Giving Thanks

There are many things I give thanks for.  Although the world is not a perfect place, I am grateful for so many things.  This week has showered me with many blessings.
For example, on Monday, I went into the P&C Restaurant to get my usual green tea with lemon and a bottle of water, before I started playing in Suburban Station.  Henry, the son of the owner who works behind the counter, greeted me with his usual smile.  He looked up at the clock and said, "You're late. It's one-thirty."  I cherished this moment.  Attention must be paid.
Also, my Chinese opera singer stopped by and asked me, "Are you going to be here tomorrow?"
Sweet.
Then there was the police woman who sat down at the cafe table near me.  I was singing the song "September Morning."  She looked at me and smiled, listening, as I sang the chorus, "We're all tied together, like lights on a tree, this flow of humanity, these people and me, the squirrels and the pigeons, the birds in the tree, we're all tied together, these creatures and me."  She nodded in approval.
Then my new friend Sumaki stopped by for tea and a conversation.  Then a coworker from my job at the museum appeared and listened for a while and then talked about August Sky and our albums.
I am grateful for my friends and family, for the love I feel.....
I wish for all my friends that you feel as blessed in this holiday season.

It's All About the People, Part 2

Austin, a philosopher, and I talked about the connections we all have with each other and how we affect each other permanently with our auras and vibrations.  I sang for him a song that Patricia and I wrote called "September Painting," which appears on our second album "Flight."  If you want to hear it, you can log on to www.cdbaby.com/augustsky2 and give it a listen.  The lyrics celebrate our interconnectedness.  It's all about the people....

September Painting

September morning, I sit in the park,
People walking, laughing, talking,
The splashes of color, the flashes of light,
Is it a van Gogh or a Claude Monet,
This beautiful morning, this September day.

The leaves are turning, the air is cool,
A baby cries, a pigeon coos,
I think of my childhood, no care in the world,
A painting of memory, my thoughts display,
This beautiful morning, this September day.

We're all tied together like lights on a tree
This flow of humanity, these people and me,
The squirrels and the pigeons, the birds in the tree,
We're all tied together, these creatures and me.

The old couple steps so carefully,
Holding hands so delicately,
They point at the babies as mothers stroll by,
A painting of memory of years gone by,
This beautiful morning, this September day.

We're all tied together, like lights on a tree,
This flow of humanity, these people and me,
The squirrels and the pigeons, the birds in the tree,
We're all tied together, these creatures and me.

Strike Over, Austin, and Richie Havens

The SEPTA strike is over.  The musicians are back at Suburban Station.  The sounds of conga drums, hammer dulcimer, and guitar now reverberate through the concourse again.
I met Austin on the bus going in town this morning.  Austin is a slender musician, my age, and he jumped right in to philosophizing about life, the people we meet, the impressions we make on each other, the vibrations we exchange with each other, the lasting effect we have on each other.  There are no filters with Austin.  I ride with him for about fifteen minutes, but time doesn't exist while he talks non-stop, and he has taken me to a new level of awareness.  The effect we have on each other.
Later that morning, as I'm playing at Suburban Station, Austin has found me again.  He wanders up and smiles.  Between songs, we chat.  We talk about the musicians we grew up with, like Odetta and Richie Havens.  I fumble through Havens' song "Morning, Morning."  I promise him, I'll learn the song by the next time he shows up.  Austin and I share a special place in our hearts for Richie Havens.   He was the first musician I ever saw live.  I was in the seventh grade.  My cool parents took me and my folkie friend Peter Sullivan (this was 1964) to the live show "Folk Music, USA" on WGBH public television in Boston.  We were in the coffeehouse audience.  Thank you, Richie Havens, for opening my eyes to the world of live music....
I could talk to Austin all day.  I excuse myself, however, and tell him, I have to get back to work.  He flashes me a magnetic smile, we shake, and he drifts off, much like the way he arrived.  Like a wonderful and refreshing vapor.  Until the next time, Austin.
Thank you, Austin, for enhancing my day.  Until the next time.
Austin, another mentor on the Path.
It's all about the people.......

The Strike Continues.....

With no end in sight, the SEPTA bus strike continues.  Nerves are frayed, tempers are short, streets are crowded with cars, who seem to think, all courtesy has been suspended as well....welcome to the City that Loves You Back, or maybe that, too, will be reinstated after the strike is over.  In the meantime, we walk the walk.  I wish SEPTA and the Drivers Union would talk the talk.
And musicians remain silent in Suburban Station.
Next week this busker will be heading south to check out the music scene in Puerto Rico, among other things.  The last time we were down there, Pat and I visited the club of the jazz pianist Carli Munoz who played for Wilson Pickett, George Benson and the Beach Boys, among others.  He has his own club in Old San Juan and plays piano with a Latin percussionist. Very cool.  We also got a good dose of the popular music style called reggaeton, which is kind of Latin rap, which kept the barrio near us called La Perla up all night.  We had no choice but to join in, but we enjoyed it.  This time we'll head to the west and south coasts, and maybe we'll find music with a more indigenous flavor, away from the big city.
I'm hoping the SEPTA strike will be over by the time we get back.  I miss playing at my spot and seeing my people.  But most of all, I know the city will breathe a sigh of relief when the contract is settled, and people can get back to their routines.

SEPTA Strike--Music Permits Suspended

Yes, as you may know, in the middle of the night SEPTA went on strike.  I was told the music permits would be suspended for the duration of the strike.  I also won't be playing next week at all, because I will be in Puerto Rico, taking in the music scene there, among other things.  So, it looks like I won't be back till the 16th of November, assuming the strike is over by then.
I was so up for today, too.  I wanted to sing my rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."  I figure, it's the least I can do to help the Phillies.
Stay tuned for updates about the strike.....
You'd think, music would be just the ticket to soothe the frayed nerves of people who have to wait in long lines for the regional rail trains.  I mean, I can think of several songs that would be really appropriate.  Like, "Charley on the MTA" or "The people on the bus go up and down, up and down, up and down..."  Well, on second thought......

Autumn Leaves, Edith Piaf, and the Granola Bar

This has been a good week so far. Most of my regulars have stopped by, or just smiled in passing. It feels good to check in with my musical family. The judge in his 80's, with his retired Chinese opera singer on his arm, my flower store friends and the restaurant owners, the dollar store owners...they've all checked in. There is a warmth building here. Maybe it's just me, feeling acceptance and support, but it feels good.
Today a lanky young man stood still for about five minutes in front of me, listening, studying the floor, or lost in his thoughts. He opened his back pack and pulled out a granola bar and tossed it into the case, then smiled and took off. I thanked him for lunch.
Then there was the little old lady, probably under five feet tall, I guess in her 80's, who had lunch at the nearby table. She was a Ruth Gordon type with an impish sparkle in her eye. After she finished eating, she walked up to me. "I didn't know what on earth you were playing, and I didn't recognize any of your songs, but I liked what you did." I thanked her, and asked her, what kind of music she liked. "I'm a singer," she said. "I like the old romantic songs." I started playing and singing the old French song, which Johnny Mercer translated into English called, "Autumn Leaves." My new friend started swaying to the music, took a deep breath, then joined me in harmony. The two of us stood there, the odd couple, singing "Autumn Leaves" in harmony. It was beautiful. It touched my heart. Harold and Maude.
If you want to hear how I play "Autumn Leaves" you can go to YouTube and type in "Eva Cassidy--Autumn Leaves." This is my favorite arrangement, and I've tried to copy it. There's also a great version on YouTube of Edith Piaf singing it in both French and English.
What a great song.
The autumn leaves, drift by my window,
Those autumn leaves of red and gold.
I see your lips, those summer kisses
Those sunburned hands, I used to hold.
Since you went away, the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I'll miss you most of all, my darling,
When autumn leaves start to fall.

Patricia, A Russian Family, an Unexpected Singer

The other day I was setting up at my assigned spot. The new location is not bad, now that I'm getting used to it. It's at a crossroads of hallways, guaranteeing plenty of foot traffic, and next to some tables from Au Bon Pain Cafe, where people sit and eat. Anyway, I was just about to start playing when I saw Patricia, my lovely wife, smiling at me, waving, from down the hall, as she approached. She's my biggest fan, as you might imagine. Also, in case you don't know, she is the co-author of all our August Sky songs. Often she would write a poem, then hand it to me, and I would set it to music. Rogers and Hammerstein, White and Reichenbacher. Three-quarters of the songs on my setlist are August Sky songs. Even though we are not performing as a duo any more, I'm keeping the music alive. Thank you, Patricia, for the gift of these songs.
No sooner did Patricia sit down at the table nearest me to listen, I was joined by a woman who was a little rough around the edges. She stood next to me and with a toothless alcoholic voice the same baritone register as mine, started singing "Oh, What a Beautiful City" gospel style, clapping to the beat, full volume. At first, I figured, I'd accompany her for a moment, then she'd move on. I played along, but after three verses, I could see, she was just getting warmed up, with no intention of stopping. Finally, I thanked her for sharing and told her, I was going to sing my own songs now. She continued full volume. I took a dollar out of the guitar case, thanked her again, and said goodbye. She stopped singing and asked for a second dollar. I shook my head, smiled, and thanked her again, then started singing. At that point, she turned and shuffled off, making her way to the tables, asking for money along the way.
It's all part of the fabric.
Today a family walked by, a father, mother and two teenage daughters. The mother was round and was dressed like a Matrushka doll. The father wore a neat brown suit. The girls were dressed more western. They smiled and nodded, crinkly eyes and gold teeth. I nodded and smiled back and kept singing. They slowed their pace, and the father reached into his wallet and took out a dollar, placing it into the guitar case. I had finished my song, so I bowed to them and thanked them. They bowed, smiled, then moved on. About a half hour later, they returned. I stopped singing and handed them a copy of the first August Sky cd. "A gift for you. Thank you very much. Where are you from?" I asked. "Russia," the mother said. They couldn't stop smiling. "Welcome to the U.S." I said. They smiled and moved on, looking at the cd as they walked away.
Yes, it's all part of the fabric.