TAKE A STAND -- DON'T TAKE A STAND: HMMM

It is minus 4 degrees.  This lingering spring chill in Regina is, indeed, a force majeure that deters my busking -- alas, prompting another written expression of woolgathering!

When I first began to busk, I ALWAYS took a stand; now when I busk, I NEVER take a stand.  I do believe it is a matter of principle. I remember busking for the tunnel tourists waltzing down Main Street in Moose Jaw, SK, and for the ship passengers scrambling Bastion Square in Victoria, BC, always with my music stand.  No matter where I busk now, be it the bowl in Prince George, or beside the squirt pools at Riverside Park in Kamloops, or even among the market garden vendors at Invermere-On-The-Lake, I never pack one along.

When I first began to busk I needed EVERYTHING.  I needed my two binders filled music sheets, the black one for the top 40 cover songs, and the red one for my cowboy songs.  I also carried on my back both my twelve-string and my banjitar.  I wanted always to look good and convinced myself I needed a supply of cowboy hat and caps, an extra t-shirt, and an extra jacket.  I needed sandals.  And, of course, my music stand – I never left home without it!   

All of the above, save for my instruments, I stacked into a black canvas luggage bag on wheels, which I pulled from buskspot to buskspot.  Because of all this baggage, my entire first season of busking preparedness was clunky, clunky, clunky.  Now I busk clean.

There is a busker who oftentimes plays his saxophone across the street from the Cornwall Center in Regina, SK.  Anyone listening to his tunes quickly identifies this sax guy as a virtuoso instrumentalist. Anyone watching him blow, however, sees a comedic farrago, the wind tugging and tearing his music sheets that are fastened with wooden clothes hangers and paper clips to his music stand, at the base of which, is a chained scotch terrier barking in dissonance to the harmonies of his saxophone.  Such self-abasement I have avoided now for a long, long time.

Such ponderous efforts I have completely ditched for the unfettered salvos of spontaneity, playing whatever notes by my own design and whim.  Dragging my buskbag on wheels was really to thole, and not only that, I was a shining and laughable buskeraster on parade!

Over the seasons, divesting of such clutter has made me a better busker! Such a sea change has served the perfect anodyne, transforming me from a former standophile, to finally becoming an unfettered wayfaring stranger, slinging my guitar (or banjitar -- never both), from town to town downtowns.  I am not yet representing the anthophilous connotation of the 60’s, but I am close.

When it comes to busking --- DON’T TAKE A STAND.

When it comes to gigging --- TAKE A STAND – DON’T TAKE A STAND.

There are gigging times when music stands are more acceptable, and times when they are less acceptable.  Some musicians think they look tacky, while others don’t think about them at all.

Some musicians think music stands to be unprofessional and cheating, yet most audience members could care a less, because to them, it’s only the entertainment value that counts.  Some musicians think the appearance of professionalism declines with the presence of a music stand.  

Fact:  Michael Stipe of REM has one always by his side during live performances.

I’ve been to hundreds of gigs performed by professionals, and I must state that when sitting in the upper balcony in our local show lounge, most bands use either a teleprompter, or have sheet music (giant sheets of music) spread across the very floor they strut upon.  To take a stand or not take a stand depends entirely up to the musician.  A folk singer will often take a music stand; whereas a death metal growler would never consider doing so.

And now the skinny of my essay from the bully-pulpit, my only command on music stands:  

Buskers, never take a stand.  Giggers, even if only for the playlist, take a black Manhasset.

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BREAKING NEWS …

WHILE BLOGGING THE OUTSIDE TEMPERATURE HAS RISEN TO  PLUS 1 DEGREE ...  

IT IS TIME TO BE THAT BRUTTO TEMPO BUSKER THAT I'VE LONGED TO BE!

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Leaving my laptop on the kitchen table, I pack my guitar and head to VALUE VILLAGE.  Cap-a-pie I am hat-less, a thick red plaid lumber jacket over-top my Canadian tuxedo which is over-top a white t-shirt.  I’ve on my ripped Vegas blue jeans; cuffs rolled up once revealing my freshly polished black steel-toed work boots.  (See picture at the beginning of this blog entry.)

Ten minutes into my busk I have to warm my hands, first rubbing them together, then exhaling into them, similar to that of a pitcher in Major League Baseball.  I strum for two songs, approximately six minutes, then rub my hands and blow into my closed fists for five.  This action I do this continually for my entire ninety minute busk, and then decidedly stop to have an Americano Decaf with my new best friend, Mike, who has delivered it in person.

Dear reader, during this brutto tempo busk ... 

I DID NOT TAKE A STAND!