Monday, December 3, 2012
"Those are Elf Shoes"
Well, the season has begun! That is, the season of living in an elf costume. This marks my third December of holiday busking on the streets of Northampton, MA, and Flaca's first. I spent last week making Flaca a matching elf costume out of scraps of leftover material (everything but the stockings), and doing some repairs on the accordion and the box. I planned to play in Amherst at the lighting of the Merry Maple, but it was cold, I had worked all day already substitute teaching, and I wasn't sure if I'd be allowed to set up Amherst, and where I would do so. I stayed home Saturday as well because it was snowing all day, and although that makes for a nice ambiance, accordions don't like getting wet. So today, Sunday, I located all the pieces of my own costume and drove into town.
Today was also the day of the Hot Chocolate Run, a yearly event in Northampton. The newspaper said that it generates the second-most foot traffic in Northampton, after First Night. I was looking forward to that, but by the time I arrived at noon it had already wound down. There were still some people out, though, and the usual holiday shoppers. There wasn't a single other performer out that I could see, so I decided to go for the gold and set up right outside Thornes. I went a little to the side, though, in front of Ted's Boot Shop. Soon into my set Ted came out and asked if I would move over a little since my audience was standing in the doorway to his shop which he didn't like. A nice lady helped me move, and Ted even gave me a tip! And later he walked by again and said, "You gotta sing too!" Now that's not very grumpy.
I played at this spot for about three hours, playing mostly non-Christmas songs. The past two years I played pretty Christmas songs, and the act was quite corny. I decided to pump the breaks on the full Christmas corniness this year, thinking that the costumes were enough. Also, I can't find the notecards that have the chords to relevant songs written on them. Something I began to do last year and want to bring back, however, is doing Klezmer/minor-key versions of Christmas songs. Last year I worked on Jingle Bells, [J] Oy to the World, and Deck the Halls, and I was able to limp through them today. I hadn't practiced with Flaca, though, so I had to try to incorporate her in on the spot. My first few attempts were quite bad, as was my improvised normal Jingle Bells for one little girl, so some passersby surely thought I was awful. My other idea for this year is to appeal to the curmudgeons by playing such songs as "The Final Countdown," "Paint it Black," and "Stayin' Alive." Furthermore, I want to put these into medleys with Christmas songs: "The Twelve Days of Christmas" into "The Final Countdown," "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" into Paint it Black (because both in Gm, thank you Kush!), etc. I'll save these for when I have crowds, though, since it's good for people to stay long enough to get both songs and see what I did there. Otherwise I'm just playing my normal Flaca songs, since they're the ones with which I do her best: Funiculi Funicula, Tico Tico, La Donna é Mobile, etc. I might try to dust off more pretty ones/singalongs, but for now I'd rather do non-seasonal songs well and let the costumes do the Christmas-ing.
All in all, it was a great first day out, and I'm totally pumped for this season. Maybe I'll even go back into Boston on weekdays! Anyway...
Prologue: Busking in America
In addition to being the first Elf busking in a year, today marked my first American busking since last New Year's Eve. It's sort of cool how weird it was:
i. Earning paper money. I got used to earning only coins in Europe, which are great when the wind is blowing! Additionally, it's really cool when, depending on the temperature/location of the sun, you pick them up and they're hot or cold to the touch. It is also a great feeling walking home with a heavy bag, knowing it was a lucrative day--a phenomenon dollar bills don't provide. Conversely, it's much easier to grab a wad of bills and tuck them away mid-set than it is to do so with coins. So that's good. The main downside of earning US Dollars is that I can't convert my take into US Dollars and get a higher number!
ii. Everyone speaking English/having American accents. For my six weeks on the road I was accustomed to most people talking to me in a language other than English, and having to tell them "Ich spreche kein Deutsch" or "Ne mluvím česky" or whatever. I would quickly rack my brain trying to remember what country I was in so I could say "thank you" in the accurate language, and usually mess it up. Today, I got to show my appreciation verbally without thinking about it, and I could sound as American as I wanted. It was nice having long conversations again!
iii. Seeing people I knew! Although I got used to seeing "regulars" in Edinburgh, it has been a while since I've run into someone I know whom I did not expect to see while busking. I was happy to see one good friend, a grade-school classmate, a neighbour, the mother of another friend, and a cousin (although that was planned). It's a nice way to catch up with people!
Now, onto the good stuff...
Sunday, 2 December 2012
1. As I was setting up, a woman stopped and said something like, "Oh good, a puppet of color!" This was interesting, since I hadn't given too much thought to Flaca's race. I thought it was more obvious when she wore her original traditional Mexican garments, but now I just think of her as just some little girl. It wasn't until one of my Spanish roommates in Edinburgh asked if she was Whoopie Goldberg that I realized people would notice her hue. One fellow busker even suggested that people would find it questionable that I, the Caucasian "boss" had a dark-skinned person under my control. Luckily no punters have said anything of the sort, so I hope I haven't offended anyone. If anything, Flaca's the star and she bosses me around! The only "issue" there is with her skin tone, as far as I see it, is that it's hard to see her face while busking after dark. For that reason only I was considering giving my next puppet lighter skin. But if her multi-nationality actually makes people happy, like the woman today, then By George my next puppet will be racially ambiguous as well!
2. I talked a few times to an older woman who stopped by. "Are you the elf?" she asked. I said I was. She took it all in, and declared, "Those are elf shoes." And she walked away. The second time she asked if I was Santa's helper. I said yes, and asked what she wanted for Christmas. "Santa always brings me nice things," she said with a smile. Hope that holds up this year!
3. I'll shamelessly say that I got a lot of compliments on the whole setup: my costume, Flaca's costume, and the rig in general. People in the Valley are artsy, so crafting and sewing and such is well-received. Made me very happy. One girl even said something that suggested she doesn't like street performers, but she liked me. I was called "Very original" on a few occasions. This was great, since that's what I'm after by using the puppet! About five minutes into my set, one woman stopped and showered me with compliments. She ended with, "Your dedication and stamina is inspirational." How does she know? Could she tell I was going to stay out for a long time? Maybe she thought I was someone else who had been out earlier! Either way, it's nice to feel inspirational :)
4. As I was setting up, a man stopped by and asked me for directions to Broadside Books, which I provided (another nice thing about being home). Later, he walked by, caught my eye, and said, "Found it!" I just thought that was endearing. Phew!
5. There was one guy hanging out that was a bit sad. Seemed down on his luck. He was so friendly, though, and seemed to see me as a comrade since I make money on the streets (I felt bad that I had to ignore some of his questions and chatter mid-song). He claimed that "Funiculi Funicula" made him feel sad, and asked if I know any Beatles. We agreed that I would play "Ob La Di," which he said makes him feel better. Glad to be of assistance! Also, when I was playing the Godfather theme, he exclaimed, "'House of the Rising Sun,' right on!" Oops. I'm sure I'll be seeing more of him.
6. I talked to another man whose mother is off to Dublin where she will busk! I told him to warn her that the restrictions in Dublin are many, but he said she's been going on and off for years so she knows the drill.
7. Yet another man hung for a while, and he dropped in a peppermint candy and a packet of foot-warmers! He remembered me from past years, and asked if I was going back to California. Coool.
8. A middle-aged couple tipped, and said, "We especially liked 'Speak to Me of Love.' It's one of our favourites!" Ah, yes....I figured this was another "House of the Rising Sun." Then I remembered that "Parlez-moi d'Amour" is in fact "Speak to me of Love." Right, "Yes, it's one of my favorites too!" I yelled after them, minutes later.
9. Some teen boys walked by a few times, and one of them dropped a few coins each time, sending his friends into greater fits of laughter each time. It was nice though, even teens in the Valley are cool.
10. "Stayin' Alive" was recognized for its second time, by a mother with a baby! Glad she liked it, and maybe saw the Christmas relevance in it?
11. New "unhelpful patron" award goes to the lady who recognized her friends and stopped them right in front of me to chat, obscuring me from view for a while, didn't notice, then drove her baby's stroller right into the box. Thaaanksss.
12. Someone pointed out that I look like Mrs. Claus, but I just need some red! Eek, my fears about aging are confirmed!
13. I decided to try to use my student loan sign, since it goes over well in Hamp. One guy saw me trying to stand it up and fetched me some tape from Thornes. Awesome. People did comment, appropriately laughing when I told them I studied Psychology. One asked if I graduated, saying that at least I had that. True.
14. A nice couple stopped for a while and we discussed my act. They wanted to hear a song, so I gave them the option of "pretty holiday," "minor-key holiday," or "non-holiday." The man said to surprise him, and the woman said that, knowing her husband, all that matters is passion. So I should play something I know well. So I did the "God Rest.../Paint it Black" medley. It went over pretty well! And nice and passionate, I hope.
15. Some Carolers set up across the street, including a couple people that had already been by and talked. I was worried when I read in the paper about scheduled holiday a cappella groups performing on the street, since they would trump buskers. This group was okay, though, but it would have been bad if I had been across the street, where I often set up last year. Eek! The thing in the paper promoting the groups gushed that they would "bring music to the streets," which hit a nerve for me. What do you call the thing the street musicians bring to the streets? I'm tempted to write a letter to the editor reminding readers of the impact these groups have on the buskers who count on holiday shopping income, but I don't want to sound totally douchey since the singers collect for charity.
I packed up because I was hungry, and it was time to jingle up the hill to Smith college to hear my cousin sing in the choir. I was glad to see other buskers on my way: this other guitar player I saw a lot last year as well as Jesse the harp player who I knew first from Provincetown. Next time I'll stop and chat!
Despite my surges of "reverse culture shock," the first Elf busk of the year reminded me that I am, in fact, glad to be home. Let's hope for good weather next weekend to continue the festivities!
Saturday, December 1, 2012
On the Road
Hello,
I unfortunately got lazy (well, had no computer nor time) while traveling to keep the blog updated about busking, so here is a big catch-up. This is the "table of contents" linking you to four posts from four countries. I have ranked them by level of relative interest, with four stars being the least boring post:
1. **Berlin und "Brazil" describes boring Halloween busking in Berlin and busking, an indoor gig, and puppets in Lübeck, Germany.
2. ***Sofas in the Wind is from Copenhagen, which was a fun day out just playing accordion.
3. *Norway is short, since I didn't busk. Just mentioned my fictional festival to trick my family.
4. ****Not Freezing to Death is the best, since it documents my final night in Europe where I was moved by the kindness of strangers in a very cold Iceland (so read this one).
Now that I'm caught up, I can go start another year of Elf business!
Love,
S+WR+F
I unfortunately got lazy (well, had no computer nor time) while traveling to keep the blog updated about busking, so here is a big catch-up. This is the "table of contents" linking you to four posts from four countries. I have ranked them by level of relative interest, with four stars being the least boring post:
1. **Berlin und "Brazil" describes boring Halloween busking in Berlin and busking, an indoor gig, and puppets in Lübeck, Germany.
2. ***Sofas in the Wind is from Copenhagen, which was a fun day out just playing accordion.
3. *Norway is short, since I didn't busk. Just mentioned my fictional festival to trick my family.
4. ****Not Freezing to Death is the best, since it documents my final night in Europe where I was moved by the kindness of strangers in a very cold Iceland (so read this one).
Now that I'm caught up, I can go start another year of Elf business!
Love,
S+WR+F
Not Freezing to Death (Reykjavik)
Reykjavik: 20 November 2012
(This post was originally written on the day in question, hence the tenses.)
I must preface this by saying that I don't think I've loved my accordion more than I do tonight. There's nothing like getting "the boss" out of a jam (although I think Wee Red is the boss).
It was my final day in Rekjavik, and the first thing on the agenda was to buy my mother an Icelandic hand-knitted sweater. But my card was declined. I texted my brother to look up my bank balance, and it was not quite the number I was hoping for. I know it's personal and stuff to talk about money, but since spending all one's money on travel isn't really a shock, I'll reveal the sum: $4.63. Insert swear of choice. I had been traveling quite frugally, but I got back into tourist mode in Iceland, paying for accommodation for a change, paying for tours, etc. The plan had been to buy a bunch of gifts, pay for one more night at the hostel in a dorm, pay extra on top of my airport bus ticket to get to the Blue Lagoon spa before my flight the next day, and pay the hefty admission fee there.
With $4, I could beg someone at the hostel to let me use their computer to post an SOS on CouchSurfing and try to find a place to sleep, skip the gifts, skip the Blue Lagoon, and just hang out in Reykjavik until it was time to take my pre-purchased bus to the airport. I thought hard about how to obtain funds immediately. The solution dawned on me far later than it should have: go busk, you half-lighthouse!* (*The Icelandic word for "half-lighthouse" means "idiot.") I didn't know for sure if I would make money, since there were not a lot of people milling about. It was also incredibly cold and windy.
I asked some Italians in the hostel to translate the instructions on my foot-warmers that I bought in Germany, put on my extra leggings and socks, and headed out. At this point my trolley was functional only because of a slab of wood attached to the remains with duct tape and gorilla glue, so it was a sight. One of Flaca's pulley/eyelets had snapped off as well, so a paperclip glued onto the box had to suffice for this day.
"Town" was indeed desolate. Reykjavik is tiny, and adorable, with two main shopping streets that lead "downtown." I found my ideal location at the intersection of those two streets, but the ground was steeply slanted which would not work for Flaca. I considered just playing, sans puppet, but decided I needed my full artillery for such a situation. Also, this was the grand finale of the trip, so I wanted her to participate. My eyes settled on this strange thing, like a big metal box. I suppose it functions as a bench in the warmer seasons, but it would be a perfect stage due to its levelness. And the height would attract extra attention, and people would be able to see Flaca. It was across the street from a Viking-themed gift shop that had its door open, but I thought I would try my luck. I set up, catching the falling pieces and borrowing duct tape from the trolley to try to make everything last until I got home. I reluctantly shed my bulky coat, and stuck the foot-warmers on the back of my hands.
What ensued was the best outing of the trip. People were not actually as scarce as I had expected, and they certainly did tip. Locals, tourists, young and old, men and women. Some naughty-looking hooligans who shouldn't be interested in accordions nor puppets lingered, watched, and tipped. A highly-fashionable, made-up, artificial blonde in heels with a sour facial expression (my smallest demographic of tippers), even dropped me something. There were bundled up toddlers, old ladies with either fur hats or furry hair, obvious American baby boomers for whom I played "Paint it Black." And....
1. One girl about my age stopped during "The Final Countdown." She had blue and green hair, many piercings, and wore an eclectic outfit. She came forward to tip, said "Sorry, I don't have anything smaller," and handed me a 5.000ISK bill. What does she mean by"sorry?" That's about £25. Definitely the biggest tip I've gotten in a while. She introduced herself as Sina or something, short for Sinøgåbjork. She came back later, and I played my newest song, "Stayin' Alive," which no one had recognized thus far. "I love the Bee Gees!" she proclaimed through applause after. I asked if she had any requests, and she said Marvin Gaye. Sorry! Bill Withers? Ain't No Sunshine? Excellent, that's a song I know very well through singing it a capella for four years. I attempted it, but bombed. Another older man was listening at that point, so I bailed and struck up something I know. Sina or whatever bade me farewell. What a kind and generous person!
2. The old man asked, "You're begging for money?" "I'm playing for it, trying to earn it." We discussed my home location, intentions, and temperature. He seemed to accept the act well enough.
3. A mother and daughter (12?) from Colorado stopped by. They are super nice, and we talked about my travels and stuff. They tipped, and the daughter said, "Good luck not freezing to death!" I'll need it!
4. These two little girls walked by, seemingly on their own One reached into her box and deposited a little pink candy. Delicious!
5. The Italians from my hostel came by, including one with an inexplicable eye patch. I played Funiculi Funicula for them, but they didn't seem to notice. They did, however, invite me to have pasta with them in the hostel later that night. That made me look really cool in front of the other passersby.
6. Two college-aged girls stopped by, and one said "I wish I had more" as she dropped coins in. Nonsense! Later, they came back and handed me a hot drink. So nice! But probably coffee, right? No! Hot chocolate! Cue heart swelling.
7. A girl about my age asked where I was staying, then said she was going to invite me over for a cup of tea or something to eat how nice! Turns out she's Baha'i, and lives with a bunch of Baha'is. She emphasized that they are creative people and would like me. She gave me her number and said to call her any time if I needed anything at all. Iris. So nice.
8. Some older Icelandic women walked by and asked, "Kåld?" or something. I looked puzzled, so someone translated: "Cold?" Ah! I thought of something semi-clever that I hadn't used before: "I'm okay, but Flaca's cold. She's got bare legs!" They liked it.
9. A young British guy walked by a couple times, and used his fancy old-fashioned camera to take photos. In his last passing he expressed his surprise that I was still out, and offered to give me his gloves. He actually wasn't the first to make such an offer. I had gloves, but I was juuust warm enough to not want them.
10. An American man asked how long I'd be out, saying he had to return to his hotel room for money but he wanted to help me out. I had been about to pack up, but I said "Maybe 20 minutes." he was not back in that time and I wanted to pack up. Oh well. But as I was closing down, I heard a voice, "I said I'd be back!" There he was! Gave me a US fiver. Score.
11. Two ladies working nearby came outside a few times to smoke, and they danced along.
12. An old man walked by while I had a bit of a crowd, and he loudly and enthusiastically clapped along to Funiculi Funicula. Like, rhythmically. It was awesome. So I skipped the fermata at the end.
13. One baby watched from its pram, then was taken out I mentioned something about dancing, and started the Beer Barrel Polka, which is very hard with frozen fingers! The kid didn't dance, so I started to bob a little while playing. Another man watching got the hint and started bobbing too, btu the kid wasn't keen. Ah, well.
14. People in cars rolled down windows, acknowledge me, etc. One guy on a bike tipped in transit.
I was cold, but it wasn't the coldest I'd ever been. The wind was significantly less than what it had been for the bulk of my visit to Iceland, and my new act keeps me much more active than my old act. For these reasons, I was okay in 2.5 sweaters and no gloves. It was a good reminder of what I have coming.
Anyway, I was walking on air as I stiffly and coldly retreated back to the hostel. The kindness, concern, and generosity of the Icelandic people had truly moved me. I had hoped to earn the equivalent of €20, to pay for the hostel, and expected to freeze and get moved on. Instead, I received a five-digit sum (in ISK, that is) and all the aforementioned goodies and incidents of kindness AND no one gave me any trouble. I felt the strongest surge of love and gratitude to my accordion. I truly felt like this one was her doing. I loved the people of Iceland, of Scandinavia, of Europe, of Earth. Mostly, I loved busking. I was just so proud to be a busker, an identity that is often rocky. Mostly, I was filthy rich! What a wonderful way to end my Big Europe Adventure. I could now go home, after paying for my hostel in coins, of course. Catch you next time, Europe.
(This post was originally written on the day in question, hence the tenses.)
I must preface this by saying that I don't think I've loved my accordion more than I do tonight. There's nothing like getting "the boss" out of a jam (although I think Wee Red is the boss).
It was my final day in Rekjavik, and the first thing on the agenda was to buy my mother an Icelandic hand-knitted sweater. But my card was declined. I texted my brother to look up my bank balance, and it was not quite the number I was hoping for. I know it's personal and stuff to talk about money, but since spending all one's money on travel isn't really a shock, I'll reveal the sum: $4.63. Insert swear of choice. I had been traveling quite frugally, but I got back into tourist mode in Iceland, paying for accommodation for a change, paying for tours, etc. The plan had been to buy a bunch of gifts, pay for one more night at the hostel in a dorm, pay extra on top of my airport bus ticket to get to the Blue Lagoon spa before my flight the next day, and pay the hefty admission fee there.
With $4, I could beg someone at the hostel to let me use their computer to post an SOS on CouchSurfing and try to find a place to sleep, skip the gifts, skip the Blue Lagoon, and just hang out in Reykjavik until it was time to take my pre-purchased bus to the airport. I thought hard about how to obtain funds immediately. The solution dawned on me far later than it should have: go busk, you half-lighthouse!* (*The Icelandic word for "half-lighthouse" means "idiot.") I didn't know for sure if I would make money, since there were not a lot of people milling about. It was also incredibly cold and windy.
I asked some Italians in the hostel to translate the instructions on my foot-warmers that I bought in Germany, put on my extra leggings and socks, and headed out. At this point my trolley was functional only because of a slab of wood attached to the remains with duct tape and gorilla glue, so it was a sight. One of Flaca's pulley/eyelets had snapped off as well, so a paperclip glued onto the box had to suffice for this day.
"Town" was indeed desolate. Reykjavik is tiny, and adorable, with two main shopping streets that lead "downtown." I found my ideal location at the intersection of those two streets, but the ground was steeply slanted which would not work for Flaca. I considered just playing, sans puppet, but decided I needed my full artillery for such a situation. Also, this was the grand finale of the trip, so I wanted her to participate. My eyes settled on this strange thing, like a big metal box. I suppose it functions as a bench in the warmer seasons, but it would be a perfect stage due to its levelness. And the height would attract extra attention, and people would be able to see Flaca. It was across the street from a Viking-themed gift shop that had its door open, but I thought I would try my luck. I set up, catching the falling pieces and borrowing duct tape from the trolley to try to make everything last until I got home. I reluctantly shed my bulky coat, and stuck the foot-warmers on the back of my hands.
What ensued was the best outing of the trip. People were not actually as scarce as I had expected, and they certainly did tip. Locals, tourists, young and old, men and women. Some naughty-looking hooligans who shouldn't be interested in accordions nor puppets lingered, watched, and tipped. A highly-fashionable, made-up, artificial blonde in heels with a sour facial expression (my smallest demographic of tippers), even dropped me something. There were bundled up toddlers, old ladies with either fur hats or furry hair, obvious American baby boomers for whom I played "Paint it Black." And....
1. One girl about my age stopped during "The Final Countdown." She had blue and green hair, many piercings, and wore an eclectic outfit. She came forward to tip, said "Sorry, I don't have anything smaller," and handed me a 5.000ISK bill. What does she mean by"sorry?" That's about £25. Definitely the biggest tip I've gotten in a while. She introduced herself as Sina or something, short for Sinøgåbjork. She came back later, and I played my newest song, "Stayin' Alive," which no one had recognized thus far. "I love the Bee Gees!" she proclaimed through applause after. I asked if she had any requests, and she said Marvin Gaye. Sorry! Bill Withers? Ain't No Sunshine? Excellent, that's a song I know very well through singing it a capella for four years. I attempted it, but bombed. Another older man was listening at that point, so I bailed and struck up something I know. Sina or whatever bade me farewell. What a kind and generous person!
2. The old man asked, "You're begging for money?" "I'm playing for it, trying to earn it." We discussed my home location, intentions, and temperature. He seemed to accept the act well enough.
3. A mother and daughter (12?) from Colorado stopped by. They are super nice, and we talked about my travels and stuff. They tipped, and the daughter said, "Good luck not freezing to death!" I'll need it!
4. These two little girls walked by, seemingly on their own One reached into her box and deposited a little pink candy. Delicious!
5. The Italians from my hostel came by, including one with an inexplicable eye patch. I played Funiculi Funicula for them, but they didn't seem to notice. They did, however, invite me to have pasta with them in the hostel later that night. That made me look really cool in front of the other passersby.
6. Two college-aged girls stopped by, and one said "I wish I had more" as she dropped coins in. Nonsense! Later, they came back and handed me a hot drink. So nice! But probably coffee, right? No! Hot chocolate! Cue heart swelling.
7. A girl about my age asked where I was staying, then said she was going to invite me over for a cup of tea or something to eat how nice! Turns out she's Baha'i, and lives with a bunch of Baha'is. She emphasized that they are creative people and would like me. She gave me her number and said to call her any time if I needed anything at all. Iris. So nice.
8. Some older Icelandic women walked by and asked, "Kåld?" or something. I looked puzzled, so someone translated: "Cold?" Ah! I thought of something semi-clever that I hadn't used before: "I'm okay, but Flaca's cold. She's got bare legs!" They liked it.
9. A young British guy walked by a couple times, and used his fancy old-fashioned camera to take photos. In his last passing he expressed his surprise that I was still out, and offered to give me his gloves. He actually wasn't the first to make such an offer. I had gloves, but I was juuust warm enough to not want them.
10. An American man asked how long I'd be out, saying he had to return to his hotel room for money but he wanted to help me out. I had been about to pack up, but I said "Maybe 20 minutes." he was not back in that time and I wanted to pack up. Oh well. But as I was closing down, I heard a voice, "I said I'd be back!" There he was! Gave me a US fiver. Score.
11. Two ladies working nearby came outside a few times to smoke, and they danced along.
12. An old man walked by while I had a bit of a crowd, and he loudly and enthusiastically clapped along to Funiculi Funicula. Like, rhythmically. It was awesome. So I skipped the fermata at the end.
13. One baby watched from its pram, then was taken out I mentioned something about dancing, and started the Beer Barrel Polka, which is very hard with frozen fingers! The kid didn't dance, so I started to bob a little while playing. Another man watching got the hint and started bobbing too, btu the kid wasn't keen. Ah, well.
14. People in cars rolled down windows, acknowledge me, etc. One guy on a bike tipped in transit.
I was cold, but it wasn't the coldest I'd ever been. The wind was significantly less than what it had been for the bulk of my visit to Iceland, and my new act keeps me much more active than my old act. For these reasons, I was okay in 2.5 sweaters and no gloves. It was a good reminder of what I have coming.
Anyway, I was walking on air as I stiffly and coldly retreated back to the hostel. The kindness, concern, and generosity of the Icelandic people had truly moved me. I had hoped to earn the equivalent of €20, to pay for the hostel, and expected to freeze and get moved on. Instead, I received a five-digit sum (in ISK, that is) and all the aforementioned goodies and incidents of kindness AND no one gave me any trouble. I felt the strongest surge of love and gratitude to my accordion. I truly felt like this one was her doing. I loved the people of Iceland, of Scandinavia, of Europe, of Earth. Mostly, I loved busking. I was just so proud to be a busker, an identity that is often rocky. Mostly, I was filthy rich! What a wonderful way to end my Big Europe Adventure. I could now go home, after paying for my hostel in coins, of course. Catch you next time, Europe.
On the Road
Greetings, after a bit of a hiatus! I am now back in the US after an exciting finale to my time in Europe. I got lazy about blogging along the way, so this will be a long post sharing my experiences in Berlin, Luebeck, Copenhagen, Oslo, and Reykjavik.
Norway: Nor Busking, Nor Festival
Norway, November 2012
After Copenhagen, I headed North to Oslo, the penultimate city on my trip. I planned to busk, and brought my gear out one day, but it didn't work out and my faulty trolley drove me nuts. You see, as the doors closed on the train that would take me away from Copenhagen and my heart broke (sorry, a bit extreme), my trolley did as well. The bar that supports the weight on the ground snapped, so there was no way to prop it up. I could lean it backwards against something and hook the handle for support, but if I went the other direction it would just get out of control and roll and injure both my feet and anyone in a close proximity. As you can imagine, dragging it around for a day was quite unpleasant, and I didn't even busk. Before I left the country I had a serious gorilla glue, using it and duct tape to attempt to attach some scrap wood to the trolley to make it stand up. It actually did last until I got home, although I had to un-tape bits to collapse it into the airplane overhead compartment.
Like Berlin, Oslo would have been better busked in a side neighborhood, although there isn't a particularly large number of people there to start with. As it is, every inch of the pedestrian shopping street, Karl Johans gate, had a busker: a gypsy-type with an accordion. Maybe you'd see the odd saxophone or violin, but the vast majority had squeezeboxes. One such accordion player was accompanied by a very theatrical woman playing the tambourine and grinning broadly. I liked them. But I literally could not get a spot anywhere there. I tried again later in the afternoon, but it was still full, and mostly with the same people. Phew, putting in full weekdays in the cold!
I ended up not busking at all, but luckily my Danish Krona-turned-Norwegian Krona lasted me just long enough to stretch my no-ATM goal.
There's one more thing I'll mention in the Norway section: the fictional Bergen Accordion Festival! My homecoming, on the eve of Thanksgiving, was done in such a way to surprise my parents. My brother and I plotted the perfect plan for months, but I needed a good reason to "miss Thanksgiving." What we thought of was a career opportunity that was too good to turn down. And so I told my parents that my accordion idol, Jetty (exists) and I had met at the Fringe in Edinburgh (true), that she had heard me play (false), and that she invited me to play at this First Annual Bergen Accordion Festival (false, does not exist). I knew I had to express feelings about the impending show in my detailed emails home, so I planned the repertoire Jetty and I would do, and further announced that I had been added to the children's program as well. My parents understood that this was worth missing the holiday, and spread the news of the festival to various family friends. My mother returned feedback from various people with experience in Bergen, exclaiming that it was a fairy-tale town and that I was going to love it. Muahahaha. I am disappointed to not have seen Bergen (that's another story), but I am pleased that the surprise went over well. Maybe now I will start a Bergen Accordion Festival!
Sofas in the Wind (Copenhagen)
Oh....Copenhagen. My amazing week in Denmark began with a fabulous busking session right when I arrived. In fact, I think enough happened to swing a normally-formatted post with a numbered list and everything.
Køpenhavn: 4 and 9 November 2012
Valeria and I pulled into Copenhagen Central Station and decided to hop on buses to our respective destinations: her hostel and my CouchSurfing host's home. However, the bus meant getting money, and it was Sunday and there didn't seem to be any Bureaus-de-Change open near the station. Since I had a mishap with my bank card (accidentally shipped it from Scotland to the US), I didn't have access to an ATM for the first three weeks of my trip. I earned money by busking, then changed that money from Euros to Czech Krona back to Euros, and I intended to change what was left into Danish Krona. Despite retrieving my card in Berlin, I aspired to complete my whole trip without using an ATM (I made it until Reykjavik, but unfortunately caved). Since I couldn't change money, the only way to pay bus fare in Copenhagen this day was to withdraw money from an ATM then change it to coins in a bar somewhere. Orrrrr, to go busk. Additionally, it was a beautiful day, much warmer than Germany, and busking is a great introduction to a city. And so I said goodbye to Valeria and went out to find a spot on Strøget, the pedestrian shopping street.
When I had taken about ten steps, a man outside a cafe got my attention. He asked if he could take my photo, since I was very colorful. It's true, I was wearing my piano dress with clip-on flowers in my hair and red lipstick, wearing my green backpack covered in flag patches, and towing my colorful accordion box with my red coat strapped in. This was nice, because he and his two friends were really friendly about it, and the guy looked super Scandinavian. It was my first impression of Danish people, and Scandinavians in general, and it was a good one! Here's the photo he took, which he sent over:
I kept walking, passing a group of traditional Andean buskers and a couple men on guitars. I chose a spot just far enough away from one guitar player, in front of a closed jewelry shop. I didn't expect to stay long because it is a popular busking street and I was right across from a store with an open door, but no one gave me any trouble. It was also mostly flat enough for Flaca's mechanics to work! I arranged my luggage and unnecessary outerwear and got to work.
Things were weird with Flaca. For whatever reason, she was incredibly quiet. Her appeal is mostly visual, but I count on the sound coming from her feet both to attract attention and also as a cue for me if she is working, so I can look out at people rather than at her. She wasn't moving perfectly either, probably because the rubber band was on its way out. Mostly, she wasn't attracting attention.
I decided to do my old act. One gimmick of that act is the student loan sign which isn't great on the road, being in English. Everyone speaks English in Copenhagen, though, so I decided to display everything. It was so nice doing the old stuff! There are so many songs I haven't played for a couple months now because they don't work with Flaca, or I just haven't worked them out yet with her. I've missed them! I decided to take advantage of my fresh slate in the new town to get super into it, focusing on my full performance and trying to play off people. It paid off, and this act attracted more attention than Flaca's. Since I hadn't seen Danish money yet, I had no idea what tips were worth as they came in, so I couldn't estimate earnings. In the end it wasn't a hugely lucrative day, but it solved the initial problem of not having any currency and it was super fun.
1. An Irish family stopped by twice: two adult males and about four little boys, wearing matching tweed caps. They asked if I speak English, then asked if I know Irish tunes. I said I could do "Whiskey in the Jar," which they approved. I hadn't done it since St. Patrick's Day so it was rusty, but that mattered not since one little boy took over singing. So precious! They stopped again on their return trip and asked me to play another. I chose "The Wild Rover" this time, and a couple measures in, mentioned singing. I told the one boy that he had a much better singing voice than I, so he should sing, but the little munchkin insisted that I do the vocals as well. This is not something I usually do, but I raised my voice in a little sing-along. I secretly hoped the Irish pub across the street would hear this commotion and pay me to play inside. These boys were lovely, and it was a nice interaction!
2. I got a tip from a lady who looked to be very typically Danish. She was an older woman with long grey hair, wore a dress, and rode a typical vintage-style bicycle with a basket with flowers woven in. Her warm smile and words were another vote towards Danes being Great.
3. A teenage hooligan walked by with his friends during "The Final Countdown" and he gave me a typical rock star pose and hand gesture. Nice.
4. A middle-aged couple stopped, and we talked. "What is it called?" the woman asked. "An accordion!" "But what exactly would you call one of that size?" "A red 12-bass piano accordion." She explained that she used to have an accordion and has recently thought about picking it up again. I explained that mine was from eBay; a gift from my parents. "You have nice parents!" they exclaimed. "Yeah, well when they bought it they didn't expect me to end up playing it on the street in Copenhagen!" Hee hee.
5. Another busker band set up quite close on my other side: accordion, double bass, and a third. I'm sure they were great, since I love that kind of thing, but they were so close! But they packed up quite quickly.
6. The first Great Dane I had met stopped by again, and this time saw everything unpacked. He took another photo:
7. A [crazy woman] walked by, muttering, "...taking the energy out of the women and putting it on sofas in the wind." You tell 'em.
I packed up for the sanity of shop workers, but it was getting busier on the streets! I was going to do another set with Flaca because it was dark and the lights would add to the effect, but I wouldn't really find another spot. Also, I was looking forward to meeting Henrik, my seemingly adorable host :). I saw a few other buskers: a juggler doing a big circle show, a guy who had walked past me playing guitar and singing with lots of equipment and selling CDs. Over the course of my week there I heard a man playing "Memory" on the clarinet about fifteen times.
I didn't busk again for a few days. We did, however, record a video on election day. I went out again the following Friday, for a brief set in the late afternoon hours. This time I set up on another pedestrian shopping street where I had previous seen buskers and high school students selling various goodies as a fundraiser. Oh, a youth/high school choir had been out at one point.
This set was quite bad. I forgot about the previous reaction to Flaca and used her, but I made very little money. I did attract attention, and had a lot of strollers halted to watch. Kids did look around the back, as they do best, but their parents didn't always give them something to throw in. This was probably a bad time of day, when folks were going home, but it was still disconcerting. Copenhagen's a cool place, why the bad rates?
I may possibly go back though, because my host turned out to, in fact, be adorable in real life. If I do go back I will seek non-shopping pitches and try to find the best possible act for this city. Regardless of the lack of money made, busking in Copenhagen was great.
Berlin und "Brazil"
Germany, oddly enough, is the country in which I have busked in the second-most locations, after the US: I hit three cities in the Spring, and two more in the Fall! This post is about boring, disappointing busking on Halloween in Berlin, and nice busking in addition to a gig and puppet inspiration in Lübeck. So here we go!
BERLIN: 31 October 2012
My stay in Berlin overlapped with Halloween. Since America rules the world, I assumed the celebrations would match those expected in the US: kids with parents, packs of drunk people, etc. I would raid my Couch Surfing host's closet and put together a costume, or just play up the piano dress. I would surely earn a fortune.
If Halloween was a big deal, it was well hidden. I brought my kit with me all day, mainly because it was really nice out, and planned to play for tourists before finding a good spot to set up for the evening. In reality, there is not much to report.
I headed straight for the Brandenburg Gate, a tourist-ridden area at which Pockets had set up recently. There is an island between two roads leading up to the gate that is filled with "buskers," people in stupid store-bought costumes accepting tips. A significant amount of this space was taken up by demonstrators as well, so spots were few. I asked a bear if you need a permit, and he said yes, definitely. I considered setting up anyway, but there was an exceptional number of police officers around.
I walked down the Under der Linden boulevard and saw the potential of playing near the queue for Madame Tussaud's. I found a good spot and set up. Right as I was ready to play, a man came out of the building behind me and said I couldn't play there. Flashed a vague badge in case I questioned his authority. Fine, but he could have told me sooner, since he could clearly see me set up through the big window! I moved a block away and set up, fitting in a few run-throughs of Flaca's set.
This was okay, I made a few tips but nothing much. Some old ladies loved it, and a few families with children stopped. One teenage boy actually held money above the box, then said, "Nope" and kept walking. I made sure to yell after him and make him reconsider his treatment of buskers.
I packed up because I remembered I had to make it to the US embassy to vote before it closed. After that fiasco (they not only wouldn't let me use the printer and scanner, but the German security guard physically escorted me out) I didn't put in a real session. I planned to, being Halloween and all, but the stars weren't aligned to find a good spot.
I did set up briefly in front of the cathedral at dusk. This was a good spot: tourists, on a busy street, people waiting for buses. I got a bit of attention, and, more importantly, instigated a serious make-out session with my romantic accordion music. But then another busker set up on the other end of the Dom courtyard with an electric guitar and amp and commenced the loudest set I have ever heard. There was no possible way of continuing.
I kept walking, and soon crossed a cute bridge going over the canal. It was full-on sunset and quite pleasant out, so I decided to try my luck a third time. There were stalls on each side of the bridge selling furry hats and tacky WWII plastic memorabilia, so I seemed in good company. Flaca looked nice with the lights on, but this still wasn't great. The sidewalk proved to be too narrow to effectively draw spectators, and the ones who did stop stood in the bike lane, which is no good. A police car stopped across the street, and I had the idea to turn off Flaca's lights and keep a low profile. Sure enough, the vendors also threw sheets over their wares and looked away, whistling (or the equivalent). I decided to just pack up then anyway.
Now that the sun was down, it was time to get into Halloween mode. I stopped in Alexanderplatz, but there just weren't people out. I figured a regular neighborhood with bars and restaurants would be better, so I went back to the neighborhood where I was staying. It was early, but it was pretty desolate, and so I gave up.
I think Berlin is comparable to Boston and San Francisco in that way: good place to busk as long as you don't do it downtown. I'm sure Berlin has neighborhoods comparable to Cambridge and the Castro, but I simply didn't know what they were. Big cities require research, which I hadn't really done. And so I dismissed my vision of awesome Halloween busking with lots of characters and stories and laughs. What I did do, though, from a dingy internet café that had visits from a few young Trick of Treaters, was VOTE! Yay!
LÜBECK: 2 November 2012:
I wrapped up Berlin (by which I mean declared that this visit wouldn't really work out and that I must return under other circumstances) and headed to Lübeck, in the North of Germany. This was a much-anticipated stop, since it was totally random. I had originally planned to go to places I had heard of, Hamburg being my stop in the North, but the more I read about it the less appealing it seemed. Each of the guidebooks I skimmed before departing had a small blurb on Lübeck, but each made it sound appealing, boasting its famous marzipan, cute churches, and renowned puppet museum Sounds good, right? Mostly, this trip taught me that I much prefer small towns, so why not go to random ones?
I arrived in Lübeck on a Friday afternoon, in the company of an awesome Italian-Swiss friend I made on the train, Valeria. I love being a solo-traveler, but meeting this amazing young woman with similar interests and travel style was so wonderful at this stage of the trip. I wasn't planning on busking that evening, rather saving it for a big Saturday, but it made sense to once I learned of the rainy weekend forecast. There is a lot I could say about Lübeck, but I will split it into three performance-relevant blurbs: busking, the gig, and the puppet museum.
I. Busking
It seems that I don't have notes about this, so I will have to try to remember. Valeria and I had been out shopping earlier (needed a coat before I got to Scandinavia), so we scoped out one of the main pedestrian streets. Although I try to avoid shopping streets, this seemed like my best bet in a town of that size. There was certainly foot traffic, and ample space to set up. We had seen several buskers: one guy with curly hair playing both accordion and trumpet, an old man playing accordion, a few young male guitar players, a young woman playing the bagpipes (a tune I recognized from the streets of Edinburgh), and a guy producing huge bubbles in a larger square. I've seen quite a few of these recently; it must be a new busking fad. The sad thing is, he probably makes a ton more money than musicians, and he can properly bundle up and doesn't have to work a long day. Ah, well. Once it got dark I retrieved my gear from our host's house and came back out.
I set up outside the town hall, which had some musicians coming and going from it (fancy ones with big cases and elegant apparel). The street was pretty busy, and I had nice crowds. Some children did the typical thing of coming around and looking at the back of the box, seeking an explanation for Flaca's movement. One little boy did his duty of touching everything and trying to talk to me, ignoring my "Ich spreche kein Deutsch"es. One young man recognized me from my ad on CouchSurfing, and claims he sent me a message inviting me to stay. I had missed that one! That has happened before, and I'm always glad when people come say hi.
An older guy with a guitar walked by, looked at me, then took a seat on a nearby bench with a bottle in a brown paper bag (very cliché, I know). I thought it must be his spot, but he didn't say anything. A couple times he picked up the guitar and started following along, but luckily he wasn't persistent enough that it reeeally annoyed me. It was a good spot and, as usual, I was surprised I was allowed to stay.
Valeria listened for a bit, then she went out in search of food. A local young man struck up conversation with her, and showed her around a little bit. The two came back together as I was packing up, and the guy clearly wanted to hang out with us. We exaggerated the exclusivity of our plans, and Valeria graciously accepted his email address. It was a pretty tame set, but it was nice to have my coin bag jingling again after being dormant in Berlin!
Then it was time for...
II: The Gig
My CouchSurfing host, Cherie (who generously took in Valeria as well), arranged a gig for me at her friend's bar, Cafe Brazil: http://cafe-brazil.net/ . I had expressed concern about the wet forecast, so she mentioned her friend's bar, as people often do, as a place to play. But she went as far as really organizing me to play! I did not like that idea at first. I didn't want the attention, and I preferred to stay on the street where I would surely make better tips. But I thought more about it. I would go on at nine, after I would quit busking anyway. She said it was a cool place, really informal, and was confident that I wouldn't embarrass myself. Furthermore, her friend offered Valeria and I free food and drinks. Okay, then! Either way, it would be a story. So I finally consented.
Cafe Brazil is awesome. It's a collective, so the staff are all volunteers. It's popular among, like, punks, and there's a funky mix of used furniture and art and stuff. It was a really cool atmosphere, reddish lights, a ton of smoke in the air. It's a little hard to find, so its customers really mean it. We got there early to eat. It turns out every night, or Friday night or something, they just cook a bunch of vegetarian (vegan?) food and people can pay what they want for it. Tonight was pasta with tomatoes and tofu, and salad. Mmm! And free beer for us. So we sat around and ate and drank and talked to Cherie more. The place filled up nicely, partly because there is a venue in the same building that has big shows, and there was a band that night. There were some normal looking folks who clearly eat dinner here often, and also a lot of fashionable punks just drinking, even playing cards. Leonard kept suggesting I wait for more people, and I finally went on stage at like 10:15. Stage was just an elevated corner next to the TV, since there were already a bunch of tables and sofas on the real stage. And I played.
It was actually quite nice, people were aware of me but not focusing on me, which is what I wanted. It was cool to get applause after songs, and to feel really mysterious responding to the occasional comment with "Ich spreche kein Deutsch." It was mostly nice to play all my songs again, since I'm only doing a few with Flaca. As predicted, people liked "The Final Countdown" and "What is Love?", and the retired Lady Gaga medley went over quite well. I took a couple breaks, to look really cool and get another beer. Leonard had to step out and he missed the whole set, unfortunately. Cherie and I secretly discussed the possibility of passing a hat, to which she had donated in the past when there were performers, but I certainly didn't want to start it. So Valeria donated her hat, and Cherie asked one of the hooligans working the bar to pass it around. It came back with a little money in it, like ten Euros probably. At least it's something! It wasn't awesome enough or remotely a disaster to make it a really good story, but it was certainly a memorable experience. I really ought to have sought more indoor bar gigs on the road, since I really had nothing to lose, being a foreign traveler. Next time!
III. The Puppet Museum
Puppetry was a major theme of my Fall trip, since Flaca now has an active role in my act and I am thinking about what else to do with her. I visited several puppet museums in the Czech Republic, and have a general greater understanding of basic marionette stuff. The museum in Lübeck, however, was really awesome. While the Czech republic ones had very similar marionettes, including the mass-produced ones for sale in the gift shops, this museum had over 20,000 marionettes from all over the world and various eras. We saw human and animal puppets from Asia and Africa, Chinese shadow puppets, artifacts from strange puppet traditions such as the "walking puppet theatre" (puppeteer has her arms in puppets in a theatre that is mounted to her with a cloth over her head, so all spectators see is a theater and legs), tiny marionette theatres, etc. etc. The museum was started by one man, who traveled the world going to antique shops and making these amazing finds. I highly recommend this museum. I have some general ideas of what I want to do with the puppetry side of my act, but it will take a lot of thinking and sketching and engineering (or just asking Tom) to make it work. I'm very excited, though.
I took Saturday off of busking, despite the lack of the forecast rain, then Valeria and I hopped on a train to Copenhagen!
BERLIN: 31 October 2012
My stay in Berlin overlapped with Halloween. Since America rules the world, I assumed the celebrations would match those expected in the US: kids with parents, packs of drunk people, etc. I would raid my Couch Surfing host's closet and put together a costume, or just play up the piano dress. I would surely earn a fortune.
If Halloween was a big deal, it was well hidden. I brought my kit with me all day, mainly because it was really nice out, and planned to play for tourists before finding a good spot to set up for the evening. In reality, there is not much to report.
I headed straight for the Brandenburg Gate, a tourist-ridden area at which Pockets had set up recently. There is an island between two roads leading up to the gate that is filled with "buskers," people in stupid store-bought costumes accepting tips. A significant amount of this space was taken up by demonstrators as well, so spots were few. I asked a bear if you need a permit, and he said yes, definitely. I considered setting up anyway, but there was an exceptional number of police officers around.
I walked down the Under der Linden boulevard and saw the potential of playing near the queue for Madame Tussaud's. I found a good spot and set up. Right as I was ready to play, a man came out of the building behind me and said I couldn't play there. Flashed a vague badge in case I questioned his authority. Fine, but he could have told me sooner, since he could clearly see me set up through the big window! I moved a block away and set up, fitting in a few run-throughs of Flaca's set.
This was okay, I made a few tips but nothing much. Some old ladies loved it, and a few families with children stopped. One teenage boy actually held money above the box, then said, "Nope" and kept walking. I made sure to yell after him and make him reconsider his treatment of buskers.
I packed up because I remembered I had to make it to the US embassy to vote before it closed. After that fiasco (they not only wouldn't let me use the printer and scanner, but the German security guard physically escorted me out) I didn't put in a real session. I planned to, being Halloween and all, but the stars weren't aligned to find a good spot.
I did set up briefly in front of the cathedral at dusk. This was a good spot: tourists, on a busy street, people waiting for buses. I got a bit of attention, and, more importantly, instigated a serious make-out session with my romantic accordion music. But then another busker set up on the other end of the Dom courtyard with an electric guitar and amp and commenced the loudest set I have ever heard. There was no possible way of continuing.
I kept walking, and soon crossed a cute bridge going over the canal. It was full-on sunset and quite pleasant out, so I decided to try my luck a third time. There were stalls on each side of the bridge selling furry hats and tacky WWII plastic memorabilia, so I seemed in good company. Flaca looked nice with the lights on, but this still wasn't great. The sidewalk proved to be too narrow to effectively draw spectators, and the ones who did stop stood in the bike lane, which is no good. A police car stopped across the street, and I had the idea to turn off Flaca's lights and keep a low profile. Sure enough, the vendors also threw sheets over their wares and looked away, whistling (or the equivalent). I decided to just pack up then anyway.
Now that the sun was down, it was time to get into Halloween mode. I stopped in Alexanderplatz, but there just weren't people out. I figured a regular neighborhood with bars and restaurants would be better, so I went back to the neighborhood where I was staying. It was early, but it was pretty desolate, and so I gave up.
I think Berlin is comparable to Boston and San Francisco in that way: good place to busk as long as you don't do it downtown. I'm sure Berlin has neighborhoods comparable to Cambridge and the Castro, but I simply didn't know what they were. Big cities require research, which I hadn't really done. And so I dismissed my vision of awesome Halloween busking with lots of characters and stories and laughs. What I did do, though, from a dingy internet café that had visits from a few young Trick of Treaters, was VOTE! Yay!
LÜBECK: 2 November 2012:
I wrapped up Berlin (by which I mean declared that this visit wouldn't really work out and that I must return under other circumstances) and headed to Lübeck, in the North of Germany. This was a much-anticipated stop, since it was totally random. I had originally planned to go to places I had heard of, Hamburg being my stop in the North, but the more I read about it the less appealing it seemed. Each of the guidebooks I skimmed before departing had a small blurb on Lübeck, but each made it sound appealing, boasting its famous marzipan, cute churches, and renowned puppet museum Sounds good, right? Mostly, this trip taught me that I much prefer small towns, so why not go to random ones?
I arrived in Lübeck on a Friday afternoon, in the company of an awesome Italian-Swiss friend I made on the train, Valeria. I love being a solo-traveler, but meeting this amazing young woman with similar interests and travel style was so wonderful at this stage of the trip. I wasn't planning on busking that evening, rather saving it for a big Saturday, but it made sense to once I learned of the rainy weekend forecast. There is a lot I could say about Lübeck, but I will split it into three performance-relevant blurbs: busking, the gig, and the puppet museum.
I. Busking
It seems that I don't have notes about this, so I will have to try to remember. Valeria and I had been out shopping earlier (needed a coat before I got to Scandinavia), so we scoped out one of the main pedestrian streets. Although I try to avoid shopping streets, this seemed like my best bet in a town of that size. There was certainly foot traffic, and ample space to set up. We had seen several buskers: one guy with curly hair playing both accordion and trumpet, an old man playing accordion, a few young male guitar players, a young woman playing the bagpipes (a tune I recognized from the streets of Edinburgh), and a guy producing huge bubbles in a larger square. I've seen quite a few of these recently; it must be a new busking fad. The sad thing is, he probably makes a ton more money than musicians, and he can properly bundle up and doesn't have to work a long day. Ah, well. Once it got dark I retrieved my gear from our host's house and came back out.
I set up outside the town hall, which had some musicians coming and going from it (fancy ones with big cases and elegant apparel). The street was pretty busy, and I had nice crowds. Some children did the typical thing of coming around and looking at the back of the box, seeking an explanation for Flaca's movement. One little boy did his duty of touching everything and trying to talk to me, ignoring my "Ich spreche kein Deutsch"es. One young man recognized me from my ad on CouchSurfing, and claims he sent me a message inviting me to stay. I had missed that one! That has happened before, and I'm always glad when people come say hi.
An older guy with a guitar walked by, looked at me, then took a seat on a nearby bench with a bottle in a brown paper bag (very cliché, I know). I thought it must be his spot, but he didn't say anything. A couple times he picked up the guitar and started following along, but luckily he wasn't persistent enough that it reeeally annoyed me. It was a good spot and, as usual, I was surprised I was allowed to stay.
Valeria listened for a bit, then she went out in search of food. A local young man struck up conversation with her, and showed her around a little bit. The two came back together as I was packing up, and the guy clearly wanted to hang out with us. We exaggerated the exclusivity of our plans, and Valeria graciously accepted his email address. It was a pretty tame set, but it was nice to have my coin bag jingling again after being dormant in Berlin!
Then it was time for...
II: The Gig
My CouchSurfing host, Cherie (who generously took in Valeria as well), arranged a gig for me at her friend's bar, Cafe Brazil: http://cafe-brazil.net/ . I had expressed concern about the wet forecast, so she mentioned her friend's bar, as people often do, as a place to play. But she went as far as really organizing me to play! I did not like that idea at first. I didn't want the attention, and I preferred to stay on the street where I would surely make better tips. But I thought more about it. I would go on at nine, after I would quit busking anyway. She said it was a cool place, really informal, and was confident that I wouldn't embarrass myself. Furthermore, her friend offered Valeria and I free food and drinks. Okay, then! Either way, it would be a story. So I finally consented.
Cafe Brazil is awesome. It's a collective, so the staff are all volunteers. It's popular among, like, punks, and there's a funky mix of used furniture and art and stuff. It was a really cool atmosphere, reddish lights, a ton of smoke in the air. It's a little hard to find, so its customers really mean it. We got there early to eat. It turns out every night, or Friday night or something, they just cook a bunch of vegetarian (vegan?) food and people can pay what they want for it. Tonight was pasta with tomatoes and tofu, and salad. Mmm! And free beer for us. So we sat around and ate and drank and talked to Cherie more. The place filled up nicely, partly because there is a venue in the same building that has big shows, and there was a band that night. There were some normal looking folks who clearly eat dinner here often, and also a lot of fashionable punks just drinking, even playing cards. Leonard kept suggesting I wait for more people, and I finally went on stage at like 10:15. Stage was just an elevated corner next to the TV, since there were already a bunch of tables and sofas on the real stage. And I played.
It was actually quite nice, people were aware of me but not focusing on me, which is what I wanted. It was cool to get applause after songs, and to feel really mysterious responding to the occasional comment with "Ich spreche kein Deutsch." It was mostly nice to play all my songs again, since I'm only doing a few with Flaca. As predicted, people liked "The Final Countdown" and "What is Love?", and the retired Lady Gaga medley went over quite well. I took a couple breaks, to look really cool and get another beer. Leonard had to step out and he missed the whole set, unfortunately. Cherie and I secretly discussed the possibility of passing a hat, to which she had donated in the past when there were performers, but I certainly didn't want to start it. So Valeria donated her hat, and Cherie asked one of the hooligans working the bar to pass it around. It came back with a little money in it, like ten Euros probably. At least it's something! It wasn't awesome enough or remotely a disaster to make it a really good story, but it was certainly a memorable experience. I really ought to have sought more indoor bar gigs on the road, since I really had nothing to lose, being a foreign traveler. Next time!
III. The Puppet Museum
Puppetry was a major theme of my Fall trip, since Flaca now has an active role in my act and I am thinking about what else to do with her. I visited several puppet museums in the Czech Republic, and have a general greater understanding of basic marionette stuff. The museum in Lübeck, however, was really awesome. While the Czech republic ones had very similar marionettes, including the mass-produced ones for sale in the gift shops, this museum had over 20,000 marionettes from all over the world and various eras. We saw human and animal puppets from Asia and Africa, Chinese shadow puppets, artifacts from strange puppet traditions such as the "walking puppet theatre" (puppeteer has her arms in puppets in a theatre that is mounted to her with a cloth over her head, so all spectators see is a theater and legs), tiny marionette theatres, etc. etc. The museum was started by one man, who traveled the world going to antique shops and making these amazing finds. I highly recommend this museum. I have some general ideas of what I want to do with the puppetry side of my act, but it will take a lot of thinking and sketching and engineering (or just asking Tom) to make it work. I'm very excited, though.
I took Saturday off of busking, despite the lack of the forecast rain, then Valeria and I hopped on a train to Copenhagen!
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