San Francisco Buskers

This week I spent some time with my brother in San Francisco, where he lives.  It's a very cool city.  We stumbled upon several buskers around Fisherman's Wharf who took the performance to the next level.  Most of them were amplified.  A few had a complete sound system and even canopy.  But one musician really rocked for me more than the others.
That was One Leg Chuck.  Yes, because he has one leg and a prosthetic device on the other.  Which didn't hamper him in the least.  He did sit, but he was totally cutting edge, very bluesy, with a hint of reggae.  Much of his music were original tunes, and he had cd's for sale, which he had burned himself on his computer.  I liked the unassuming, home-baked feel of his vibe, as compared to the others who verged on commercial karaoke. 
Chuck had grit. 
Chuck had soul.
I was immediately drawn into his performance, a cool blend of rock, jazz, R&B, soul, and rap.
My brother and I sat on a stone bench with some clam chowder and listened to his raspy but warm voice, his finger picking and chunky strumming.  Between songs I introduced myself to him and bought his cd.  He was grateful.  As soon as I placed the money in his bucket, One Leg Chuck grabbed it and said, watch my stuff, I'm gonna get something to drink.  I watched him stand up from his stool, limp across the street to a vendor where he bought a soda and a bottle of water.  He returned, smiling, and took up his position on the stool again, strapped on his guitar, and jumped right into his next song.
He must have not been more than thirty-five, but One Leg Chuck looked like life had dealt him a few bad hands.  Which may be why he had so much to sing about.  There was a visceral gutsiness about his music, which caressed and tore at my soul.
The kind of music I like.

Happy Birthday, John

You would have been seventy years old today.  I'm sure you're still rocking among the stars.  Tonight I was busking on 2nd and Chestnut Streets.  I set up a little shrine for you.  I had a t-shirt with a large portrait of you on the front with the word "Imagine" under it, which I draped over my guitar case, and lit a candle which burned all night long while I performed.  I ended up talking with a lot of people about you, people who seemed to need to talk about you, your contributions, your memory.  People of all ages.  I ended up singing all the Beatles songs I know tonight.  People sang along with me, which doesn't happen very often, and I let them.  It was kind of a Happening for you, John. 
The highlight of the evening was when an older couple came by with two young girls.  I figured out quickly they were their granddaughters and they were out on the town for the evening.  The older daughter was maybe thirteen and warmed up to me instantly, took up her position next to me.  I didn't mind.  Her younger sister stood behind her, not wanting to miss out on anything, but still a little shy.  The thirteen-year old knew as many Beatles songs as I did and they didn't seem to want to leave, so I decided, this was the reason I was there tonight.  To meet her and sing with her.  She could harmonize pretty well, and the two of us ran through song after song, songs I've never played before.  I'd like to think maybe John was smiling down on me, enjoying the moment.  We sang some of the more playful songs as well, like an "Octopus's Garden." 
Anyway, John, you surely have had an effect on this world.  You've touched our hearts.  You've brought us together.   Thank you, John.

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

Imagine that.