1. The Return of the German

    0

    July 11, 2014 by admin

    It was a slow start on Wednesday. Although hot, the humidity was down. Over the lake, the towers of the San Remo on Central Park West stood out clearly against the blue sky. Almost an hour went by before I got a lei around the neck of a young German woman, who danced to “The Hukilau Song,” both verses, before thanking me and walking off. My first dollar materialized a short time later, when a hulking 30-something tossed it in without breaking stride.

    A girl of 5 or 6, with long wavy red hair, grabbed a blue lei and danced up a storm, skipping, jumping and waving her arms from one side of the path to the other. She struck me as a theatre kid, born to play Annie, full of self-confidence, and just a little bit annoying. When we’d finished, she tossed the blue lei back into the case and pulled out a white one. “Different color, different dance,” she said, this time cavorting to “My Little Grass Shack.” Her father, who had been proudly watching the performance, peeled off a fiver and took her by the hand, preventing her from showing us her orange lei inspired hula.

    A large woman in a red dress stopped to dance. She moved languidly, her arms undulating like gentle waves washing the shore. Next came a pre-teen boy who would not dance, but dumped a pocketful of change into the case to show his appreciation. A woman walking two small dogs showed some appreciation too.

    The crowds were thin, the weather hot, time to bring the act to a close. A group of Germans stopped to listen to me sing “Honolulu Eyes,” then put a few dollars in my case. “Have you got time for a hula today?”

    “Already did,” said a Fräulein, putting in her buck. It was the young woman who started things off today, returned to make things right.

    Category Uncategorized | Tags: , ,

  2. Typical Tuesday

    0

    July 9, 2014 by admin

    A small group of Japanese people, the women sporting parasols, stopped to hear me play. “You have a nice voice,” one of them said, as the man put a dollar in my case.

    “Domo arigato gozaimasu,” I said, bowing politely.

    “Oh, have you been to Japan?” I nodded in the negative. “Have you been to Hawaii?”

    “Hai,” I said, “many times.”

    “Yes, we too, many times.”

    Three college-age women stopped to hula. “Can you guess where we’re from?” one asked in impeccable English. I guessed Argentina. They roared with laughter. “Pakistan,” one told me. I took a closer look: light skin, thin noses, bare arms, legs and head.

    “Can’t you just see this one,” I said, taking one of the girls by the hand, “dancing the tango?”

    A couple pushing a stroller came by next, dropping a buck as they passed. Our exchange of a few words revealed Brits.

    Next came a day camp group in orange tee shirts. “Have you got time for a hula today?” They did not. But the next orange-shirted group did have time; the counselor donned a lei and tried to show his 6-year-old charges how to hula. Unlike other groups of kids, who tumbled over each other trying to get a lei, this group was reluctant. Only 2 out of 15 or so wanted to dance. “That’s ok,” I said, playing the introductory chords of “The Hukilau Song,” “No one has to hula, it’s not a punishment.”

    Two couples with 4 kids stopped to kibbitz. The girls played the uke, I was told, and had had hula lessons, although neither remembered them. “Do you know ‘Over the Rainbow’?”

    I started strumming the Judy Garland version, but was immediately stopped. “No, no, can you play it like Iz?”

    I couldn’t, but one of the young girls could; with a little prodding, a second young girl played too. I watched their fingers, then, taking back the uke, played the intro back to them.

    Counting my take at the end of the set, $12.98, I came upon a postcard someone had dropped instead of money. It promoted The Peace Industry Music Group. I know them as the Boyd family, who set up in the tunnel, otherwise known as the Minton Tile Arcade, every day, all day, all seasons. The patriarch, John Boyd, would allow no other musicians to play in that acoustically well-endowed space, which led to some bad feelings, raised voices and veiled threats. In a compromise, he allowed a Korean tenor and a Ukrainian upright bassist to join in his particular mix of sacred music and pop spirituals, but he made no allowance for a solo act, like Arlen and his dulcimer. John was arrested several years ago for violating the Quiet Zone rules, although since that tumultuous time he has reigned uncontested.

    Category Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,

  3. The First of July

    0

    July 2, 2014 by admin

    The deep summer season is upon us. On another hot day, I head into the park to bring the aloha spirit to the masses. The sprinklers are watering almost every lawn, including the one behind me on the path to the boathouse. The towering maple creates an umbral dry area about the size of my ukulele case, so I set up there and start to play. When I still get wet, I leave my case where it is and move to the opposite side of the path. People walking by look at me, look at my case, look at me; the situation is confused. Finally I slide my case out of the sprinkler’s orbit and start again.

    A young woman with a complex camera around her neck breaks into a hula as she walks by. I invite her to dance. She demurs, and moves on, but not without first dropping a dollar.

    A mother, pushing an empty stroller, walks by with her son in hand. The boy is captivated. “How about a hula?”

    “I don’t know how,” he says.

    “Maybe your mother will show you,” I say, slipping a lei around both their necks. As they dance to “The Hukilau Song,” the mother reaches for her smartphone to take a photo, but as soon as she stops dancing, the boy does too. This start-stop goes on a few times, before the mother gets her shot, and I get $2.

    A gaggle of 8 high school girls comes by, one of whom carries a Happy Birthday balloon. “Is it your birthday?” I ask. “How about a birthday hula?”

    Her friends think this is a terrific idea, but it takes some convincing. Fortunately I have lots of leis, so I eventually recruit 6 dancers, leaving 2 to take pictures. Their hula devolves into a free form arm-waving boogaloo, much to the delight of everybody walking by. Six dancers, $6.

    “Do you do parties?” a man asks.

    “I have in the past,” I tell him, although my party gigs amount to 1 birthday party for a 3-year old. We discuss his requirements: 20-25 adults in the fall for his wife’s birthday; 2 hours of music. I give him my card. “Let me know what you want and what you think it’s worth and we’ll take it from there.” I’m reluctant to name a price. I’d asked for $25 for the kid’s birthday party, and got $45, so out of touch am I with the price of party entertainers.

    The sprinkler continues to swivel, wetting down inattentive passers-by. Young people seek relief from the heat by playing in the spray. A supervising adult gives me a buck after collecting her wet children and herding them along the path. I close up shop shortly afterward. Despite the heat and sparse crowds, it is a $14 day.

    Category Uncategorized | Tags:

Newer Entries »

Archives