An Audience of One - Part 2

Having handed over Pape Station to Phil, I headed westbound to Bay Station.

A plastic sign that read "Caution: Wet Floor" was set up beside the busking rectangle. Sure enough, a long trail of salty residue extended along the corridor. Looking overhead to see if anything was still dripping, and deciding that it wasn't, I opened my guitar case.

Before long I had settled into my usual routine of excellence and invisibility.

The Bay corridor, as always, with its bright white ceramic tile, had the pleasing acoustics of a giant shower. In today's hot weather (28 degrees and sunny) it started to feel pleasantly steamy, and I was reminded of the expensive health club I once belonged to back in the days when I made lots of money.

A kind woman in her sixties wearing a cheerful yellow jacket came over and said "Thank you for your music."

A one year-old in his stroller played "peek-a-boo" with me as his mother pushed him along, eyes straight ahead.

And a man wearing a fedora caught my eye from a distance. Something about him made me know for certain that he would like my songs. Perhaps all independent musicians engage in 'audience-profiling', that is, quickly analyzing the age range and personal style of a potential listener to see if they're likely to appreciate what we play. I'm pleased that often I get it right...I can tell who I'm trying to reach and I'm happy when I do.

Earlier in the year, I thought that perhaps I shouldn't be identifying potential supporters from a distance...that it's somehow opportunistic. I've changed my mind on that. Now I think it's just another legitimate form of marketing. And it gives me what I need, which is an actual audience.

This particular man made a donation and then listened from around the corner (which is exactly what I would have done). I knew he was there, and that knowledge gave my performance of one song a new energy and focus that hadn't been there before. Afterwards, he complemented me wholeheartedly and went on his way.

After he left, I stayed for a few more hours, even though donations were slim and personal interactions were infrequent. It's interesting that I do stick around longer in those situations. I'm more likely to stick around long enough to eventually see a return, instead of quitting early and cutting my losses.

When two women arrived with violin and cello to play in the space, I was finally prompted to call it a day.

I picked up my jean jacket from the floor and noticed it was damp. Something must have still been dripping.

(Bay Station - 11:00 approx to about 1:45 p.m. - $24.93)