To busKers.
Why would you? Busk. Maybe to rehearse? Maybe you need people to tell you you're good, that you exist that you're beautiful so you don't have to listen to your programming shouting the opposite.
You want money? The money varies. You might play Irish songs on St Patrick's Day outside a Train Station near an Irish pub after work hours in Boston and everybody would want to give you money.
Or on the other end of the spectrum you could just sit somewhere quiet with not much foot traffic, for your own good, and just play whatever the hell you want. Like life. Something for you something for them.
Busking is the purest form of entertainment. You play. They tip or they don't. They don't have to. They can walk by. You have no fancy equipment or backdrop or room. Just you and them. Are you any good? Might rain. Might be chilly.Busking will let you know. You are a part of everything.
I met my wife while I was Busking. I was frickin irresistible though. Still am.
Sometimes they'll let you know all about themselves by the way they react. You can see the ones that have the money but wouldn't give it to a Busker. They wouldnt give money to a beggar. Even if he's good. It's my money. Hard earned. Or the jealous ones.
They envy you your freedom. Or the kids who tip you a feather and a Sour Snake Lolly.
The most money I ever made busking was in 1987 in London. I had just left the Catholic Seminary after giving the idea of being a priest a shot. Not for me.
Anyway the big box office hit of the year was La Bamba. I used to busk down in the Tube every day. I met a young lad from Argentina and he knew the lyrics to the song on account of they speak Spanish.
He always said the Spanish spoke Spanish like pussies. That's what he said. In his accent it sounded serious. I didn't know enough to doubt him.
Anyway, me and Alejadro would stand at opposite ends of the pedestrian tunnel underneath Marble Arch. We could hear each other singing at either end. So we hatched a plan.
We'd both sing it at the same time in the same key, harmonising with each other over and back.
So folks walking in past me might not give me money but by the time they'd reached him they'd heard us both in harmony and they'd give him a tip.
And visa versa. I caught his stragglers. The perfect net. They loved it!
Also the pound note had not long before been replaced with a pound coin so people had pockets full of change and if they chucked the contents of the pocket in you might get seven quid or fourteen.
Jesus it kills me today if I'm busking to see some old git chuck in two ten pence pieces and then have give you the look to say "don't spend it on drink now".
I don't need the money today but back then I did. We could sing La Bamba for hours. People only passed us once.
Anyway after a few hours of singing nothing but that one song over and over we'd meet up top and devide the spoils. Fuckin MILLIONS!
My God we had some craic. Big feed of Chinese then a heap of pints and meet up the next day for a replay.
Those days down in the Tube the spots for busking were well known. You'd turn up and just above where the Busker was there would be a little note tucked in somewhere with a list of names. You just booked yourself in for an hour.
When the summer ended we swore we'd meet again in twenty years at the entrance to the Marble Arch pedestrian tunnel and do it all again. We signed a contract and stuck it in a crack in the wall. For joy. Drunk. Don't know if he turned up. I didn't. I hope he didn’t think I died. I hadn’t.
I've Busked in a lot of places. I was escorted out of Faneuil Hall in Boston by two armed cops. For busking without a permit. Only posho classical players could get permits. Up The Revolution! No weapons were drawn. Great food stalls.
I put my hat down in New Orleans , Memphis, Johannesburg, Montreal, Galway, Sydney, Paris, Berlin the list goes on.
I was Busking alongside The Hothouse Flowers and Glen Hansard on Grafton Street in Dublin before they went huge. I'm not huge. I still like to busk though.
Mammy needed a break. Things had gotten too much at home. So she packed myself and Conor onto the train and the three of us headed for Dublin. She used to work up there before she got married.
A beautiful twenty year old Knockcroghery girl. Free.
She was free again. We stayed in a B and B and the next morning we visited her old work place. She had been a secretary in a pool of twelve women. They went nuts when she walked in with us. Screaming! So happy to see her and her beautiful boys. Tea and buns. Like Jesus at the last supper.
Then we walked over to Grafton Street and I could hear music through the crowd. As we got further in near Brown Thomas’ Store I could see them.
Two teenagers in denim and all the colours of the rainbow singing at the top of their lungs.
We held Mammys hands.
Two guitars, harmonicas, harmony vocals. They were playing the Lindisfarne song ' Meet Me On The Corner' and they had just told a kid from Roscommon what he was going to chase and value for the rest of his life. FREEDOM.