Wednesday turned out to be a better busking day.
On a brilliant blue-sky morning, I found my way to Queen's Park station, where the busking location is in a sunny alcove underneath a skylight. I felt lucky to get the spot, having abandoned my original plan to play at Osgoode, where a maintenance team was circular-sawing through a panel of ceramic tile.
Every time I go out busking, I have to work up my confidence to get out and play. It's probably a good thing when I can't play at my originally-intended location, because it makes me feel fortunate to get whatever spot I get.
Today I consciously practiced letting go of expectations and tried to notice my own attention and how it flip-flopped between my experience of making music and my observations of other people and how they were responding to me. (Regular readers of this blog will note that I've written about this before; however, I've discovered that there's a constant forgetting-and-remembering that happens, so I'm returning to this topic.)
I found that I was able to notice the differences in my perception. For brief periods of time, I was fully in the moment of playing and singing; the physical space around me seemed to disappear and I was "in" the song. This experience contrasted with the other times (even within the same song) when I was inadvertently focusing on the people around me and their apparent response, or I was aware of some other thought, such as "I wonder when Dave is going to come meet me for lunch?" or "which song should I play next?".
I'm not sure that either state of awareness is "right" or "wrong". In performance, it's important that I'm in touch with the people who are listening to me and watching me. On other stages, I notice a sort of dance that takes place with my audience, as I connect with them by meeting someone's eyes, for instance, and then I look away. Constant connection with the audience is distracting, while constant inwardness (even to the point of closing one's eyes) distances the performer from the audience.
When I'm busking though, this interplay is even more complex, because some people are clearly "listening" (being an audience, and perhaps wanting contact) while others are not. And of course, my own consciousness of them might come from a secure performer's stance ("I'm playing this song for you") or an insecure one ("Do you like me?").
When I arrived at Queen's Park, I noticed that I had left my electronic guitar tuner at home. Accomplished players probably wouldn't give this a second thought--these devices are convenient but not necessary--and I perhaps rely on mine too much. I figured it'd be good practice for me to get by without it today.
I found, to my surprise, that I kept my guitar in tune without any difficulty, even though I used a couple of alternate tunings for particular songs, and had to adjust the tuning periodically. Some days this is a challenge for me, especially in the subway where the environment is noisy and I sometimes feel self-conscious. It occurs to me now that just as I was aware of my own mental "tuning", and adjusting it accordingly, I was able to make minute adjustments to my instrument as required.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Sunday, March 26, 2006
After the "Ridiculous"
It had been four weeks since I'd been out busking anywhere--the longest stretch since I started playing in the subways in October, 2004.
I was excited to be back at Pape Station, but I felt a little out-of-practice. Not only with the singing, but with my acceptance of the subway experience...my comfort with it.
I felt strange and out-of-place again, as if I hadn't ever sung there. I was acutely aware of the slight change in the performance space--the slight shift to the left to accomodate the new waste/recycling bin--which seemed to make the pedestrian traffic pattern just that much less advantageous. I was aware of the guitar I was using--not my usual one--and worrying that it was perhaps too quiet.
In fact, it probably didn't make any difference.
The subway is what it is.
People walk by.
Usually they say nothing. On Friday morning, though, in the hour-and-a-half I spent at Pape (not very long, especially when I consider that some buskers I know stay out for 7 hours at a stretch) many people said things.
One man said "Where have you been? I haven't seen you here for a long time." (This surprised me...I didn't recognize him and I couldn't imagine that he'd seen me often enough in that location to actually miss me. But he had.)
And another man (young, black, about 18) said "Ridiculous!" as he sauntered by, laughing, with his friends.
Not able to let this go, I called after him down the corridor, "Hey, do you play an instrument?" (Yeah, guitar.) "Then you try this sometime!" (Yeah, sure, lady.)
Later still (amazing how an hour can seem so long), a couple speaking a language I didn't recognize decided to discuss some documents of theirs while standing directly over my guitar case, only inches from me. (I didn't say anything, maybe because I knew they didn't speak English, but more likely because I was acting the way they were treating me...like a piece of furniture.)
They left.
I turned up the volume on my guitar. It didn't help.
I sang beautifully. It didn't help.
I confess, after Mr. Dreadlocks passed by, I considered packing up and going home. But I knew it was important to stick it out...to wrestle some value from this disheartening experience, even if all I went home with was a thicker skin.
I tried to focus on the positive interactions, few and far-between as they were. For instance, one man deliberately reached AROUND the foreign-speaking couple (also without asking them to move) to drop a dollar into my guitar case.
Later, at home, I was reading a book called "Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living" by the Buddhist nun Pema Chodron. She writes "don't expect applause", or thanks, for being fully in the world. Instead, she encourages us to be "inquisitive and curious about what comes through the door".
After the "ridiculous", when I'd returned home and felt less vulnerable, it was easier to shrug off the young man's rude comment...or if not shrug it off, at least not take it so personally. At the time, though, I was hooked. (In fact, I suppose I'm hooked by the positive strokes I get too, when people give me money or praise. If nothing else, the subway is a great place to practice letting go of expectations.)
I was excited to be back at Pape Station, but I felt a little out-of-practice. Not only with the singing, but with my acceptance of the subway experience...my comfort with it.
I felt strange and out-of-place again, as if I hadn't ever sung there. I was acutely aware of the slight change in the performance space--the slight shift to the left to accomodate the new waste/recycling bin--which seemed to make the pedestrian traffic pattern just that much less advantageous. I was aware of the guitar I was using--not my usual one--and worrying that it was perhaps too quiet.
In fact, it probably didn't make any difference.
The subway is what it is.
People walk by.
Usually they say nothing. On Friday morning, though, in the hour-and-a-half I spent at Pape (not very long, especially when I consider that some buskers I know stay out for 7 hours at a stretch) many people said things.
One man said "Where have you been? I haven't seen you here for a long time." (This surprised me...I didn't recognize him and I couldn't imagine that he'd seen me often enough in that location to actually miss me. But he had.)
And another man (young, black, about 18) said "Ridiculous!" as he sauntered by, laughing, with his friends.
Not able to let this go, I called after him down the corridor, "Hey, do you play an instrument?" (Yeah, guitar.) "Then you try this sometime!" (Yeah, sure, lady.)
Later still (amazing how an hour can seem so long), a couple speaking a language I didn't recognize decided to discuss some documents of theirs while standing directly over my guitar case, only inches from me. (I didn't say anything, maybe because I knew they didn't speak English, but more likely because I was acting the way they were treating me...like a piece of furniture.)
They left.
I turned up the volume on my guitar. It didn't help.
I sang beautifully. It didn't help.
I confess, after Mr. Dreadlocks passed by, I considered packing up and going home. But I knew it was important to stick it out...to wrestle some value from this disheartening experience, even if all I went home with was a thicker skin.
I tried to focus on the positive interactions, few and far-between as they were. For instance, one man deliberately reached AROUND the foreign-speaking couple (also without asking them to move) to drop a dollar into my guitar case.
Later, at home, I was reading a book called "Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living" by the Buddhist nun Pema Chodron. She writes "don't expect applause", or thanks, for being fully in the world. Instead, she encourages us to be "inquisitive and curious about what comes through the door".
After the "ridiculous", when I'd returned home and felt less vulnerable, it was easier to shrug off the young man's rude comment...or if not shrug it off, at least not take it so personally. At the time, though, I was hooked. (In fact, I suppose I'm hooked by the positive strokes I get too, when people give me money or praise. If nothing else, the subway is a great place to practice letting go of expectations.)
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Tonight's the Night
I survived the trip to Ottawa with no incidents caused by songwriting en route.
The gig was good. Quiet, but good. (A lot of life is like that.)
I wrote three half-songs on the trip, and have started and finished two more this week. This writing streak (which has been going on for about a month) is getting out-of-hand, but it sure is fun. Every day, I wonder "what song is going to drop by today?" as if they were strange and interesting relatives. I keep feeding them.
My most recent song--the one I was so excited about I had to go play last night even though I hadn't quite memorized the words--is a tribute to Neil Young. (We recently saw "Heart of Gold", his concert film directed by Jonathan Demme.) It's fun to write a tribute song. I told myself I had to write pretty much in the Neil Young style, without plagiarizing anything. It worked out pretty well I think. Plus, I got to mention Winnipeg.
I wrote it on Tuesday, and figured I'd play it Wednesday night...and then I had an attack of the mysterious stage-fright vapours, consisting partly of a feeling of genuine illness combined with a sudden urge to nap. (I know from experience that if I'm actually ill, the best thing for me to do is go out and sing--it basically cures anything--but the napping/escape instinct can be even more powerful than this self-awareness.)
So, I was all set to say "nah, I'm staying home tonight" when I walked into the kitchen where Dave was playing Classic Rock radio.
Neil Young came on, singing "Tonight's The Night".
So I changed back out of my pj's and took the guitar out to the car.
As it turned out, it was also a night I'd see two friends I hadn't seen (or in one case, heard) for too long. Good thing I listened.
The gig was good. Quiet, but good. (A lot of life is like that.)
I wrote three half-songs on the trip, and have started and finished two more this week. This writing streak (which has been going on for about a month) is getting out-of-hand, but it sure is fun. Every day, I wonder "what song is going to drop by today?" as if they were strange and interesting relatives. I keep feeding them.
My most recent song--the one I was so excited about I had to go play last night even though I hadn't quite memorized the words--is a tribute to Neil Young. (We recently saw "Heart of Gold", his concert film directed by Jonathan Demme.) It's fun to write a tribute song. I told myself I had to write pretty much in the Neil Young style, without plagiarizing anything. It worked out pretty well I think. Plus, I got to mention Winnipeg.
I wrote it on Tuesday, and figured I'd play it Wednesday night...and then I had an attack of the mysterious stage-fright vapours, consisting partly of a feeling of genuine illness combined with a sudden urge to nap. (I know from experience that if I'm actually ill, the best thing for me to do is go out and sing--it basically cures anything--but the napping/escape instinct can be even more powerful than this self-awareness.)
So, I was all set to say "nah, I'm staying home tonight" when I walked into the kitchen where Dave was playing Classic Rock radio.
Neil Young came on, singing "Tonight's The Night".
So I changed back out of my pj's and took the guitar out to the car.
As it turned out, it was also a night I'd see two friends I hadn't seen (or in one case, heard) for too long. Good thing I listened.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Songwriting and Driving
I'm off to Ottawa this weekend for a show on Saturday, March 11th at Rasputin's. I'm looking forward to the trip.
I often get song ideas when I'm driving. I wonder why this is. Maybe it's the stimulation of having the scenery race by, or the sense of confidence that comes from moving very fast. It's a great feeling, especially when you're on the way to a great gig. But there's a safety issue here. If you're a good songwriter, writing while driving is probably more dangerous than talking on a cell phone.
Maybe it's time the authorities knew this. They could institute some kind of safety program with roadside spot-checks.
"Excuse me, Ma'am, have you been songwriting this evening?"
"Uh, well, I did have a title line about an hour ago..."
"And is that an open notebook I see there on the seat beside you?"
See what I mean? I'd be sunk.
It's a scary scenario...but not so scary as if I actually had an accident while writing a song. Imagine, having to report that I caused a thirteen-car pileup because I just had to finish that verse. Pretty pathetic.
So, I'm off to Ottawa, listening to music instead of writing it. I'm loving Roseanne Cash's "Black Cadillac" these days.
Chances are, Roseanne will inspire me to write something...and I'll pull over to the side of the road. "I've always got time for Tim Horton's..." and another song.
I often get song ideas when I'm driving. I wonder why this is. Maybe it's the stimulation of having the scenery race by, or the sense of confidence that comes from moving very fast. It's a great feeling, especially when you're on the way to a great gig. But there's a safety issue here. If you're a good songwriter, writing while driving is probably more dangerous than talking on a cell phone.
Maybe it's time the authorities knew this. They could institute some kind of safety program with roadside spot-checks.
"Excuse me, Ma'am, have you been songwriting this evening?"
"Uh, well, I did have a title line about an hour ago..."
"And is that an open notebook I see there on the seat beside you?"
See what I mean? I'd be sunk.
It's a scary scenario...but not so scary as if I actually had an accident while writing a song. Imagine, having to report that I caused a thirteen-car pileup because I just had to finish that verse. Pretty pathetic.
So, I'm off to Ottawa, listening to music instead of writing it. I'm loving Roseanne Cash's "Black Cadillac" these days.
Chances are, Roseanne will inspire me to write something...and I'll pull over to the side of the road. "I've always got time for Tim Horton's..." and another song.
Friday, March 03, 2006
WhoseSpace is it Anyway?
Recently another musician encouraged me to join MySpace, the social networking service that has become the latest online craze.
My first reaction was, “Who has time?” Well, lots of people, I discovered.
Then I felt irked. “Look, I’m already blogging, aren’t I? Isn’t that up-to-the-minute enough?’ Apparently not.
Last year, the blog was the new website. This year, MySpace is the new blog. Musicians, in particular, have taken to MySpace, because it allows their songs to start playing instantly when people visit their page, and it also provides easy gig listings and bloggability. In other words, it’s the new website AND blog. Plus, it has that all-important social networking aspect.
What’s the appeal of social networking for “indie artists”? The ability to publicly praise artists one likes and be praised back, hopefully by artists of high status. The more people linking to you—and the more appealing or successful they are—the better you look.
In other words, MySpace is a big public popularity contest.
Maybe that’s why I spent so much time picking out my picture for it. Actually, I ended up taking it myself (which is somehow appropriate). I briefly posted the picture in this blog, but it looked so ridiculously self-centred (because I already have one picture of myself on the page) I took it off.
As for MySpace, I couldn’t get into the “music” part of the site, so my picture ended up on the ordinary networking part of the service, and for some reason, the default setting (which I couldn’t change) is “single” (which I’m not). Seeing this, I immediately moved to delete my picture from my page, but it wouldn’t delete. This is a bad sign. Suddenly I’m feeling very protective of my space.
Then I browsed around the site and discovered that Joni Mitchell (THE Joni Mitchell) is on the “friends” list of some musicians I know. Suddenly I feel as if I’m back in Grade 7. “Omigod, why hasn’t Joni picked ME??!!!!!” I think, “Now I MUST get on MySpace Music…RIGHT NOW!”. And then I think, “I must find the girls’ washroom because I think I am going to cry.”
Then, I notice the fine print, breathe a sigh of relief and collect myself.
“This isn’t actually Joni Mitchell’s personal MySpace page. It’s run by a fan.”
Oh. Well, then. The world has not gone completely berserk.
It's a relief to know that Joni is not checking her MySpace page as we speak, looking to see how many "friends" linked to her. Perhaps, instead, she's writing a beautiful song, or painting, or corresponding with her daughter, or…I don’t know, even writing a personal essay in a teensy unnoticed corner of the blogosphere (which is, as you’ve noticed, MY space.) At least that’s creative and reflective.
Right now, I’m going to look around my real-life space. What do I see? I see a room that needs tidying, and a life that needs attending-to. I see evidence of real people, just a few, the only ones this house can comfortably accommodate. I see a guitar and a notepad, which really don’t take up so much space in my life…which are most at home in real places, and appreciated by real people.
P.S. When I first wrote this piece, a few days ago, I couldn't upload it for some reason, so it remained dormant for a few days. During that time I wrote a new song called "Larger Than Life" which marks a first for me, something I've been trying to accomplish for some time: referring to emails and cyberspace in a decent song. I'm happy with how this one came out, but it's the first time it's worked. It turned out to be not only a commentary on Internet self-promotion, but other ways of artificially inflating our all-too-human selves.
Here's an excerpt:
I post my picture on the message board
I send my signal into space
A million pixels reaching out for more
Some idol time cannot erase
We look around at the things we’ve got
So scared that everything’s too small
Charge our purchase to the lines we bought
And punch our cards into the wall…
Larger than life, we could be
Larger than life
Larger than life
We all wanna be...
My first reaction was, “Who has time?” Well, lots of people, I discovered.
Then I felt irked. “Look, I’m already blogging, aren’t I? Isn’t that up-to-the-minute enough?’ Apparently not.
Last year, the blog was the new website. This year, MySpace is the new blog. Musicians, in particular, have taken to MySpace, because it allows their songs to start playing instantly when people visit their page, and it also provides easy gig listings and bloggability. In other words, it’s the new website AND blog. Plus, it has that all-important social networking aspect.
What’s the appeal of social networking for “indie artists”? The ability to publicly praise artists one likes and be praised back, hopefully by artists of high status. The more people linking to you—and the more appealing or successful they are—the better you look.
In other words, MySpace is a big public popularity contest.
Maybe that’s why I spent so much time picking out my picture for it. Actually, I ended up taking it myself (which is somehow appropriate). I briefly posted the picture in this blog, but it looked so ridiculously self-centred (because I already have one picture of myself on the page) I took it off.
As for MySpace, I couldn’t get into the “music” part of the site, so my picture ended up on the ordinary networking part of the service, and for some reason, the default setting (which I couldn’t change) is “single” (which I’m not). Seeing this, I immediately moved to delete my picture from my page, but it wouldn’t delete. This is a bad sign. Suddenly I’m feeling very protective of my space.
Then I browsed around the site and discovered that Joni Mitchell (THE Joni Mitchell) is on the “friends” list of some musicians I know. Suddenly I feel as if I’m back in Grade 7. “Omigod, why hasn’t Joni picked ME??!!!!!” I think, “Now I MUST get on MySpace Music…RIGHT NOW!”. And then I think, “I must find the girls’ washroom because I think I am going to cry.”
Then, I notice the fine print, breathe a sigh of relief and collect myself.
“This isn’t actually Joni Mitchell’s personal MySpace page. It’s run by a fan.”
Oh. Well, then. The world has not gone completely berserk.
It's a relief to know that Joni is not checking her MySpace page as we speak, looking to see how many "friends" linked to her. Perhaps, instead, she's writing a beautiful song, or painting, or corresponding with her daughter, or…I don’t know, even writing a personal essay in a teensy unnoticed corner of the blogosphere (which is, as you’ve noticed, MY space.) At least that’s creative and reflective.
Right now, I’m going to look around my real-life space. What do I see? I see a room that needs tidying, and a life that needs attending-to. I see evidence of real people, just a few, the only ones this house can comfortably accommodate. I see a guitar and a notepad, which really don’t take up so much space in my life…which are most at home in real places, and appreciated by real people.
P.S. When I first wrote this piece, a few days ago, I couldn't upload it for some reason, so it remained dormant for a few days. During that time I wrote a new song called "Larger Than Life" which marks a first for me, something I've been trying to accomplish for some time: referring to emails and cyberspace in a decent song. I'm happy with how this one came out, but it's the first time it's worked. It turned out to be not only a commentary on Internet self-promotion, but other ways of artificially inflating our all-too-human selves.
Here's an excerpt:
I post my picture on the message board
I send my signal into space
A million pixels reaching out for more
Some idol time cannot erase
We look around at the things we’ve got
So scared that everything’s too small
Charge our purchase to the lines we bought
And punch our cards into the wall…
Larger than life, we could be
Larger than life
Larger than life
We all wanna be...
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