Spadina

Last time I was on the subway, I was told I was going to Spadina.

Maybe I should have just gone there first.

But instead, I started at Pape station. It was around ten o'clock on a sweltering Saturday morning. The Pape performance spot was occupied by a large electric keyboard, waiting for its owner to return from a break.

Next I tried Yonge, the busiest station and one that I often feel too shy to play. Adam Solomon, the Juno-winning guitar player, was there. Always warm, bemused and soft-spoken, he talked with me about the challenges of the subway gig. Coming from the Caribbean, he feels everyone is moving "too fast". Like me, he wishes more people would take a moment to enjoy the music. He planned to stick around for awhile and suggested I try Eglinton.

A longhaired guitar player was there, playing very jangly material. His songs don't exactly blend in in a soothing way. (As I continually remind myself, there's no accounting for taste.) He starts selling me on Spadina. "There's this really long corridor leading up to the spot, so people have a long time to make up their minds. And the acoustics are great."

It's true, the corridor is really really long. It seemed even longer in 32 degree heat with an amp on my back. Until about a year ago, the corridor featured a moving sidewalk, but it had been removed. Trudging along, I remembered a conversation I'd had with a musical friend who pointed out that twenty years ago, it was easier for music artists to get on a career track, with radio play and record label support. Those vehicles don't exist any more for the vast majority, who have to get wherever they end up on their own power. (Trudge, trudge.)

The musician was right, also, about the acoustics in the performance space. The reverb was just as warm as it had been at Christmas, last time I was here. Once again, I thought the spacious and attractive foyer would work well as a concert auditorium.

The sound was so pleasing here, it made up for the slow donations which lately have been typical. (I figured, you could come up with lots of reasons not to donate while walking the length of that corridor.) After four songs without any contributions, I realized that I was genuinely enjoying the experience simply as a rehearsal. Over the course of the next two and a half hours, I played several of my songs much better than usual, playing off the acoustics of the room, trying new guitar fills and unexpected rhythms. For ten minutes, I also played an instrumental improvisation around "This Little Light of Mine".

It's unlike me to be so laid-back and jazzy. (Must be Adam's influence...or maybe the heat.)

+++

Today I had several memorable donations: from parents and children, from a disabled teenage girl, and from a brave man who declared loud enough for everyone to hear, "It's lovely! Lovely! Keep singing!"

The most unusual donation, one of the most unusual of the year so far, came from two teenage boys.

As they arrived at the top of the stairs and started striding across the vestibule, one of them gestured at me and said clearly "For instance, I wouldn't pay anything for that..."

Startled, I forgot my lyrics but kept playing, looking away from them and figuring they were having some discussion about what kind of music they liked. I wasn't offended, just momentarily off-balance.

Meanwhile, the boy's friend, having noticed what had happened, reached into his pocket and threw a few coins into my case.

By doing so, he obliged the first young man to stop, get out his wallet, and give me a dollar.

(Spadina Station - 11:15 to 1:39 - $31.77)