PSYCHOLOGY BUSKING a la wordswords: STEEPED IN PURITEA: A SACHARINE SPIN ON THE STATE OF THE BUSKERHOOD

SHIRTLESS IN SPARWOOD

Steeped tea, whole leaf tea brewed to perfection, from Tim Hortons is the best. Every day in my workaday world begins with a medium steeped tea, two drams of milk and single sugar from Tim Hortons in the Cornwall Centre, Regina, Saskatchewan, CANADA, en route to my office right next door.

(I feel immensurable joy every time I sip a TIM HORTONS steeped tea.)

My busking was quite limited this summer because of the surgical wound on my guitar-slinging left shoulder. I could have sat myself on a picnic stool and strummed strapless but … I’m never one to sit and strum … I think it looks beggar-like rather than busker-like.

All is past and I’m back busking and that is the main thing. After clearance from my cancer doctor I am good-to-go, which includes slinging my twelve-string over my left shoulder and doing some stand-up guitar strumming. This week I managed to be out there busking four times, three times with my guitar, and yesterday with my banjitar!

(I feel immensurable joy every time I sip a TIM HORTONS steeped tea.)

Yes, I guess this last statement could be a subliminal advertisement for TIMS (the Canadian nickname for Tim Hortons).

FACTOID: In this blog entry I am going to write about my summer buskation experience at several Tim Hortons franchises in cities in British Columbia, and connect this notion to the state of the current Canadian buskerhood (which I find disconcerting, to say the least).

First off, a busker in a good physical and mental state can lead an almost amaranthine existence just by being a busker. (And if you don't believe me, just ask me! Note my narcissistic pic on this blog header -- keeping in mind I am 65 years of age!)

Think of this. Busking is so cool is it not? I mean really, being known as Neil the busker is far more intriguing than being Neil the counselor, or Neil the university professor. Neil the busker connotes mystery and adventure and free spirit; whereas Neil the counselor or Neil the university professor connotes a kind of cool Corporate America, but not nearly as cool Neil the busker.

And to give the appearance of COOL, my accoutrements, cap-a-pie, is mainly my garb: ‘Neath my shock of thick and messy platinum blonde hair, a pair of cool red and black shades that I purchased while busking in front of a sunglasses shop in Amsterdam, a crisp and collared white long-sleeved shirt (one of several purchased in Barcelona), wearing faded blue jeans, and standing in my polished black steel-toed work boots. Enough humble-bragging. I am what I am and this is my signature style of dress.

Meanwhile … back to sipping at TIMS.

(I feel immensurable joy every time I sip a TIM HORTONS steeped tea.)

Baron, my favorite buskmate, tossed his cajon box drum into the back of my Acura RDX (more humble-bragging) and we drove to Fernie, British Columbia for a week of serious busking. The day we left Regina it was sunny and windless and I’d imagined the same munificent weather to be the same when we arrived at Fernie. I had imagined wrong.

It rained the whole time our stay in Fernie. To make the best of a bad buskation, we did a little hiking, a little biking, and a lot of beer drinking (but nary a sip of suds until suppertime). Each day began with a healthy breakfast provided by PATRICK and JO-ANN BURKE (THE NURSES RESIDENCE BED AND BREAKFAST), followed by a couple hours of weight lifting at EVOLUTION (Scott, the owner and manager was very accommodating – he seemed to love the SASKATCHEWAN buskers, giving us a great deal on our daily payment).

After a few days of non-busking, Baron and I decided to hit the highway, drive east through the Lizard Range of the Canadian Rockies on Highway #3 (the CROWSNEST Highway), then through the south-western Canadian ROCKIES of the CROWSNEST PASS, and indulge ourselves in some small-town busking. We decided to busk only at TIM HORTONS locations, and we decided to do it for free.

Hmmm … and hence my snappy blog title … STEEPED IN PURITEA: A SACHARINE SPIN ON THE STATE OF BUSKERHOOD, an intended pun employing my loving for steeped tea and my loathing for the current state of the guitar buskerhood.

I abhor being within the vicinity of amplified buskers! Actually, I abhor amplified buskers in general. Every week at the Regina Farmers Market I am surrounded by cover songs dis-enhanced by an amplified guitar. I should also mention that I loathe cover tunes at farmers markets, especially when most farmers markets are completely disconnected from SOCAN (the Society of Composers, Authors and Music Publishers of Canada), and apparently so are those buskers. Anyway, my conceited notion of being a purist busker means simply that my style of busking is in adherence to some traditional rules and structures long related to busking, but as of late have been let go (it seems).

(Albeit I must concede to the factoids that lots of a-go-go buskers carry portable amps and are selling CDs out of their guitar cases.)

Cover songs offer a window of insight to a busker’s creativity. Those buskers who play only covers lack creativity, and are just as not creative as those, like me, who play only original tunes. (How arrogant am I. Factoid: I compose lyrics and riffs whilst I busk and get paid to do so!)

And besides the covers, those buskers who amplify their guitar licks, have little or no consideration for the purist members of the buskerhood, drowning out the thrums and songs of the real (the purist) buskers in the vicinity.

(I feel immensurable joy every time I sip a TIM HORTONS steeped tea.)

Well we pulled out of Fernie and rolled along the towns of the Crowsnest Pass, busking in the coal town of Sparwood, the cowboy town of Pincher Creek, the North West Mounted Police town of Fort Macleod, the university city of Lethbridge, the land of sugar beets and corn, Tabor, and ending our buskation at Gas City, Medicine Hat. We began every busk with a steeped tea and sour cream glazed donut.

(I feel immensurable joy every time I sip a TIM HORTONS steeped tea.)

Hmmm … we busked for free ... you say. Are we crazy? No, Baron and I are certainly not meshuggeners; rather, we are busking purists! Our appeal is the joy we deliver in song to the ruck that gathered in the parking lots of Tim Hortons.

Admittedly this essay, as most my essays, is quite Aesopian in nature, plugging for readers the idea and argument of unplugged selfless busking as compared to amplified selfish busking, whilst appealing along the left to right continuum (from selfish to selfless) to other purists of my ilk.

And here marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE these past few weeks: