Busking--It's All About the People

I started playing in July, beneath the streets of Philadelphia, descending into the catacombs of Suburban Station, located next to City Hall. It was also the 30th anniversary of my father's death. July, 1979.
There's a connection between these two events. I am playing my father's guitar, a Harmony Sovereign from the 60's. It's a great guitar. It's got a big-ass body with a full bass sound, and with new strings, it produces a bright metallic tone to balance out the bass and project the sound. You're no longer allowed to amplify your music in Suburban Station, so you need a guitar that can belt it out. This one does the trick.
In addition to no amplification, the new rules for entertainers require that they get a permit and be assigned to a specific spot and time. I wanted no pat of that, so I would just take my chances with the police. There's a history of run-ins between street musicians and Philadelphia's finest, and although there are no laws against playing music in public, police were arresting musicians until finally there was a showdown in court. The musicians won.
Suburban Station, however, is allowed to establish its own regulations, as it falls under the jurisdiction of the South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority, SEPTA. Since I don't have a permit, I'm flying under the radar, claiming my own spot. I scoped out the corridors and the entrance ways, trying to find the most ideal stage, away from the street traffic and surface noise above, but also away from the screeching subway wheels wafting up through the corridors and stairwells from the regions below. Also, I wanted to avoid the irritating p.a. system announcing train delays and departures. I didn't want to be right in front of a store and run the risk of turning off a merchant. Opposite it would be fine, but not in front of it.
And then there were the acoustics to consider. Lots of glass and tile would enhance the sound naturally. I found an ideal corridor which had natural reverb opposite a Korean-owned discount store and a flower shop.
I was a little nervous my first day. It had been over three years since I did much performing as a singer. With the acoustic band, August Sky, my wife Patricia and I sang harmony, but when that band ended and we reformed the band to a blues band, our new singer carried the vocals solo, with no need for me to sing. My voice muscles had relaxed over time, and now I was challenged to strengthen them again.
My first day reminded me of learning to swim. I was nervous. I had busked before with Patricia in Old City, Friday and Saturday nights on Chestnut Street, cashing in on the young adults patronizing the upscale restaurants and bars in that neighborhood. The very first time I had busked was back in the 60's when I was 16, testing the waters on Boston Common. Now, in 2009, I was nervous all over again. After I found my spot, I leaned against the wall, sipping my coffee, watching the people pass by, waiting, maybe for twenty minutes, before I screwed up the courage to open my guitar case, set up the cd's, prop the sign, and toss some seed money into the case.
I tuned my guitar, checked my setlist, and started singing. My voice was tentative at first. With each song I increased the volume, pushing it. After five songs I was tired. Originals, then a cover or two. Finally, the first dollar. I called, "Thank you, Ma'me" after the woman. She smiled and kept walking.
I began looking at the people, and I notice many of them would smile or nod as they walked by. That felt good. I realized it was going to be more about the people, than making money. Making them smile. A few would drop in coins or a dollar bill, but it felt good just to see them smile and give them pleasure with my songs. A few nodded to the beat, or snapped their fingers, as they passed by.
People of all ages seem to like the music. Sometimes packs of high school students would swagger by, teasing each other, poking, laughing raucously, and then one heavy girl turned to me and yelled out, "I like that song. That's what up!"
Coming from a sixteen-year-old, that made me feel good.
Later that morning a young African-American high schooler walked by and laid down a vocalized rap rhythm over my traditional folk-style song, and the blend of the two styles actually sounded good. I called over to him, "Love that beat," and he gave me the thumbs-up.
Connections. It's all about the people and connecting with them.
Not only with the people walking by, but with the merchants. The employees of the flower store are very friendly and supportive. Whenever they venture out of the store, they smile, ask me how I am. I asked a young employee if I could give her a cd. She was tickled and said they'd play it in the store. Hearing that, I gave her the second cd as well. The Korean brothers who own the discount store speak limited English, but they always smile and nod politely as they walk by.
The cops don't smile. When they pass, they don't even look at me. I think that's pretty generous of them, considering they could be asking to see my permit, or telling me, it wasn't a designated performance spot. There have been no complaints, so maybe they're o.k. with it. Only once did one cop stop and tell me, I had to change my sign and remove the suggested price of the cd's. I didn't have a peddler's license, and therefore it had to be donations only. That's cool. I changed the sign. No cops have hassled me since. These are growing pains, sizing up the situation.