect.

It's been a wonderful couple weeks since I last wrote in terms of personal growth as a busker as I continue learning about yielding to the force.  This has been the most evident in some new busking collaborations that have taken place and how they came to be as I explored some of these newly reenforced fiddleosophies.  In short, I got back to my jug band roots recently.  Back in 2000 I kicked off a big year-and- a- half with a psychedelic jug band from Wisconsin winning the coveted Waffle Iron at Minneapolis, Minnesota's "Battle of the Jug Bands," but that's a another story for a rainy day.  Anyhow, the Heart of Gold String Band writing was on the wall when I was sawing up the fiddle in a Mission BART station watching the sky above the top of the escalator go from shades of blue to shades of black and oh so early in the evening.  Long November shadows turn into a night sky and a brightly lit underground railway station by the time evening rush hour is at it's peak flow.  I saw a fellow busker whom I had met once before and had been seeing around more and more blaze past me with his guitar case and mid-song I shouted out a hello to him.  "Hey Brian!" as he was almost through the turnstiles, "you need a spot?"  I had been playing that spot already for a little while and had made some money and felt I should offer up the spot to him as a gesture of busking respect and friendship.  At first he acted like he didn't need the spot.  We talked for a moment about recent gigs and so forth.  Brian was enthusiastic about some gigs he had doing substitute guitar work for a local string band called the Jug Town Pirates.  I am familiar with them as they play in North Beach on a regular basis and they are also hard core buskers.  They have a pretty good story as to how they got to San Francisco from Vermont but that also is another story for a rainy day.  Rain is forecasted for next week.  Eventually Brian admitted that he was on his way to find a spot, it was rush hour so it was highly unlikely that someone would give up a spot, but I had been doing long days and treating this unique job as a lifestyle and I was definitely interested in making some new quality friends in the city, so I insisted he take the spot for awhile.  He appreciatively agreed and I began to pack up my fiddle and sort out my jungle of worn-out dollar bills.  As he tuned up his axe he mentioned that we should play one.  We had played an I Know You Rider together a month previous in a similar busking encounter at the Civic Center Station a month prior so naturally we kicked off our little jam with a rousing 2-man rendition of I Know You Rider.  We were sounding great in the grand acoustics of the Mission station with a bustling rush hour flowing past us and scads of tips went into the guitar case.  It seemed apparent to us both that we should keep on rocking out together and my new busking buddy encouraged me to stay on and keep playing.  We played classic songs by Bob Dylan like "Don't Think Twice it's Alright" and "Easy Chair", and John Prine anthems like"Angel from Montgomery" and acoustic Grateful Dead such as their classic "Ripple."  Brian sang a heartfelt rendition of the Bard's "It Aint Me Babe" that I related to heavily.

When it was all said and done we had done a dynamic hour long set of music and made a decent wage doing it.  Most importantly, we had established a new musical friendship and brought some very classic songs to life, up close and personal, for anyone who happened to walk on by.   Hard to beat the experience of spontaneous, spirited acoustic music.  I thank my lucky stars to have this as a daily experience.  In music we trust.   The jug band writing was on the wall... More on that, next time.  Thank you for reading everybody and please, tip a busker near you.  Music makes life nicer.  Sing out and rejoice friends, for this life is a miracle and it's happening NOW.    

A quick thought on Synchronicity and Busking...

Synchronicity is a funny thing.  Today I heard a busker playing Neil Young's Heart of Gold at the Farmers Market on United Nations Plaza.  I tipped him, thanked him for playing one of my favorite songs, and moved on to the next fresh fruit sampling booth having a great free snack in the long November shadows under pure blue skies.  A moment ago, I was standing in a Walgreen's staring at 30 different kinds of dental floss and loud and clear over the intercom...of course, Heart of Gold is playing, rocking my world, sending me bounding back to my hotel room to write this blog on synchronicity and it's relative frequency in the world of the busker.  Such as the Autumn Leaves synchronicity that took place in my last little story.  Songs appear at the strangest and generally most significant times I find.  It's like spiritual sport after awhile, taking my cues from the universe.

Early November and sounds of Autumn Leaves

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.

A Busker on Every Corner of the Corner

I write from my tower of song in Little Italy, "the Beach" as Kerouac called it, across from Chinatown, San Francisco, U.S.A., at a 3 way intersection infamous for buskers being on every corner of the corner. Right now at roughly twenty after four on a sunny November afternoon there is a busker, energetically playing what appears to be a homemade set of bongos and singing "Proud Mary."  Only in California...where people's sense of perfect timing and synchronicity seem to be raised to new heights.  And so he provides the background for my late afternoon musings as my clothes tumble dry around the corner and I get ready for my evening busk.

As the sun dips below the Pacific Ocean horizon the San Francisco skyline lights up before my very eyes.  Passed the Cathedral-like steeples of the National Shrine of St. Assisi, the modern day pyramid, erected just a couple years before my birth in 1975, the Trans-American Pyramid lights up like a Christmas tree.  A moment ago, in the twilight dusk of the Beach, another moment of California-style synchronicity occurs as I walk out of the laundromat and around the corner singing the Beatle's "With Love From Me to You", complete with Paul McCartney falsetto, and suddenly out of some North Beacher's abode comes another Fab Four song "Glass Onion" blasting out the window, and at that moment began to feel the oneness between myself and the city and everyone in this wonderful city.  Strolling through Little Italy on my way home on Veteran's Day, I felt a healthy sense of patriotism.  There were American flags rippling like a Hollywood movie picture against the setting sun sky.  American flags on buildings on my block and up the way on the Gothic rooftops of Knob Hill skyscrapers.  Then to remind us of our cultural diversity in this international melting pot, Chinese flags rippling against the pink sky in Chinatown, and Italian flags painted on every lamppost on my block.  

And so off I go on my busking trail.  Still some chores around the old hotel to take care of but then I will walk my way through Chinatown, through the Stockton Street "singing tunnel", and then off to an acoustically resonant underground railway station where I will tune up and play some fiddle music for the good people of SF.  I will probably end up in the Mission after awhile to check in with Classical Revolution, a twice a week classical music renegade experience and listen to some chamber music in the comfort of a coffee house.  Unless of course I catch busking fever which happens frequently and is a very welcomed sensation by yours truly.  Till next time friends, stay on your paths, as I will be on mine, and thank you for supporting your local buskers.  

The Busking Quest Continues-Reflections of ZEN

Back on the busking trail and feeling the true prize of busking more and more as the past couple days have unfolded themselves.  The true prize is the Zen.  That point in time when I am simply there.  Playing music, but almost outside of myself, observing myself playing the fiddle.  And then it happens...like a flash.  A sensation of total well-being.  I love to feel like a conduit for something greater.  The bigger picture.  The divine message.  Flowing through the universe, looking for open conduits to share the light.  It's wonderful when that moment happens.  I've learned new depths to my patience through busking...allowing any tense vibes or insecurities to float on by to make way for the good stuff.  The point in time where as a busker I can feel the oneness between myself, the people I am playing for and the people that I consider and think about when I am playing.  If I am fortunate, I can allow myself to be guided into a state of non-thinking.  There the music actually lives. I can then experience music as a language.  The universal language, as Music has become known.  I believe Music is the language that not only links all sentient beings but also other forces and beings in the universe.

To Busk or Not to Busk, That is the Question!

To busk or not to busk, that is the question.  I choose to busk.  Today I busked in two different "underground railway" stations.  I spent the late afternoon and early evening playing my violin at the 16th Ave. and Mission BART station.  I really enjoy spending time in the Mission.  It is a great neighborhood with a colorful and proud Latino culture at it's core.  The most beautiful murals I've ever seen, and hundreds of them!  Almost every alley in the area has been transformed into an outdoor art gallery, depicting the rich history of this strong and nurturing community.

When you busk, you are never guaranteed a spot.  I don't believe in the concept of "turf" except for a few exceptions.  Always respect your elders...true.  Some of these guys have been busking these same streets and stations since I was in diapers.  Is it good to be tactful and friendly and polite when dealing with other buskers?  Definitely.  Matter a fact, the busking subculture is an amazing community with a free-spirit and a ton of talent and undying enthusiasm.  I've experienced that in every city I've ever busked.  Like a well kept secret, here are all these wonderful, and for the most part unknown, performing artists.  String quartets playing on street corners in Aspen.  A lone mandolin player playing daily in front of the historic Water Tower in Chicago, incidentally one of the only structures that survived the Great Chicago Fire of a hundred years ago.  You know the one that the cow started.  Young bluegrass bands in Madison, Wisconsin cutting their teeth on State Street and at the Farmer's Market that surrounds the Capital Building.  Countless old time and novelty string bands on every corner and even swinging from trees in Asheville, North Carolina where a young Jimmy Rodgers, the father of Country Music known as the singing brakeman, got his start performing in string bands eighty some odd years ago.  Here in San Francisco?  This is the most diverse and full-on busking subculture I've ever experienced.  Horn players on every other corner; full electric bands set up in front of big storefronts; celebrity-like bucket players; Mexican-American guitarists singing great harmonies; Chinese one-string cello players and even entire Chinese Orchestras in North Beach; territorial doo-wop a cappella groups; experimental neo-classical musicians;  jolly accordion players; high energy tap dance crews; and every other type of performance you could imagine, you just mind find on the streets of San Francisco.  I was hoping to peel back the layers a bit and expose this vibrant subculture.  I ended up becoming a part of it, through and through.  Now I have busking fever.  I can feel the experience making a marked difference in my life.  I can feel the experience making at least a small difference in the daily lives of at least one person a day, although my guess is that that number is perhaps much higher.  Perhaps a busker can brighten the lives of hundreds of people a day.  Maybe even thousands.

Today I walked from my North Beach haven all the way to the Mission.  It was a hot October day today, apparently summer comes in the fall in SF.  I stopped at the Civic Center station after my brisk walk through Chinatown and the Financial District.  I was looking for a "spot" that was semi-outdoors since it was a very warm and lovely day.  The BART stations in the Mission are all semi-outdoors with wonderful acoustic-friendly alcoves where the escalators transport people from street level to the concourse level.  The Civic Center station also has a nice semi-outdoor alcove which takes people to and from the United Nations Plaza.  The United Nations was founded in San Francisco and the city dedicated a plaza where farmers markets and arts and craft fairs take place.  So I took a look down into the alcove and saw not only "Scratchman", but the juggler who always drops the balls was down there too.  So off to the Mission I was, and on such a beautiful day a walk from 6th St. to 16th St. didn't seem like a terrible idea.  But first, who is this "Scratchman" that you speak of Fiddle Dave?

"Scratchman" is an infamous SF busker who essentially pretends to play the fiddle.  He produces only one tone, and that is one of ultimate scratchiness, and plays no notes.  Just scratches.  He really gets into it and fully immerses himself in this scratching.  I saw him the first day I busked in SF on the Fisherman's Wharf.  Him and "Bushman" are both old school street performance artists.  "Bushman" is a guy who hides behind a bush that he is holding and waits for unsuspecting tourists to walk by as they're strolling the Wharf.  Then he jumps out and with a goofy smile and an imitation lion's growl does his best to startle the passer-bys.

I've had a couple, slightly insane conversations with Scratchman in the past.  He liked it when I told him he was taking the tone of his fiddle to new limits.  Well, a couple weeks ago I had a very surreal, and absolutely laugh out loud hilarious "life imitating art" experience with the Scratchman.  It was a Wednesday morning and I was playing the United Nations Plaza alcove for the Farmer's Market people and the morning rush hour commuters.  Things were going well and I was in the zone.  People were responding positively to the music and that was encouraging me to play with more and more passion.  Next thing you know, I see Scratchman setting up in the concourse of the station.  For the next hour, Scratchman scratched along with every note I played with tremendous enthusiasm.  He was far enough away, and he only produces a scratching sound, so I was able to keep on playing despite Scratchman's energetic and rather frenetic hoedown.  So it only made me laugh.  And as the smile grew on my face and I began to laugh out loud while playing my violin, other people too began to smile uncontrollably and laugh with me.  Scratchman had the biggest smile of all.  I could tell that he really was enjoying this bizarre shared busking experience.  The funniest part of this whole episode was that every time the rush of people went past and it was just him and I, Scratchman would get super animated and jump around and click his heels just for me.  The more I laughed, the more he jumped around, and Scratchman is no spring chicken.  Amazingly spry for his age. It was a very funny morning of avant-garde dueling fiddles.

Eventually, I got to the Mission today and had a nice time busking.  The acoustics are great and with newer strings on the fiddle I thoroughly enjoyed playing for about two and a half hours continuously.  Unexpectedly I ran into a busking buddy of mine who plays the cello.  We decided to jam for a little while and took a nice "breather" before we started and admired the twilight sky.  Pink clouds hovered in the direction of the ocean.  We played a little chamber-rock then and shortly into the jam I was feeling famished and ready for a taco break.  There are no shortage of fantastic taquerias in the Mission.  I have a new favorite that has a great veggie taco for two dollars.  Fits nicely into the busker budget.  

After my taco and walking around the Mission in a bit of a daze I decided to wake up for round two of busking with an Americano at a quiet coffee house on Valencia.  I then hopped on a BART train and cruised back downtown to the Powell St. station and found the 4th St. tunnel vacant to my professional delight.  I was tired, but rent was beginning to loom over me.  I played for another two hours to mostly conscious people...there were a couple bums taking rest and solace in the tunnel.  I play them to sleep typically and they are harmless.  I have become quite fond of one of the bums.  He is a sweet old 65 year-old man named Joe.  He is very drunk most of the time.  Tonight someone tried to steal his chicken from him while he was passed out.  I stopped in the middle of a song and had to tell the would be thief.."Hey!  Don't steal from old Joe." At midnite I quit for the day and headed home to North Beach.  Another day in the life of an American busker.