how it went
It was very interesting. I had prepped myself heavily beforehand, grounding deeply, telling myself, “This is not about the money, and it’s not about whether anybody likes what I’m doing. It’s about strengthening and deepening my connection and commitment to the music. It’s about the moment, it’s about the practice and it’s about the singing.”
I kept repeating that, over and over. I had to, because all around me people were doing exactly what I do around buskers: hunching slightly and hurrying past as though I were a torturous gauntlet they had to pass through. As though if they paused for a second or gave a sign that they heard a single note I was singing, they’d be obliged to shell out hard-earned cash and they were determined not to do that.
It was an education all right. I could see myself in them immediately. It was easy not to take it personally though, because it’s so clearly not about whether the music is any good. When I see a busker on the street, my own body adopts that hunch, I turn away slightly, and I walk a little faster and avoid eye contact. Above all I try my hardest not to hear any of the music. As though I have my fingers in my ears, reciting the multiplication tables to myself. I had never realized that I do that! But I totally do!
I admit… I’m scared of buskers. I’m scared to look at them, scared to listen, scared to give them anything. I’m scared that I owe them something just for being there. I’m scared that if I like their music then I’ll feel bad about not giving them money, and I don’t want to give them money. I resent them as though they are demanding something of me, I resist them as if they are grabbing at me. It’s all projection, and I don’t know yet what the root of it is. But I’m not alone in it, and that became clear.
This is all very unconscious; I don’t tend to be aware of this process in myself at all. A light has turned on in that room inside me and it’s cringe-inducing to see myself in that glare. This gives me something to work with, all right. I don’t understand why I have these feelings, or why anybody does, but I’m very glad to be unearthing this stuff. It feels potent, as though the key to some mystery I’ve been attempting to resolve might be hidden in here someplace.
Still, I had fun. I pulled out the covers I knew that seemed energetic enough to be heard over the traffic and sang quite a few of my own songs too. All in all I played for a little over an hour, and I made just under the minimum wage. Most of that–$6–came in the last five minutes of that hour, from one woman who worked in the shop I was standing outside of. She said, “I liked your ‘Ghost Riders’” and dropped in three toonies. Lesson learned: it pays (literally) to play those covers.
I quit when I had to pee and had to pack up to find a toilet. I made enough to cover my gas (my car gets good mileage), and I didn’t want to push it, feeling some soreness in my throat from singing so hard for that long, competing with the outside noises. I’ll try again tomorrow, with more awareness, and we’ll see if anything changes.