1. From Aloha to Zen

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    June 27, 2014 by admin

    Before I got through “Making Love Ukulele Style” one time, a distinguished gentleman with abundant white curls pulled a fiver out of his wallet and dropped it on me with a gleaming white smile. A kid kicked in another buck during the second go-round. A few tunes later, a middle-aged woman added to my total, saying, “Your music perfectly fits the day.”

    Though hot, the humidity was comfortably low. Fluffy white clouds punctuated the blue sky, while below the lake shimmered green. A thirty-something couple made their way toward me; a bearded man in a panama hat pushed an empty wheelchair, while his female companion, supported by a cane, walked slowly beside him. After giving me a dollar, the man leaned the cane against the wheelchair, took the woman in his arms and danced a restrained two-step to “Fit as a Fiddle.” Finishing their dance, he helped her into her chair and they rolled away toward the fountain.

    Within the course of a few more tunes, two recent high school grads from New Jersey danced a hula, and a Japanese man, bowing politely, placed a dollar in my case with both hands. The begging Buddhist, accompanied by a friend, eyed the transaction as they walked by in the direction of the boathouse. A portly man in Bermuda shorts, clearly enjoying the beautiful day, stood listening for a few minutes, breathing in the aloha spirit before making his contribution.

    As my 90 minute set came to an end, I watched the two begging Buddhists returning from the boathouse. They playfully whispered to each other, then, to my surprise, one of them dropped 26 cents into my case.

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  2. Hot and Noisy

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    June 26, 2014 by admin

    The quiet zone in Strawberry Fields, which hasn’t been quiet yet this year, was especially not so this morning. Instead of mostly Beetles, the accustomed program played from a bench, today a disheveled young man sat cross-legged on the ground, blocking foot traffic, singing “Rainbow Connection” in imitation of Kermit the Frog. It was creepy; he might be the same guy who yelled at the tourists.

    The day is hot and muggy; a lawnmower gets evermore loud. The parks worker pushing it greets me with a wave and mouths “Aloha.” John Boyd and his Sacred Chorale are working the vaulted tunnel, as they do all year long. It always draws a crowd in the heat and rain, and besides there’re restrooms. The fountain is lovely, but there’s no shade. Heading toward my spot on the path, I note that the azalea is over, while hydrangea and spirea are coming on strong.

    Shortly after I started singing, a woman walked by with a hand-lettered sign. “What are we protesting today?”

    “No protest,” she said. “We’re just saying thank you to Chen Guangbiao for feeding the homeless.”

    That’s nice I thought, playing on. After almost an hour, a middle-aged woman dropped the first — and what was to be the last — dollar of the day. I took advantage of the gaps in passers-by to practice “Down among the Sheltering Palms,” and was a little dismayed to find I’d forgotten some key chords. A man asked if it was okay to take a picture.

    “Ok, you’ve got your picture, now how about a hula dance,” I said. No, no, he protested. “It’s only fair,” I told him, trying to save the day with the hard sell. I didn’t get the hula, but I managed to shame a handful of change out of his pocket.

    An amplified rant emanated from The Boathouse Restaurant. Someone with a bullhorn was screaming unintelligibly. It sounded as if she were shouting to have someone’s head cut off. I playing over the tumult, but my concentration was shot. “Blah blah blah blah cut off. Blah blah blah blah blah off.”

    The big bubble maker, who works at the north end of the Mall, walked up from the boathouse with his pail of water. “What’s going on?” I asked.

    “Some Chinese billionaire is buying lunch for homeless people and people are protesting. Something about how he made his money, or Falun Gong, I don’t know. I see something like that, I walk the other way.”

    “Good policy,” I said. “I saw the counter-protest earlier today.”

    Five minutes later, a NYC cop shooed the bullhorn-wielding shouter away. Quiet again descended. I played my finale, “My Little Grass Shack.” At the end, I shouted, “Aloha New York,” as I sometimes do.

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  3. Critics and Enthusiasts

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    June 25, 2014 by admin

    I entered the park at noon. The sprinklers were spritzing the lawns, which appeared lush and healthy under a hazy sky. Even the chestnut tree looks good today. On my way to the fountain, I saw my first female horse-drawn carriage driver. I set up at the fountain, but after about 30 minutes the sun burned through and it was too hot to stand unprotected, so I picked up and moved up the path.

    At the crest of the hill a young man played his violin. He was too close to my maple tree to set up there; I split the difference between him and the fountain and started playing again in the shade. After a while, two forty-something couples slowed, listened, and examined my busking paraphernalia: a hula dancing doll, signage reading “Got Aloha?” and “This is Culture”, leis, business cards and a CD. One guy picked up my CD and turned it over to read what’s on it. He put it back, saying, “I’m in music for a living.”

    Now, to be honest, music is not my living, but he couldn’t know that. I weighed my response, then let it drop unexpressed when I saw one of his companions reaching for her wallet.

    “Has this group got time for a hula today?” Not today. It was a group of 30-40 elementary school kids heading back to the east side. I played “The Hukilau Song” as they shuffled by and got a number of thumbs-up. Surprisingly, one of the last kids to pass dropped a fiver in my case.

    A young couple strolled by hand-in-hand. About 10 yards beyond me, the man returned to give me a buck. “What got you?” I asked.

    “Tuning,” he said. Indeed, my uke was badly in need of it.

    A trio of Jersey City high-schoolers selling candy came my way. I’ve seen them many times, purportedly raising money for a school event or after school activity. One of them got caught up in my song, started dancing with glee, and when I praised his taste in music, he emptied his pocket of change into my case. It was mostly pennies and nickels, but I saw a few quarters in the mix, and when I counted it up at the end of the session, the change totaled $2.73.

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