The 2005 Pontiac Songwriter

Union Station had gone through some kind of makeover.

Everywhere I looked, the subway entrance was plastered with bright red Pontiac ads, which did nothing to brighten the mood on this dreary Monday afternoon.

There are two sets of yellow dots at Union. Unfortunately, neither one is ideally located for the flow of pedestrian traffic. But I had to pick one, so I chose the busking location that wasn't directly in front of a giant billboard.

Pontiac must have paid a high price (how much, I wonder?) to take over Union Station. They've succeeded: finding ad space on the subway turnstiles, on the staircase risers, on the tiled walls, even on the floors (which today are treacherously slippery from all the rain).

Directly across from where I sang, the entire wall was taken up with an ad for a car whose name I can't remember right now (ha ha, take that, Pontiac!). I think it starts with "S". Is it the Solstice? (Let me check the website... Yes, that's it. Okay, okay, I guess it did make an impression.) On another wall there was another gigantic ad for a car with a number in its name. Umm...the G6? Isn't that a computer? Maybe it's a car and a computer?

Needless to say, it seemed pretty ironic that a subway station should be used as a giant car advertisement.

Resisting the impulse to sing the songs about cars I know (such as Sam Larkin's "Love Drives a Beautiful Car" and The Beatles' "Baby You Can Drive My Car") because I thought I'd be contributing to the success of the Pontiac campaign, I decided to sing When I Walk (I Run) and Tall Trees with as much conviction as possible. They had about as much impact as the quiet earth-toned ad for the TTC itself which was bravely displayed just above my right shoulder, beside the subway map. With its Zen-inspired bamboo graphics and placid typeface, it reminded us that we could all save money and the environment by taking the subway.

You could practically hear the Pontiac ads screaming "eat my dust".

Now, I'd like to tell you that by singing twenty life-affirming, cautiously optimistic songs this afternoon, I was able to lift the mood of Union Station just a little bit. But I'm really not so sure. Most of the people who did donate did so with an air of resignation, without returning my smile. As I went home, I noticed that the headline on the Sun newspaper box was one of the most depressing I'd ever read (I won't repeat it here). The weather was miserable. And it was Monday.

On days like these, does the hopeful artist just look ridiculous?

This question causes me to realize that today, one of the few people who donated (and who did so cheerfully) was a member of the Red Hat Society. It's made up of mostly older women who wear odd-looking red and purple hats as a defiant affirmation of individuality. She made a point of donating even though I had paused to tune my guitar and had my back turned. It was clearly important for her to connect with me and show her solidarity.

Another man stopped and had a long conversation about vocal technique and Frank Sinatra. I was happy to take a break from singing and simply talk to someone.

I wished, today, that I played and sang much, much better...that I was the most expensive top-of-the-line model of 2005 subway musicians...the Segovia perhaps...or the Sinatra.

This afternoon, the 2005 Songwriter just didn't seem all that powerful.