1. Mr. Ukulele Loses His Aloha

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    September 25, 2017 by admin

    Friday started out bad and got worse.  As soon as I entered the park, I was assaulted by loud music.  Some moron with a boombox had cranked it up to 11, or so I thought.  “Aren’t there rules about amplification in the park?” I asked a green-shirted volunteer in the information kiosk.

     

    “Yes, there are, but this is the only time for the musicians to rehearse for Saturday’s concert.”  The concert she was referring to was the Global Citizen Festival, an annual event since 2012, which featured, she told me, “world-class performers like Stevie Wonder and Elton John.”  The concert was held on the Great Lawn, some half mile from where we stood.

     

    From Central Park West to Fifth Avenue, waves of rock riffs roared from the north.  It stopped from time to time while technicians fiddled with the bass, thumping like a migraine, then began again.  The noise echoed around Bethesda Fountain, where a sad-looking woman played folk songs on her acoustic guitar.  Farther east, under the maple tree, the caricaturists and begging Buddhists occupied my secondary and tertiary venues.

     

    Instead of giving up and going home, I hit upon the idea of playing near the Alice in Wonderland statue.  In my early days as a busker, before the Quiet Zone Wars, I frequently set up between the Conservatory Pond and Alice.  Like Bethesda Fountain, Alice was a destination, especially for children; unlike the fountain, it remained a Quiet Zone after the peace.  Despite the ambient amplification, if I played softly, using an inside voice, so to speak, I could sing my set here.

     

    As I put out my solar-powered hula girls, I was mobbed by little kids .  Each kid wanted a chance to position the toy on the ground and watch it dance.  In the melee, the yellow hula girl was roughed up in what turned out to be a non-life-threatening injury.  When it came time for a hula dance, however, nannies and governesses whisked the kids away.

     

    Two older girls, maybe 6 years old, hung back.  They did not want to hula, but they seemed to enjoy “I Wonder Where My Little Hula Girl Has Gone.”  One ran off to get a dollar from her mom, who sat out of sight on a bench.  Not to be outdone, her friend ran in the other direction and returned with a dollar too.

     

    The first hula of the day was by a little girl, the second by an Argentine woman.

     

    A man motioned for permission to take my picture, after which he gave me a buck.  “It’s very happy music,” he said.  Two women got off their bikes and leaned against the fence across from me, listening with smiles on their faces.  After a few songs, one remounted and the other came forward with $2.  A woman from the unseen benches to my left surprised me with a dollar.

     

    With 9 singles in my case, the day’s busking proved to be far more successful than I thought possible 90 minutes ago.  As I was about to wrap up with “My Little Grass Shack,” a green shirt pulled up in his Konservatory Kop-mobile, told me I was in a Quiet Zone and asked me to leave.

     

    “Listen,” I said, as another bass sound check rattled my teeth.  “Are you seriously going to enforce Quiet Zone rules today?”

     

    “You can’t play here.  You can play farther uptown,” he said, pointing north, closer to the source of the noise.

     

    My aloha spirit, put much to the test today, drained away.  “I’ve been kicked out of better Quiet Zones than this,” I said.

     

    “I’m not kicking you out, I’m asking you to leave.”

     

    “Ok, as long as you’re asking, I’ll leave after one more song.”

     

    “Oh, yeah,” he said.  “Is it 20 minutes long?”

     

    “Why don’t you take a spin around the pond; I’ll be gone before you get back.”

     

    I sang “Little Grass Shack,” packed up and left, not at all happy about this day.

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  2. Aloha and Shana Tova to All

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    September 22, 2017 by admin

    I was counting wood anemone flowers (15-13) when an Israeli woman stopped to admire the blossoms.  She looked into my face, then recounted this anecdote.  “When my children were young I took them to many free orchestral concerts.  One day, while walking home from one of these events, my son said, ‘Mommy, I know why Jewish people like the violin so much.’  ‘Why is that?’ I asked him.  ‘Because the violin is the only instrument that cries.’”

     

    “Is that a violin?” she asked.

     

    “It’s a ukulele.  The only instrument that laughs.”

     

    As we parted she added, “Shana Tova,” today being the first day of Rosh Hashana.

     

    It was another hot day, with a gray cloud cover.  Schools were closed; the park was again teeming with people.

     

    At Bethesda Fountain, Colin the cowboy was ending his set with “Hotel California” (Eagles, 1976).  His recorded accompaniment included a string section and choir.

     

    Far up the path, a man and woman listened to me play “Fit as a Fiddle.”  Afterward, the man walked down to me and gave me a dollar.  “I loved your rendition of that song from ‘Singin’ in the Rain.’”

     

    A mixed-gender group of kids from Long Island hesitated, then, one by one, 4 of them donned leis and hulaed.  With their backs to me, they organized $3 among them.

     

    A man and his toddler son sat by the fountain to my left.  I offered the child my kid-lei, but he ran back to his dad and hid behind him.  I continued my set, pretending not to notice when the boy snuck up behind me and swiped a lei.  “That’s not yours,” said dad, who returned the lei, along with 29 cents.

     

    A well-dressed group of moms and kids lingered at the fountain to my right.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”

     

    “I know how to hula,” said a dark-haired mom.

     

    “Where’d you learn to hula?” her friend wanted to know.  Taking a lei, the woman described her childhood in Seattle and the many Hawaiians she knew there.

     

    To the strains of “The Hukilau Song,” the woman danced using all the proper hand movements I’ve seen native Hawaiian use.  Her friend and all the kids were awestruck.  “You were terrific,” I told her.

     

    “So were you,” she said, fishing a fiver from her wallet.

     

    “Have you got time for a hula today?” I asked a young woman.

     

    “Why not?”

     

    So we went to the hukilau, after which I asked if I detected an Irish accent.  “Scotland,” she said.  I was abashed.  “No worry, it happens all the time.”

     

    A contingent of 20-something Brazilians danced next.  They danced energetically through 2 verses, only to find that the girl with the smartphone hadn’t figured out how to record the dance.  After some brief instruction, we reprised the second verse, for which I received cheek kisses and a 10-spot.

     

    A man with dreadlocks came by and gave me a fiver, asking for $3 change.  “That ever happen before?”

     

    “All the time,” I said.

     

    “Money will be no good soon.  Listen to me, I’m from the future.”

     

    “Maybe you should give me the $3 back.”

     

    “For the present, I still need it, but soon,” he intoned.

     

    Two women, one 70-something, the other perhaps her daughter, would not hula, but asked if they could take a picture with me, for which they gave me $2.  I asked the older woman, who spoke with an accent, where she was from.

     

    “Brooklyn.”

     

    By the end of my set my case had filled up nicely, totaling $30.67.  Aloha and Shana Tova to all.

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  3. Fourth of July in September

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    September 21, 2017 by admin

    The wood anemone bent out over the path sporting 15 open flowers; the smaller plant, 9. The park seemed more populous than recently.  The cowboy, Colin, had already packed his gear when I arrived at center stage.

     

    A man asked if a dollar would buy a picture, as indeed it would.

     

    A trio of girls from Maryland wandered by, looking for a good place to sit and eat lunch.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”  One of the girls, Emily, wanted to dance, so I fixed her up with a lei and told her about the hukilau.  After the first verse, she signaled her friend to come over and take a picture.  In the distance, I noticed Carole, her camera nearly obscuring her face.

     

    At the end of the second verse of “The Hukilau Song,” Emily ran back to her friends; Carole came forward and gave me a dollar.  “You don’t have to give me money every time,” I told her.

     

    “Not every time,” she said.

     

    Emily returned with a dollar and my lei.

     

    A man approached from the benches and gave me $2.

     

    Three willowy blondes strolled by.  I tried to convince them to hula, but they smiled and kept walking.  Just before exiting the plaza, however, one turned back.  “Have you changed your mind?”

     

    “No, no,” said the woman, stooping to drop a dollar and change in my case.

     

    A pack of Italians rode in on their bikes.  They enthusiastically accepted my offer to hula, each kicking in a buck afterward.

     

    A woman of a certain age, having finished her lunch, handed me 2 singles.  “Very entertaining,” she said.

     

    A couple had been lingering on the bench in front of me.  The man stretched out, with his head in the woman’s lap, while she scrolled through her phone.  From time to time, the man looked up at me, then, after a few songs, he appeared to be napping.  At last they got up to go, and the man veered off in order to make a donation.

     

    “Thanks,” I said, “I thought you were sleeping.”

     

    “Love your music,” he said.

     

    “Thanks for the show,” said another man, shortly before I ended my set.

     

    I was surprised to count out $17.76, a number more suited to the busy summer season, July, say, than these slow days of September.

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