The Mission

Last night was ridiculous.

I will preface this by saying that I was really down on busking last week. I had a negative interaction with a fellow street musician and I wonder if that affected me more than I acknowledged, because I really didn't feel like playing. Weekdays are hard anyway. I was just really sick of my songs, of my bungee cords, of smiling nonstop. Sick of being alone while looking for spots, playing, and going home. I was having doubts about my current occupation for the first time, and wondering where I could go from here. I know I'm not good enough at the accordion to seek or accept gigs, but if I keep playing just well enough to make money on the streets I'm going to get bored, I reckon. I can attribute a couple of things to these negative feelings. One was staying up late watching youtube videos of George Watsky, San Francisco-born slam poet and good friend of my friends Jackson, Jenna, and Kush. Youtube him.

He is a perfect model of what to do with one's talent. He started performing in SF as a teen (my friends have heard of him and seen him perform!), went to college for it, has performed all over the country, and has been on Ellen (my overarching goal). He has merchandise. It's not that I resent him for his success, but quite the opposite. I am a huge fan of his, but realize that I'm SO not there yet. What we have in common is the initiative: to maintain an active youtube channel, to record our work, to make t-shirts, to travel the world doing our craft, etc. What he has that I don't is virtuosity. Now, I'm content just being a street musician, nothing more, which doesn't require virtuosity. But there is so much pressure to take it to the next level and get gigs and play for an audience. The idea of an audience for my accordion playing scares me (although I love it for singing and stuff), because my brain has to be involved. One of my favorite things to talk about is motor memory, which fascinates me. I used to think hard about my songs and be amazed when my hand got there before my brain. Now, though, I count on it. When I learn hard songs, I know there's no point in my brain memorizing it because my hands will. "Beyond the Sea" is a classic example: it's one of my prettier songs because it has a complicated right hand. I just played it over and over until my right hand knew it. The same goes for my new Jackson 5 song: I bought sheet music with a complicated right hand, I can play it when I look at the music, but I'm just waiting for my right hand to get it so I can play it on the street. Anyway, this is relevant because on the streets, my hands do the playing, and my brain does the street stuff: remembering to smile, acknowledging and thanking patrons and passersby, noticing drivers who roll down their windows, walkers who pause their iPods, etc. My brain's in charge of stereotyping the groups that will soon be walking by so I can choose between "Lady of Spain," "Lady Gaga," and "Old MacDonald Had A Farm." Half the time I don't know what song I'm playing. In a concert/audience setting, my brain wouldn't have the stuff it's used to, so it would no doubt try to backseat drive my hands and screw everything up. Once I start thinking about a song I get off and once I'm off I usually can't get back on. (Is this why people drink before performing?) The music is more important in a concert setting, as people hear the entire songs. I'm used to most people hearing a five-second snippet, so I can abort a song if I don't actually want to play it, skip verses, add verses, or meld into a new song. This is why the idea of gigs doesn't appeal to me. Since I'm not striving for gigs, people wonder why I play. I got to wondering this myself this week, wondering why I'm planning a tour, why I don't be obnoxious and go to tourist areas and get in people's faces.

But last night I did my thing and it was really uplifting. People told me that it's really brave what I'm doing, and that they wished they could quit their jobs and do what I'm doing. Although I hear that a lot, it really stays with me each time. I do need reminding of that. Last night I was truly proud of what I do again, and was able to assess my work outside of a concert-track. My "playing back student loans" sign was a hit last night, with folks telling me they're also working on theirs, or they just finished theirs, or that they're just waiting for the system to crash (one guy. Wouldn't that be nice?) I just put the sign up to make more money, but I got to thinking about the true meaning of it while my hands went off on "Don't Stop Me Now" (HA, I picked a random song but that's probably the best one I could have chosen for this post). I play to make money (among other reasons), but I don't think about what I do with that money. I just put it in my bank account, and my student loans come out of that account. However, it's much more uplifting to think that those specific wadded up dollars and sticky nickels are the ones going to the DOE in a reused manila envelope to pay off my loans. I make more than enough a month just playing to pay these, which means I could actually make enough busking in the next ten years so that every cent of my loans is paid just through music. That in it's own would give my busking purpose.

Alternatively, I have dreams of writing my memoir. (Check out Dreamtime Alice. It's a memoir of a young female busker that I read over Christmas, and it's quite inspirational both for busking and writing.) What will make my memoir a best-seller one day (aw, shucks!) is the crazy stuff that happens on the streets, playing songs badly, perhaps. A book about a group of people sitting quietly and still while I play would not be that interesting. Thus, if nothing else, I am busking to gather material for my book. I'm not trying to make it to the Hall of Fame of accordion players, just the Hall of Fame of buskers. As long as I keep upgrading my act in tangible ways (such as adding ankle percussion and continuing to learn new songs), I will get there.

Lastly, before we get to the fun stuff, I've also been feeling lonely while I play. I've met so many cool little jug bands who perform, and I envy the dynamic they must have. There are so many decisions to be made each day at work: when to play, where to play, what song to start with, when to stop for pizza, whether certain songs are working, etc., and decisions are more fun to make with other people. On the days when no one is stopping to talk (/drunkenly ramble about god knows what), I don't utter a word besides "thanks." I choose to play alone because I don't have to share the money that way (and maybe I don't want to share the fame either?), but I am now open to the opportunity of playing with other musicians, even putting together a band. Okay that's enough philosophizing for one post, on to the crazy shit that happened last night!

Friday, February 11
I chose to try playing on Valencia St. in the Mission district last night instead of in my usual Friday night spot of the Castro. Valencia St. is a bustle of coffee shops, restaurants, bookstores, vintage clothes stores, and bars, so it is obviously the most fun street in the city. I've seen buskers there on accosion (Wow. Ever since I started writing the word "accordion" frequently I can no longer write the word "according." Apparently the word "occasion" has been erased as well.) I've seen buskers there on occasion, but haven't tried yet. I'm worried about not getting a spot in the Castro on Valentine's Day night, since there are many buskers and few spots, so I wanted to try out another spot to maybe play at that night. Also I don't want to run into the douche busker. I set up on the corner of 16th St. and Valencia and played from about 7:00-10:00 pm. It was very busy, and, best of all, people actually stopped to listen. They stayed for entire songs, sometimes even multiple. That was refreshing.

1. Although out of order, I will start with...THE DRUG DEALER!! A big guy dressed all in black came up just blatantly holding his bubbler, reeking of weed. He had a big gun tattooed on his arm, and a gun necklace. He gave me $2 and made a joke about a man in black that I didn't get. He saw my sign and said he's currently risking 25-life trying to pay for school, through the illegal distribution of narcotics. He asked how long I play for, sharing that when he was on a $200-a-day habit he had to work 12-hour days to pay for it. Over the course of the evening (he stayed for a while) he said, "I have $5 that's yours if you can play the Godfather song." Hell yes. I played it, he paid up, and a man who had heard it across the street ran over to chip in. Old men requested it in Provincetown so I learned it, but I don't play it much. That will definitely change. The drug dealer had just watched all three Godfather movies that afternoon so he was into it. Later he offered me an additional $10 if I could play it again and he could record it on his iPhone. Deal. Despite my performance/recording/brain/hand block, I concentrated and played it exceptionally well for the camera. After this one another man ran over to compliment it. Okay, definitely in the starting rotation now. Each time the drug dealer gave me money he took a huge wad out of his pocket that had several hundred dollar bills on the outside. Careful, buddy. He eventually found something else to do for the evening.

2. Two guys walked by on their way home with a case of beer. They put two behind my box, which I enjoyed through the evening. Hey, it was still Friday night. It turns out they live upstairs from where I was playing, so they told me to play happy songs and that they'd be listening.

3. Later in the evening I thought I'd try out "My Heart Will Go On," which I haven't played in a while. Afterwards a guy in full chef garb gave me money and said, bashfully, "You got me!" Alright!

4. A band came by hoping my spot was empty. They took off when they saw it wasn't, but one guy hung around. He was wearing a frog hat, and we talked for a bit. He hung around while I played, and at times added percussion on a metal newspaper dispenser. It actually added a lot. I looked over again and this guy had somehow maneuvered himself into the traffic light. Cool.

5. I had a little crowd, and someone asked for "The Entertainer," which I limped through. Then a man in the crowd proposed Bach instead. I rattled out "Minuet 3" which was actually pretty easy (again, go motor memory. I played it on piano as a kid so my right hand already knew it, deep down in its joints). Classical accordion really is a different sound, and I could definitely fit more into my sets.

6. A drunk man asked if I could play something that sounded like "Casa Choke." He said that I have to play it, that everyone loves it. Negroes, he added, love it. Eek. Does that sound like a song that any of my faithful blog readers know? This guy's speech was quite slurred so who knows what he was saying.

7. I made a friend named Daniel who hung around for a while. While he was there a guy came over with a lot on his mind. He told us that no one gives a shit about the poor, do we think city hall cares about the homeless? You think you have a lot of friends, but when you're down on your luck and need a hand where are your friends? Nowhere to be found. But if you win the lottery you'll have more friends than ever before. America, he said, has turned into a monster. Except he pronounced it "muenster," and it was hard not to giggle through this serious soliloquy. Mmmm muenster.

8. A homeless-appearing woman came up and nicely told me that she wanted to buy a one-dollar beer. Too bad I had already opened my second one, or else I would have given it to her! I gave her a dollar from my box. She came back a few minutes later and said there was sales tax, could I throw in a quarter? I told her to go ahead and grab one. She said, "Oh no, I don't want to touch your money!" so I fished one out. She introduced herself with a long, multi-syllabic, beautiful name that included "angelinica" among a few other syllables, I think, listened to a song, and gave me a hug.

9. A pair of folks my age stopped to listen while I was playing "My Funny Valentine" for like the second time ever, and totally screwing it up. Bad omen for their relationship? I quickly switched to "Love me Tender," which I'm a little more on top of, then the guy asked if he could try my accordion. I let him, happy to take the weight off my shoulders for a few minutes. He balanced it on his knee (the straps were very tight on him) and rocked out an amazing zydeco performance. I'm used to hooligans wanting to try it, and never expect them to actually be accordion players. It turns out he plays in a Zydeco band. I definitely want to go hear them play.

10. Twice I was asked to play Beer Barrel Polka. I love playing it; it has such great energy and is actually quite complicated. The second time the gymnast-man drummed along. Always fun.

11. An old man walked by so I quit playing Lady Gaga in favor of "Lady of Spain," usually the favorite among the older crowd. He stopped and said, "Oh, no! ANYTHING but Lady of Spain!" Oh snap.

12. A guy stood next to me and sang along with "Beyond the Sea." Loved that.

Alas, I can't remember anything else now, although I know there was more to tell. Oh, I got condoms in my box for the first time, as well as a CD and a necklace.

I guess I might as well write about this morning quickly, before I forget:

Saturday

I headed out this morning in full valentine's day garb (heart socks my mom gave me a few years ago, a pink skirt, red earrings, and a headband with two pink pipe-cleaner hearts. My plan was to play at 24th and Sanchez, by the Noe Valley Farmer's Market again, but a saxophone player beat me to it. I found a spot half a block west outside of the former Real Food store that was closed.

Played for a bit, some more people took babysitting flyers. A little girl named Annabelle and her dad stopped, and requested some fine kids' tunes. A man with a mustache waxed to curl, without quite curling, recognized "Hernando's Hideaway" and told me about how controversial Tango was at first. He recommended going to Argentina. They he started singing Lady of Spain so I picked it up and he sang along for the whole thing.

Lots of cute kids. At writing capacity, can't remember more.

Going to this concert tonight! Go accordions!