Giving Thanks for Music

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....

Young Busker in Fairmount

Jerry is ready to share his music with the world.  He's ten years old and already finding that performing in front of his mom's flower shop in Fairmount is fun.  He's tickled that he has made a few bucks, too.  I've been working with him on his guitar for only a few months, but his energy and enthusiasm is pulling him forward rapidly as his skills with his guitarwork expand.  Currently he's working on a few old standards, like "Amazing Grace" and "Old Blue." (He really has a dog named "Blue.")  He's also exploring more contemporary songs, like Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues" and Don McLean's "American Pie."  He's putting his own spin on "American Pie," as he surprised me recently by singing and playing the song on his own.  He has stage presence and no fear.  A good combination for someone who wants to perform, especially on the streets of Philadelphia.  There are so many great songs out there to learn and share.  I can't wait till he says to me one day, "Hey, listen to this song I just wrote myself."  And if you're in the neighborhood and just happen to be walking by Plants, Etc. after school lets out, you just might catch a few of his tunes....

You go, Jerry, and I'll try to stay out of your way.

Angel

The other day I was singing in Suburban Station, and and angel hovered next to me, and started harmonizing with me.  Songs she didn't know.  Original songs.  In perfect harmony.  With a gospel spice, which was wonderful.  Clarissa was her name.  She sang with me, call and response, and at times she would take it and run with it....I played guitar and let her channel the Spirit.   A crowd gathered and appreciated our performance.  Eventually Clarissa realized it was time to move on.  I was sad to see her go.
This is why I play on the streets.  This connection.  This opportunity to share the spirit through music with the passing parade.  
Thank you Clarissa, and bless you.

Doctor David is in the House

I'm always grateful for people.  I think that is one of the most pleasurable and satisfying aspects of this busking business...the people.  Singing on the streets and in the subways is ever so interesting and enriching because of the interaction with people.
Of course, there are the people who are desperate, who are angry, who take it out on you with verbal abuse and harrassment, but they are few.  If anything, that kind of experience keeps things in perspective and keeps it real.  So I welcome a human challenge once in a while.
For the most part, however, people are wonderful.  For example, the drawing above.  A young man wanted to give me a gift for playing for him.  He had no money, but he pulled out his sketchpad and sat down opposite me and created this drawing and then handed it to me proudly.  This made my day.
I love seeing the regulars.  Most have long since stopped giving me a donation.  But that's o.k.  Once you feel like you are friends, it becomes difficult to accept money anyway. 
Then there are the regulars, a few of them, who give money everytime they see you.  I almost don't want them to donate, because it keeps the relationship business-like, kind of friendly, but at arm's length.  You know you'll never get close to them, because it is a business transaction.  And that's o.k., too.  Afterall, part of the reason I busk is to earn money, and without their loyalty I wouldn't be earning a cent. 
But mostly I appreciate it when someone stops and actually listens, then comments on the song.  Actually listens and comments on the song. 
That is when I know I have struck a chord with my audience.  Made a connection through the music.  Music is very healing.  It is the best medicine I know. 
Doctor David is in the house.

Occupying Philadelphia

It's a mystery to me
We have a greed with which we have agreed
Well you think you have go want more than you need
Until you have it all, you won't be free.
Society, you're a crazy breed
hope you're not lonely, without me....

Gotta hand it to the protesters, who occupied City Hall Plaza to call attention to the inequities of our society.  Gotta hand it to Eddy Vedder for writing his song "Society," to call attention to the greed with which we have agreed.
When will it end?  When will the poor and disenfranchised of all races realize, that it is not a race issue...it is a money issue.  Only when the poor of all races join together, recognize their common plight, will there be any progress in making this world a friendlier, more peaceful place to live.
I hope through my music, I can add fuel to their fire, help inspire a new way of thinking in this country....

It's Good to Be Back

It's good to back, busking again.  I've been to Suburban Station, where I met up with my friends from the P&C Restaurant.   It felt like I was coming home again.  So many people passing by, telling me how good it was, that I was back.  It felt good to be sharing the music again.  Seeing people, sharing smiles, thumbs up, stopping to chat.
Also, playing down on 2nd and Chestnut Streets, meeting up with fellow buskers, checking in, the hugs, the smiles, having been away for so many months...it feels good to know I've been missed.
The music connects us all. 
May it bring peace and love to the world.

Healed, Here Comes the Sun

Little Darlin', it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little Darlin', it seems like years since it's been clear,
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say,
It's all right.....

I feel like it's been a long winter for healing.  Last night I ventured out on the streets of Philadelphia for the first time in months.  It was First Friday in Philadelphia, where all the art galleries in Old City open their doors to celebrate the arts and offer wine and good times.  It was crowded.  Vendors with jewelry and art crowded 2nd Street with their tables to the beat of drummers and singer-songwriters.  It was quite a happening.  I found my familiar spot on 2nd and Chestnut and played for three hours.  It felt great to be out there again, singing, sharing my music.  Several store owners welcomed me back warmly.  It's nice to have been missed.  It was a beautiful warm Friday night.  Fireworks crackled over the Delaware River.  The street hummed with activity.  Yes, it was good to be back.
Most of all, I met up with some musician friends I hadn't seen in months.  Clinton, a 62-year-old trumpet player gave me a big burly hug and a crinkly-eyed smile.  Huey, my banjo buddy, filled me in on all the goings on with the cops. 
Yes, it was good to be back.
Last week I was in Bangor, Maine, at the American Folk Festival with my son, Andre.  It was a wonderful time, full of musicians, not only from the USA, but from China, Mexico, Egypt, Quebec, and India.  The blues musicians from Louisiana and Mississippi were very cool.  Most of all I enjoyed the buskers.  There was one cool dude who played mandolin.  Just stood there and played mandolin the whole day.  Hours and hours.  He had to be the most devoted busker I have ever met in my life.  There were other musicians, who played guitar and congas and flute and dulcimer, but that mandolin player sticks in my mind most of all. 
Music. 
Helps to make sense out of the chaos.
And heal the wounds.