Thanksgiving Day. I give thanks for music, for my ability to play and sing for people. I give thanks for the people who stop and listen, who smile, who wave, who give thumbs up. I give thanks for the spontaneous outbursts of praise and criticism, for the interaction with the people in my world. It's what it is to be alive, to interact with people. Yes, I do love the spontaneous response from some people when I'm playing on the streets. As you can imagine, it runs the gammot. Everything from skilled musicians and singers, to people who are absolutely insane. The big city is a haven for the insane. Also a haven for wonderfully gifted artists. I love the extremes.
Two people stand out this week for me. One African-American harmonica player stood near me, listening, then slipped a "G" harmonica out of his pocket, as if to offer it to me. He smiled, a toothless smile, with bright, crinkly eyes. I started playing "King Bee," one of my favorite blues songs. He joined right in. I sang a few verses, then said, "Buzz awhile..." giving him the cue to take it and run with it. He created a fabulous instrumental. People gathered around. A few people tossed tips into my guitar case. After the song was over we laughed for joy and split the tips. We shook hands and he was off onto some new adventure.
The second person who stopped by was this crazed, wild woman, probably in her late twenties, bubbling with enthusiasm and electricity. She loved my playing. She said, "Do you know
Paint it Black?" I love the Rolling Stones, and so I broke into the driving rhythm of the song. She started belting out the song, rough scratchy voice, like she smoked four packs of cigarettes a day, chasing them with a bottle of Jack Daniels. Wild and crazy. Think Janis Joplin, only wilder. She was awesome. So full of spirit and fire.
When the song was over, she raced off, her army surplus overcoat flapping behind her, like Icabod Crane.
And people ask me, why I like playing on the streets....
