WITH MY PENCIL OR WITH MY GUITAR? THIS IS THE BUSKING QUESTION

 

CHRISTMAS AT THE CURE

Busking is ever on my mind, and since Christmas I have been contemplating busking more with my pencil than with my guitar this coming summer.  I do love drawing people on the street.  I have drawn people on the streets of Amsterdam and Dublin and Marrakech, and on the streets of smaller places and other places in between.  To busk with my pencil or to busk with my guitar this summer?  This is the question.  I know that I am accursed for I am drawn to both, pun intended of course!

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week, are those who I have drawn over Christmastime, having their photographed visages as my guide.  I much prefer to draw people vis-à-vis on the street, but in my Canada wintertime clime, this is too impractical.  Being a brutto tempo guitar busker is one thing but being a brutto tempo pencil busker is one crazy thing!  

Factoid:  In wintertime I am a skier, a skater, and nary a busker.

I do love busking with my guitar and harmonica.  I love being that Bobby Dylan wannabee with the messy hair and tightly fitting t-shirt and worn out jeans and kicking the pavement with my leather laced-up-to-the-top work boots.  It has taken me lots of years to present this acquired and well-rehearsed look, and now I do believe that when I am offering this guitar-busking look, I am actually offering the real me, my real self who wants to be stuck in time with this road-theme, stranger-comes-to-town presentation.

Busking with my pencil presents another me, another stranger-comes-to-town me, a persona that appears just as carefree, but a bit more Bohemian.  My drawing garb is the same as my strumming garb, but as a street artist I always pack along my didgeridoo so I can drone between dry spells.  Now here is the difference.  With my guitar and harp I am, as stated earlier, a Bobby Dylan wannabee.  With my pencil (and didgeridoo) I am a busker of rarity, much more elusive and much more interesting than being the ilk of guitar buskers.

The guitar is arguably the most common instrument in the world.  Not so arguably is the fact that guitar buskers are everywhere.  Wherever and whenever I have gone guitar busking, there are guitar buskers everywhere.  On the other hand, wherever and whenever I have gone portrait busking, I am always the only one doing so.

To me guitar busking is a much easier task than portrait busking.  While guitar busking, I play whatever comes to mind, and forsooth am getting paid to practice my new songs, complete with the lyrics, the chords, and the riffs.  Nobody seems to mind what I play.

This is quite a contrast to my portrait busking, where no matter how realistic I draw a person, the slightest of pencil errors sometimes seems to set off the person that I am drawing.  Drawing portraits is to focus, focus, focus, whereas, strumming my guitar takes no focus whatsoever.

Guitar busking I’ve only one self-mand:  Smile and give a verbal thank-you to all consumers.

Portrait busking I’ve two self-mands:  My pencil never lies. People do not know what they look like.

Enough wool-gathering.

MY HARPIST FRIEND, BONITA

MY RAPPER FRIEND, BENNETT Q

MY BEST FRIEND, COLBY

EZRA, MY GUITAR MATE'S YOUNGEST

LEVI, MY GUITAR MATE'S COWBOY 

SUSAN, THE NEW YORK CITY VAMPIRE

DRAWING A TODDLER VIS-A-VIS

DRAWING MY FRIEND AT A PARTY

To close, here is my latest song, composed while I was out guitar busking, of course!

                                                 BITTEN

[accented strum on lower notes]

VERSE 1

Dm Am E Am           Ev’ry night I’m being bitten by a New York City vampire

Dm Am E Am           So that I can dance forever with my lovely in Manhattan

Em Am                      Dance in silky satin gowns, in vagabond shoes all over town

Em Am                      Dance into the moonlight, dance into the moonbeams               

Dm Am E Am           Ev’ry night I’m being bitten by a New York City vampire

 

[CHORUS]

Em Am                      Immortality and mind control (x2)

                                    Infatuations and hallucinations (x2)

[sliding back & forth]

Dm Am E Am           Ev’ry night I’m being bitten by a New York City vampire

 

VERSE 2

Ev’ry night I’m being bitten by a New York City vampire

So that I can bite forever the Big Apple on Long Island

Become a god like Mickey Mantle, Broadway Joe, or Frank Sinatra

Painted cherry lips and pale milky skin

Ev’ry night I’m being bitten by a New York City vampire

 

[CHORUS]

 

VERSE 3 (REPEAT VERSE 1)

 

BLOOD MOON: MY FOLK TRIBUTE TO ALL THE WICCANS

 

‘Tis the HALLWE’EN season and seems the perfect time to offer an annotated version of a folk song I wrote many, many (blood) moons ago.  Not-so-strangely, my song, BLOOD MOON, was inspired by a WICCAN busk-mate one evening during an actual Autumntime blood moon.

Firstly, I should explain that most songs that I write are by my definition considered to be folk songs. Folk songs in my mind are those songs written about a group of people and performed for the people. The folk style for such songs typically means having a stanza form (usually three poetic verses), complete with a refrain (a repetitive chorus for which the listener can easily remember), and a simple melody (composed with the said cowboys chords, G-C-D and Am, Em, and with an capo when appropriate).

Here is my annotated, BLOOD MOON:

BLOOD MOON             

[During a lunar eclipse, this blood moon phenomenon that causes the moon to turn red occurs about three times per year]

INTRO   G Em (x3) D        C Em (x3)

D7 … SLIDE DOWN THE FRETS

Verse 1

G           Em       G            Em

Diana, Diana, Diana, Diana

[Diana, in Roman and Hellenistic religion, is the goddess of the moon.]

G             Em           D

Goddess of … the moon

C                   Em           C             Em

Splintered we are … above the flock

[Witches, though definitely marginalized by all Christian religions, arrogantly consider themselves above the pedestrian religious belief systems.]

C                Em      C                          Em      D7

Sinners we are … shadows in the fog

[Of course, the Christians would consider any pagan practices as sinful, and make considerable effort to ostracize and demonize members of the Wiccan community.]

[CHORUS]

        D          A        D           D          A         D

The moon, blood moon, moon, blood moon

D                                    Em       G       A        

The time when witches rise … into battle

[Witches especially like to rise during the blood moons, a popular time for Wiccan notoriety.]

D                                Em     G                    A              

The time when the sun … goes into shadow

[The sun has been eclipsed by the blood moon. Also a metaphor describing this blood moon opportunity for those who are really enlightened to actually come out publicly and profess whatever.]

        D          A        D           D          A         D

The moon, blood moon, moon, blood moon

D        Em     G     A

I am rising into battle

D                    Em           G                A             D

I am ready to fight, to prove my love for you

[The narrator, a male, is willing to stand up for his Wiccan love, a female.]

 Verse 2

G           Em    G            Em

Diana, Diana, Diana, Diana

G             Em           D

Goddess of … the moon

C             Em     C                        Em  

Our evil fangs bite beside the sea

[In Christianity, the biblical sea is symbolic of evil, whereas for Wiccans, the sea is symbolic of life.]

C                   Em        C                        Em        D7

Until we are vapour in the flowers green

[Wiccans have an affinity with Nature, and therefore are one with the flowers and trees along with all other plants and things on this earth.]

[CHORUS]

Verse 3

G           Em          G            Em

Diana, Diana, Diana, Diana

G             Em           D

Goddess of … the moon

C                   Em        C                Em

My vision is fading over the horizon

[The narrator is getting older, his “vision” fading both literally and metaphorically, perhaps even second guessing his fate after his physical presence expires on Earth.]

C                    Em           C                    Em      D7

I am getting old I am talking to myself

[To end with a personal and humorous touch, this song-writing narrator, admits to getting old and even talking to himself as he types this.]

[CHORUS]

D          A         D           D        A         D

Moon, blood moon, moon, blood moon.

The fact is, that witches are among us.  As many as one million Americans profess to be Wiccan. Wicca is a nature-based, belief system, strongly influenced by pre-Christian beliefs, and technically classified as a pagan religion, though not all Wiccans identify as Pagans, and certainly not all Pagans identify as Wiccan. 

Some factoids about witches:

• Anyone can choose to be a witch.  Though Wicca does not have an actual formalized structure, anyone choosing to be a witch can either join a local coven or go solo.
• Wicca places more emphasis on experiences and ritual rather than on belief.  In this regard, Wicca quite resembles Zen or Phenomenology, a far cry from any recognized religion agitprop.
• The zeitgeist of witches donning goth gear and having tattoos and piercings and pointy hats and magic wands, and riding brooms are traditional but fiction, except for those dressing as witches, during the eddy of Hallowe’en or at costume parties.  The witches among us are accountants and teachers and cowboys and even hypnotherapists!  (My humour but not me.)
• Wiccan and Witches are synonyms, whereas, Wiccan and Pagan are not synonyms. There are some core beliefs shared between Wiccans and Pagans.  Both assemblies are Nature based, and both are lovers and worshippers of Nature.  Both groups are polytheistic (multiple gods and goddesses), and both believe that female and male forces have equal sway in the universe. 
• Neither Wiccans nor Pagans believe in heaven or hell, and therefore there is no such thing as sin for either sect. Wicca is certainly more ludic than being frightened by a Lucifer! There may be no sin, but there is Karma, the belief that sooner or later the good and bad actions we do will come back around to momentarily enhance or hinder our lives.

Dear readers I could go on and on and on with a rather esoteric literary analysis, as I am now humble bragging that my first university degree was in English Literature) but … 

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week:

BUSKING OCTOBER 30 - 2022

BUSK POT OCTOBER 30 - 2022

BENNETT Q PERFORMING AT THE CURE

BENNETT Q is our door manager for the CURE AS FOLK FUNDRAISER FOR THE FLOOD VICTIMS OF PAKISTAN come NOVEMBER 17^TH at THE CURE KITCHEN + BAR here in Regina SK CANADA. (Google BENNETT Q -- He's an awesome performer!)

 

THE STAGE IS SET: THE SELF-ACTUALIZATION OF A BUSKER

 

SELF AND MOHAMMAD BUSKING IN MARRAKESH

SELF-ACTUALIZATION, in my circles, is always about Abraham Maslow’s HIERARCHY OF NEEDS, a theory of human motivation.  Maslow, an American psychologist, presented a pyramid of needs for personal growth, the foundation being the physiological need of shelter, food, and water, and the peak being the self-actualized achievement of self-fulfillment.  Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs is a theoretical psychological assessment tool to measure what motivates human behavior.  But this is a blog about the psychology of busking, and therefore, I have modified Maslow’s theory to create a singer-songwriter performance pyramid of needs.

And so, to achieve SELF-ACTUALIZATION as a singer-songwriting busker, there are three stages (pun intended) to my Maslow modified HIERARCHY OF NEEDS on the continuum to achieve this:  GIGS (the beginning), OPEN MICS (the middle), BUSKING (actualized end). The first stages, Gigs and Open Mics, are the essential platforms to achieve singer-songwriter self-actualization.  Hmmm and indeed.  Regarding the eddy of entertainment industry, in the public eye the group think is that gigs are of the highest achievement, while those of us who are still out busking can be bracketed as undiscovered beggars with guitars.  In my experiences just the reverse is true. Over the last couple decades, I do know (for me) that gigging is straight forward and facile, whereas busking is strenuous and grinding.  

• GIGS

Anybody who can strum and carry a tune can (eventually) get a gig.  To get a gig one needs only to establish a likeable stage presence, while having the singing chops and strumming skills necessary for a stage strut.  Wannabee giggers may have to get their start strumming and singing at birthday parties and retirement communities, and getting bigger gigs, is simply a matter of practice, practice, practice and getting out there more, more, and more. It is a simple formula.  The better you get the more opportunities you get.

I have had paid gigs fundraising dinners, garden parties, and bars.  (Factoid: I have never done a birthday party.) Of these example venues, bars are the best!  There is a bar in my city, the BUSHWAKKER BREWPUB, where I have performed four times a year for the last ten years.  Singing original songs on the Bushwakker stage is always a privilege and always a load of fun!  Bushwakker Wednesday nights are “folk” nights, and for the most part, on Wednesdays the place is packed with the “folksters.”

To keep such a gig going on a regular basis, I have not been complacent.  Once I have the playlist practiced next to perfection, my actual ninety-minute performance, including the introductory and in-between song and closing banter have become a rather perfunctory production.

Those patrons who are there for the folk songs try to seat themselves as close to the stage as possible.  Other patrons, who happen to be like incidental tourists, who are there for the delicious cuisine and the craft beers, can be seated near and far and everywhere between. 

This Bushwakker bar crowd is never threatening.  On stage I conscientiously appeal directly to those sipping right ‘neath the stage, while sometimes acknowledging those amongst the steady drone and murmurings in the backdrop.

THE FLOWER STREET CAFE $125 PER PLATE FUNDRAISER DINNER GIG

• OPEN MICS

Open mics offer much more angst than paid gigs.  Performing at open mics takes a Shure load (pun intended) of confidence. At an open mic the crowd is always raucously supportive, while taking close heed to the performers.  I say raucously because oftentimes there is standing room only at my favorite open mic haunt, THE CURE, in downtown Regina.  Every member of that raucous Cure crowd will clap and cheer for every performer no matter the quality of the material being delivered from the stage.  An open mic is the perfect place for performers to experiment with new material for an empathic and very friendly audience.

THE CURE offers OPEN MIC night every Monday evening from 8:00 – 10:00 p.m., and I am one of the regular performers. The Cure Open Mic is a mixture of musicians and stand-up comedians.  All potential performers vying for the stage put their name into one of three hats, the musicians’ hat, the stand-up comedy hat, and the miscellaneous and overflow hat.  I always arrive early and almost always get to perform in the first batch of musicians.  Musicians are allowed two songs; stand-up comedians are allowed three to five minutes.

At The Cure (and every place elsewhere actually) I am known for thrumming only original songs. Sometimes at The Cure open mic, I bring my banjo and frail traditional American folk ballads, Tom Dooley and Worried Man Blues, being two examples. 

Not-so-strangely, the musicians tend to visit other musicians, the comedians tend to visit other comedians during those open mic evenings.  I have been going to The Cure long enough now to be recognized and engage in phatic chat with lots the regular performers of musicians and stand-ups.  Over time at The Cure open mics, we have all become familiar strangers, so to speak.  And sometimes these open mic familiar strangers even become gig-mates, Abbey and Jay (pictured below), being just two current examples.

ABBEY AT THE CURE OPEN MIC

JAY AT THE CURE OPEN MIC

TROY AT THE CURE OPEN MIC

• BUSKING

Once a performer can manage gigs and survive open mics, that same performer could now be ready for the ultimate challenge, BUSKING.  There is nothing quite like wandering with purpose into an unfamiliar setting to strum and sing for an unpredictable passer-by crowd.  When on a busk, every person who walks by is a wild card.  I repeat:  Every person who walks by is a wild card.

Over the years I have had people yell in my face in derogatory fashion.  Over the years I have had people philosophically challenge me on my purpose in life and practically command me to get a real job.  Over the years I have had people try to steal money from my open guitar case.  Over the years I have had merchants shoo me away.  And just one time, over the years, I had a guy take a swing at me.

Busking is not for the meek.  Busking is for the brave.

Lastly, over the years I have met many, many people over many, many performances.  Some of whom I have met, are regulars, when I am booked into a gig at the Bushwakker Brewpub for example.  At The Cure open mic, I am among a friendly and supportive community of musicians and stand-ups, who over time become familiar strangers and even, future gig-mates.  (My last gig at The Cure I recruited three singer-songwriters who were regulars at The Cure Open Mic, and the person that I chose to run the door, was a regular Cure Open Mic hip-hop performer.)  Busking, especially in Regina because I tend to play the same three haunts of Value Village, Italian Star Deli, and Shoppers on Broad, I have repeat customers at the front door of each of these venues.

Paid gigs usually last a couple hours, and now for my security blanket, I attach a Samsung tablet to my microphone stand.  This tablet has my entire playlist of original songs, complete with the lyrics and chords, literally at my fingertips.  (I do believe my inconspicuous tablet has enhanced the quality of my performance.  I know longer play my original songs seemingly at random, or in a manner for which I cannot always remember.)

At an open mic it is relatively simple to memorize just the two songs allowed.  And I must confess, that putting in the time and practice to focus on just two songs for the week, has really improved my stage delivery of those songs.  The quality and personal value of presenting two songs and then another two songs and then another two songs, one week at a time at an open mic every Monday night for a year cannot be ignored.

Weather is the only real enemy of busking.  Gigs and open mics typically take place in a temperature-controlled environment, whereas busking always take place in a never-controlled environment.  I am a fair- weather busker – I am not a brutto tempo busker! Never do I busk in cold or windy weather.  I do sometimes busk in wet weather, but only with my metal pot six-string banjo.

When my world is windless and the rays of the sun are shining brightly upon me, while I am thrumming and humming in a fresh destination standing in front of my guitar case brimming with the bread and honey of paper bills and golden coins, I do feel as though I am a self-actualized human being.  

Hmmm …

I must mention that even among fellow guitarists and singer-songwriters, performing at gigs and open mics is a normative behavior, but busking is truly idiosyncratic. And not-so-strangely then, these beautiful but very brief busking hours of my busking delusional brilliance are the result of years and years of gigs and open mics. 

My nidus for the love of busking began on the stages of gigs and open mics, and I will continue to perform on these stages in order to foster the quality of my busking for today and for tomorrow, too.

SELF BUSKING AT THANKSGIVING

 

 

AGEISM -- IT JUST NEVER GETS OLD

MY BOYS AND I SWIMMING IN OKANAGAN LAKE
LEFT - RIGHT AGES 47, 38, 71, 41

AGEISM.  That prejudice or discrimination on the grounds of a person’s age.

Factoid: 82% of Americans 50 years and older say they have experienced prejudice, discrimination, or stereotyping based on ageism (University of Michigan National Poll on Healthy Aging, July 2020).

Factoid: “One thing Americans agree on?  Our politicians are too old” (Chris Cillizza, CNN).  American president, Joe Biden, is 79.  Speaker, Nancy Pelosi is 82.  Senate Majority Leader, Chuck Schumer is 71.  Mitch McConnell is 80.  Donald Trump is 76.  And how about across the sea? Queen Elizabeth just died at 96.  Her son, King Charles III is 73.

Factoid:  We are all suffering from ageism because all of us are aging.  And regarding prejudice, I experience ageism all the time, never toward me, but instead self-inflicted and self-professed by my aged peers toward themselves!

Well you know, Neil, now I’m getting on my aches and pains just don’t ever go away … (a 74-year-old relative who now blames her senior age on everything that goes awry in her life).

No band needs a 70-year-old bass player … (an 81-year-old former bandmate who still wants to gig but has burnt just too many musical bridges, not as a senior, but as a middle-ager).

When you’re old you become invisible … (a very disgruntled 80-something former colleague, a superannuated English Literature teacher who was never effervescent not even in his youth, at least not in the years I worked alongside him).

I could go on and on but then I would be behaving like that stereotypical old person who simply repeats himself repeats himself repeats himself.

B.F. Skinner (American psychologist) said that for a person to get old, that person just must act old. To get old then, a person can simply be someone who always is complaining about an ache or pain, someone who always is wanting assistance or is always needing help in some physical regard (entering and exiting a vehicle for example).  Yes, acting old will get you old.  I shall point out that Skinner was a behavior psychologist.

Another news feed I just read yesterday stated that 73% of our population holds biased attitudes towards older people. Really? DUH. Of course, they do.  Typically, there are lots of older people who are literally slowing up those who are striving to thrive on zoom-time.  Just check out the queue of old people on any senior shopping day, holding up the customer lines by arguing over product prices, or buying exorbitant amounts of lottery tickets, by counting their coins one-by-one as they delicately retrieve them from their purses or pockets.  Stereotypically, these same fogies in the store are those who drive to the store, the whole trip having their left turn-signal blinking and blinking and blinking.

But I am not writing this to demean or defeat old age, I am writing this only to defy ageism on personal terms.  I know such a mission cannot be accomplished by reflecting on my past through the lens of romantic nostalgia.  Yes, yes, yes, when I was a young man, I was a social magnet and great fun to be around.  I was 6’1” and 185 pounds of muscle with sun-bleached hair and a California-baked body.  And blah blah blah I was Adonis! 

“Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you,” said the baseball great, Leroy Satchel Paige.  I know that wallowing in reminiscence can only take me backward, providing too easy an opportunity to live out my days in the wrong direction. Even just talking about the good ol’ days is a stereotypical trait assigned to old people.  I do not want to be that old guy who tells stories about the high snowbanks and endless summers in the much better but much harder times of yesteryear.  Acting old is getting old.  Nope. I am not there yet.

Hmmm.  But I am on my way.

As I age, I am suffering the conventional maladies.  I have a bad memory for people’s names.  To compensate or accommodate myself in this regard I always resort to mnemonics.  For example, if I meet a “Rose” I try to encrypt an image of “Rose” doing something with her “nose.”  This mnemonic something could range to anything from Rose scratching to blowing or even picking her nose.

My eyesight is failing.  In my middle-age I became far-sighted, literally, not necessarily metaphorically.  Due to my farsightedness, my optometrist recommended mono-vision, the employment of just one contact (reading) lens placed upon my dominant left eye.  To describe this I explain that if one were to purchase a pair of reading glasses from a drugstore or anywhere actually, and then just punch out the right lens before placing them on the face, this is the look that I live on a dailies basis (pun intended).

Oftentimes I suffer mental fatigue.  This is likely because I am always in thought, and one of my recurring thoughts being existential dread.  And I am convinced this is prompted not by my age, but by my philosophical woolgathering of other things, including the meaning of life (who does not want to know if a passion can become a source of money), the purpose of religion (who wants this life to be is that all there is), and the reasons for my going to the gym (unless one is an athlete whose job depends upon strength, flexibility, and fitness, all others go to the gym simply to look good). Note to self and to everyone: Evolutionary Psychology suggests our only purpose for being is to procreate and continue the species; therefore, going to the gym to look good is an innate drive to attract a mate.

And oftentimes I suffer physical fatigue.  Factoid:  Though I now pound fewer miles on the road than I used to -- In the ‘80s I ran ten miles a day; in the ‘90s I ran five miles a day; now I am a fair weather runner, running just three miles or so three times a week and only in summertime.  However, the rest of my fitness regime I have not reduced.  I still lift weights five days a week, and I take private martial arts lessons (Muay Thai) one day per week.  A couple times a week I am on the street busking with my guitar, and I try to gig once every couple of months at one of the local bars.  Right now, expressing all this recreational activity brings on an epiphany -- no wonder I feel, at times, physically drained!

But alas, we shall see.  I am still at that age that I am more than willing to work as hard as I can for as long as I can.  Factoid:  Calculating my longevity factor through the actuarial sciences, I am now beyond middle age, unless of course, I live another seventy-one years!

At least now I no longer wonder what I will look like when I get old. Other men of my ilk are either balding or pot-bellied or both.  My genetics has certainly favored me in the male-pattern baldness department and my exercise regimen will keep my belly flat.

Here are some personal facts:  I know I will be six feet tall (I have lost an inch somewhere).  I know I will weigh 160 pounds (I have lost 25 pounds somewhere).  I know I will have a shock of platinum hair (I have lost my brown hair), and I know I will not be dining at Swiss Chalet (I have not lost my taste in downtown fine dining).  I know that I will not be quantum fit, but most certainly be close to super fit (I will have a fitness addiction).  I know that I will place above the 95^th percentile range within my age group (I measure my body fat percentage on a regular basis).  With authority, too, I can state that my mental and physical fitness when measured against the age groups below me, still have me hovering above the 90^th percentile (I am full of bluster such as this).

“Let’s hang on to what we’ve got” sang The Four Seasons.  Well, I want to hold on to what I have got.  I want to continue doing the things I love to do.  Some of my closest friends who are retirees continually ask me when I plan to retire.  But I still love going to work every day and hanging out with my colleagues and clients, while at the same I still love leaving work every day to get to the gym or the park.  B.F. Skinner (my favorite American psychologist) thought that it was a mistake for people to retire at all! I tend to agree with him specifically about me, but never about others.  What others think, what others do, is others’ business. 

I never shall deign to that middle-class misadventure called retirement.  The world is still my demesne.  I will do as I like for as long as I live. 

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week:

While out busking I met Luthier EMERSON, who just recently to Regina from Gravelbourg, SK.

BARON IN THE BELL TOWER

SELF IN THE BELL TOWER

Baron and I were (somewhat) solicited to ring the bell at the KNOX METROPOLITAN CHURCH in downtown Regina. The bell rang for 9 hours and 30 minutes, 25,301 times! Each ring represented one day of reign for QUEEN ELIZABETH II. 

*Please note that we were not ringing that bell to celebrate the British legacies of colonialism in Africa, Asia, the Caribbean, and elsewhere.  We were prompted only by Quasimodo curiosity and the pleasurable tintinnabulation.      

 

 

GUITAR BUSKING OR PORTRAIT BUSKING: DECISIONS DECISIONS.

AN EVENING BUSK

For me, busking season is in full strum!  I have slung my guitar to my favorite haunts at least a dozen times since the munificent prairie weather began. For me, there is no better way to practice my guitar skills than to go on a busk.  When busking, I get paid to practice!  In my reality, busking is always a mercenary adventure. 

However, every time I run or walk by the Saskatchewan Legislative Building, and I do so every day, I have a yen to portrait busk.  Such a perfect setting for drawing a person’s visage and having that Legislative Building as the backdrop!

SASKATCHEWAN LEGISLATIVE BUILDING

And now my good fortune: To busk with my guitar, or to busk with my pencil.  Decisions, decisions.

Such a situation should be simple to solve, especially if I really think about it and break it up into these qualitative categories: technical skills, tactical skills, time economy, and social acceptance.

• Technical Skills 

Prerequisite skills are necessary for both busking endeavors.  For guitar busking being able to strum some chords, along with singing and/or harping, is a must for making big money.  Those busking with a guitar but without these technical skills are just beggars with guitars.  Saying this, people will toss coin, out of pity, to a beggar with a guitar, but people will toss more coin to an obviously talented street musician.

Factoid:  Learning a few cowboy chords, C-G-D-Em-Am-F, on the guitar is a rather simple process (practice, practice, practice) and from just these, one can thrum and sing or hum a hundred songs.

Now having the skill to draw a person’s face and have that drawing closely resemble the person does take skill, and a tremendous skill at that (if I do say so myself).  Such a talent does not come easy.  I know a slew of visual artists who either draw or paint landscapes, seascapes, cityscapes, but cannot draw portraits.  Portrait busking is a high technical skill, especially on the street.

Factoid:  Drawing a person’s likeness is challenging at the best of times, never mind when a self-imposed ten-minute time limit is attached.

• Tactical Skills

Guitar buskers need high traffic to make money.  And so, guitar buskers should know where and when the best buskspots are for the highest pedestrian traffic.  Oftentimes, this is determined by the type of community.  If one is busking in a tourist hot spot, anywhere and anytime downtown will fit the bill.  If one is not in a tourist community, noon hours and supper hours are the best, provided the buskspot is in front of a grocery store or liquor store or drug mart.  If the buskspot is at a mall entrance, then anytime is fine.

Factoid: Liquor stores, drug marts, corner grocers are perfect settings for buskers during the noon and supper hours.  Of these buskspot choices, liquor stores by far, provide the most profit for the guitar busker.

Portrait busking needs the high traffic but not the same setting as the guitar busker.  The portrait busker needs a slow setting, a park or somewhere similar.  Noon hours are good, but supper hours not so much.  The portrait busker needs the pedestrian high traffic but not the pedestrian urgent pace.

Factoid:  None of these places where a guitar busker typically sets up would be very profitable for a portrait artist.  These places are just too zippy, people arriving to purchase and then leaving.  And setting up a drawing space would be clunky and cluttering and intrusive.  Better to be drawing in a park, a more relaxed non-bustle buskspot.

• Time Economy

When guitar busking people simply toss their coins into my guitar case as they pass by.  Some passers-by-consumers may stop to chat, but only for a minute or two at most.  Never have I drawn a crowd busking in front of a vendor’s entrance.  And only sometimes have I drawn a crowd busking in a park, Victoria Park close to my condo, and on non-busking occasions while thrumming on a bench in Wascana Park.  Whenever I guitar busk I stay 60 – 90 minutes only at any particular buskspot. 

Factoid: Though I am there for 90 minutes max, it takes just seconds for even my most generous consumers to throw coin or bills my way.  Guitar busking, take is usually $40 - $60 dollars per 90 minutes.

My consumers for portrait busking, on the other hand, take longer.  Drawing anyone takes me 10 – 15 minutes!  This is an eternity when I compare to the time economy of guitar busking.  This means 10 – 15 minutes to be paid.  Mathematically, from a point of profit, say I take 15 minutes per portrait. 

Factoid: If I am busy, and there is usually a line-up, that means four portraits per hour which translates to 60 dollars an hour, like my take playing my guitar and harp.

• Weather 

As a hiker I abide by the expression, “there is no such thing as bad weather, there is only bad dress.”  As a busker I know there is a simple formula.  When the weather is clement, windless, and sunny, my consumers are munificent – when the weather is inclement, my consumers are miserly.  I believe this inclement-weather stinginess is the result of people wanting, not to linger, spent as little time as possible in miserable weather conditions.  In rainy weather I cannot busk.  Period.  In cold weather, temperatures as low as 10 degrees, I can guitar busk, but I cannot portrait busk.  In windy weather I can (with adjustment) guitar busk, but I cannot portrait busk.

Factoid:  I have attempted to fancy myself as a brutto-tempo busker.  To become this, in the past I have traded my guitar for a didgeridoo and droned while wearing my mittens.  Actually this worked out very well, not really sure why I have been reluctant to replicate such a busking behavior.

Factoid:  I cannot stand being out in the cold (two puns intended).  Dressing comfortably while at the same time looking cool is a high skillset.  Over the years I have evolved to accomplish this.  There is no such thing as bad weather, there is only bad dress.  Busking, I have no bad dress.  I dress always (and always in fashion too) for the weather.

• Social Value

Among the hoi polloi, there is vertically measured social strata hierarchy. Moving from left to right on this social appreciation street continuum, first there are the perceived dregs, a group nobody seems to appreciate.  These are the unkempt who stagger and stumble and mumble and bump into people.  Toward the right of the dregs are the beggars who stagger and orally solicit for food or coffee money.  Vertically more to the right are the panners (panhandlers), who stand or sit cap-in-hand hoping for coins.  And farthest to the right on this continuum are the street buskers.

Just yesterday, as I packed up my guitar, finishing my one-hour busk, a couple of middle-aged men approached and informed me that they were going to busk.  Within minutes both were sprawled along the sidewalk, their legs stretched almost blocking the entrance, and their backs leaning against the store glass.  One of them was blowing cacophony out of his harmonica.  Not to besmirch these two, too much, but yikes.  

The collective social prestige of all the above mentioned is somewhat low but rising the farther right they are plotted on the social strata continuum. All these groups can be quite entertaining, and sadistically, this would include the dregs, the lowest group, as indicated which I have plotted on the far left.  The buskers, on the other hand, are meant to be entertaining from any social point of view.

Factoid:  Guitar buskers are often referred to as beggars with guitars.  Always, I am attempting to dispel this notion, not in the general sense, but only selfishly in the brackets-around-me personal sense.

Factoid:  As a portrait busker, I sense of higher public appreciation for me when compared to my guitar-busker self.

And after having this empirical evidence in my busking brain for over a couple of decades, my being recognized as a portrait busker is regarded in a much higher esteem than my being recognized as a guitar busker.  However, for me, portrait busking is also a much higher challenge than my lissom guitar busking. 

Portrait busking is moil and toil, whereas guitar busking is as effortless as the perfunctory nods I offer those with whomever I have eye contact. Though ofttimes tempting because of the recognized social value of being a portrait (street) artist, but being the rather lazy person that I fundamentally am, and ever abiding by my mea culpa of minimum effort for the maximum return, I doubt that I will ever completely jettison guitar busking in trade for portrait busking.

I do confess though, there is much, much joy in handing a consumer a likeness that I have drawn.  And after drawing over a thousand faces I love to brag over and over again that "My pencil never lies!"

A PORTRAIT BUSK FROM OVER TEN YEARS AGO

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this past week is just moi, performing at a couple of gigs. 

                            

GOING SOLO AT A RETIREMENT RECEPTION

WITH MY BUSKMATE, BARON, AT OUR REGINA FLORAL CONSERVATORY GIG 

NIETZSCHE IS PIETZSCHE BUT SARTRE IS SMARTRE: THE MEANING OF BUSKING IN A MEANINGLESS LIFE

 

PRACTICING MY NEW BUSKING SONG

SOREN KIERKEGAARD (1813-1855), FRIEDRICH NIETZCHE (1844-1900), MARTIN HEIDEGGER (1889-1976), JEAN-PAUL SARTE (1905-1980), SIMONE DE BEAUVOIR (1908-1986), ALBERT CAMUS (1913-1960).  All are famous -- All are existentialists.

Kierkegaard, the founder of Christian existentialism, was famous for his analysis of such key concepts as absurdity, anguish, authenticity, and the weight of responsibility we bear for our choices. Nietzsche, who announced the death of God, sought to create value rather than to seek value for the meaning of life. Heidegger, a big fan of Phenomenology, must be my favorite existentialist. Sartre, also a famous playwright, presented there is no fixed design for how a human should be, and there is no God to give any human a particular purpose.  De Beauvoir was an existential feminist who asserted, of course, that women were as capable of choice as men.  And Camus, noted for being a handsome woman magnet, presented that death was the greatest injustice, and he, ironically, died at 47 years young.

In a line, EXISTENTIALISM is the heterodox belief that we inhabit an absurd and illogical world, upon which we have the complete freedom to define ourselves, each of us being solely responsible for creating any meaning in our lives.

Existentialism has three core principles:  PHENOMENOLOGY, FREEDOM, AUTHENTICITY.

Phenomenology is the philosophical movement that examines the consciousness and experience, with an emphasis on the first-person perspective in understanding ourselves and the world around us.  (I once wrote a graduate paper stating that Phenomenology, Existentialism, and Zen were synonymous, all one and the same.  If I were to write that paper today I could include Mindfulness in the mix.)

Freedom is the founding value of Existentialism.  Decisions with the regard to who we are and who we want to be are singularly ours make. Our world and the entire universe are devoid of direction.  (Could it then be that this “condemned” freedom is the source of all our anxieties? The source of our inner chaos?)

Authenticity is necessary for us to overcome all our anxieties, which in turn is caused when we have recognized that we have total freedom.  Factoid:  We are mortals who will one day die.  (Knowing this, in keeping genuine, do we need never to be bowing down to anything that compromises our personal freedom? Or that compromises our authenticity?)

Now to busking.

With direct regard to phenomenology, freedom, and authenticity, a busker is the quintessential existentialist.  I repeat:  A busker is the quintessential existentialist. I am referring not to the beggar-with-a-guitar ones, and not the strictly mercenary strum-never-smile ones.  I am referring to buskers like me.  YIKES.  In my typical autobiographical writing fashion, I AM REFERRING TO ME!

Nobody is a better student of phenomenology than a busker. Clients in my hypnotherapy practice always experience time-condensation, their sessions feeling much faster than their actual time spent.  This time-condensation concept is the same for busking.  Whenever I busk, time flies.  It flies because I focus, focus, focus on my performing and focus, too, on my passers-by should they stop and chat. My foci PEOPLE FIRST – PERFORMANCE SECOND also happens my busking motto. 

Nobody represents freedom better than a busker.  When I am thrumming away and when people come up to me and chat, they always ask me where I am from and how long have I been doing this.  I sense that I do represent for them, that stranger-comes-to-town motif.  I am the personification of travel and adventure.  I represent their yen, their romantic notion for the person they long to be.

Nobody doing business displays more authenticity than a real busker.  Think about it.  A busker standing alone in a public space and throwing it all out there, for anyone to see, for anyone to demean.  It takes a lot of jam to be a busker.  Anytime I hit the street I am setting myself up for absolute bliss peppered with times of torment.  While out guitar busking, I have had people applaud -- I have had people take a punch at me.  Such is the yin-yang life of a genuine busker.

Here is my umpteenth draft of my newest song, “A STRANGER COMES TO TOWN.”

"A Stranger Comes to Town"

The stranger in the song, of course, is me.  (Oftentimes I am the protagonist in my works, this blog and this stranger song included.)  The stranger in this song arrives with the rising sun, with his weathered guitar and Dylan harmonica.  When his work is finished, the stranger leaves in the in the setting sun.  As in all my songs, in the last verse is there is a twist. The listener will realize that I, the singer, am the stranger, and that every morning when I wake, I strive to be that perfect stranger in my alterity.  

Without repine, in this meaningless and acephalous life, I have created meaning for myself by being a hiker, a writer, a hypnotherapist, a planetary busker.  

AND WHENEVER I AM BUSKING, I TRY TO BE THAT PERFECT STRANGER!