Memories Of Busking

South of Market, San Francisco

I set a funky old hat on the ground near my feet, and threw some money into it. A couple dollar bills, a ten spot (people do need to be reminded of inflation) and a small handful of change.

Photo by Vince Russell on Unsplash

I do hate receiving change, carrying and counting it afterwards is always such a pain, but sometimes that is all someone might have, and if I’m completely honest with myself, I need every nickel.

It’s cold on this late September morning as I get ready to begin. That’s a funny thing about San Francisco in late September. Some days are bone chillingly cold, others can get quite hot. There are very few people around at this early hour, but I know that will change really quickly.

Today one of the largest street festivals in the world is set to take place. Market street will be jammed its entire length, snarling traffic throughout downtown. The BART will be overflowing. I’ve set up on one of the major street approaches to Folsom. No one will be driving here, but over the course of the day tens of thousands of people will pass by me, hearing my song.

All those people will have ready cash, for credit cards are not a good medium of exchange in a street fair. All I need is a tiny percentage of that cash to make my month.

I think, as I gird myself for the long hours ahead, that busking is a balance. People like something unique. While buskers everywhere seemingly play the guitar, those of us who play unusual instruments generally do better. That’s good for me because I’m playing the tin whistle, so ubiquitous in traditional Irish Music. But people also respond best to something familiar, tunes they know. So it truly is a balance. Songs that they know on an unexpected instrument.

And of course style. Everything must be played with style. And style can’t be taught, it must be developed through tens of thousands of hours of practice. The whistle must always be at hand, all day every day, ready to be picked up and played. Much of this play will never be heard by anyone, it is done for nothing more than personal joy, but through it, style and skill slowly develops.

I begin to play, and the people most excited for the festival begin wandering slowly down the street. Their excitement drives them to be early, to be there for the festival’s very start.

Most walk by, many never even glance my way. But some do. Some slow down, watching me as they pass. A few stop to linger and listen. These I interact with. I can’t speak of course as I’ve got a whistle in my mouth, but I can communicate. I communicate with my eyes, body language, and of course a smile around the whistle’s mouthpiece.

This communication is so important. It is a meeting of minds and souls between two individuals. A connection that may last only minutes, but can nevertheless be profound and meaningful. I come to this street fair every year, and I always set up in the same place, so undoubtedly some of these people have interacted with me before. Bottom line, you can’t busk if you don’t like and enjoy people.

For at its core, that is what busking is. Sharing our art with other people. To help brighten their day, and make it just a touch more interesting. In turn, those who value what we provide sometimes throw a greenback or two in our hat.

But we can’t only interact with those who tip. For as buskers, our music is freely available to all. Some will pay us for it, most will not for whatever reason, but sharing our art is what fulfills the busker on a spiritual level, and ultimately most will agree that is at least as important as a full belly.

By the end of the day, it has grown bright, and sunny, and warm. A beautiful day in the storied City of San Francisco. The fair has ended, the crowds have dissipated. The people have returned to their normal lives. I put my whistle in its case, and my loot in my bag. I can see that it was a good day busking for me.

I caught the attention of so many for a short time. Was able to connect with each of them in some small way through my music. And I think that enough of those threw some money in the hat, so that I can continue busking for another month.

Sometimes I think of financial security, but that isn’t the way busking works. I only get paid when I busk, and even then, most people can’t or don’t toss dollars into the hat.

That’s OK. No one ever claimed that a musician’s life would be easy.

Everything above is fiction.

I’ve never had any musical skills at all. I tried to play the guitar at two stages in my life. Once as a kid, secondly as an adult. Neither time found success. I’m missing something important but undefinable when it comes to making music.

But, I’ve always loved street performers. Buskers. And because of that I’ve always tried to support them with a wee bit of cash whenever I encounter them. For they add vibrancy to life. And that is important and good.

I wrote this today, because Substack is so very similar to busking. At least it is for us small, independent writers.

We may not have an instrument case or a hat at our feet into which passersby may throw a few dollars, but we have Subscriptions and Stripe. We don’t have seed money with which we get things started, but many of us have little check marks by our names to show that others find value in our work.

Like the busker out in the weather, our working conditions might not be ideal. We may have another job to take care of the real bills. We may have to write on our laps instead of at proper desks. Maybe we must do so with kids yelling in the background.

The busker needs foot traffic. Lots of it if that hat is to properly fill. We need traffic too, just of a different kind. We must put our work out there where it can be noticed if we hope to have anyone read it. Publish or perish the academics used to say, and that’s true, we must publish, but we must also market if we hope to attract anyone to what we have published. Our writing must be where people can see it.

A writer must be skilled. By that I mean that a writer must be able to write in such a way that the writing is understood. But it goes beyond that. The writer must be able to write something in a unique way, must develop a unique style. Niche and voice, these things develop only through thousands of hours with pen (or keyboard) in hand. And much of that writing, the writing that helps develop us as writers will be personal to us, things that no other human will ever see.

The vast majority of people who stumble across our writing will never take the time to read it. They will pass by it without even so much as the title truly entering their consciousness. Just as most will walk steadily past the busker. But some will stop. They will take the time to read our words. And some will find that our words add value to their day. We make connection with these readers over time and space. These readers are why we write. Once that connection is established, we deepen it through interaction, and hope that they will read our future work, again and again.

Some will recognize our work as valuable enough to financially support. And we owe our ability to continue to them. It is a precious gift they give us when they Subscribe and give their information to Stripe.

Most won’t be able to do so, or won’t want to do so. That’s OK too. Because they are our readers, and without readers a writer has no value, the unread work has no meaning, no matter that it might be a masterpiece. All our readers are treasures to be valued.

Substack, newsletters, blogging.

These are simply busking. Busking with the written word.