Posts Tagged ‘Here Comes the Sun’
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Grandpa Ukulele
0July 13, 2016 by admin
My first day out in a month, just back from the coast where I became Grandpa Ukulele.
The park was lush summer green. I took a quick inventory of the flowers at the Women’s Gate: morning glory, both pink and purple, and a variety I don’t know — perhaps no morning glory at all — with small yellow petals, a burgundy center and almost no sex organs; lantana both tall and short, red fuchsia and cleome, lots and lots of cleome. A mound of spirea was a week away from blooming, the stella d’oros were done, their seed pods the size of my thumb. And of course the roses, doing their duty, some red stalks thick with buds reaching 10 feet in the air.
Across the road, at the Imagine Mosaic, the guitarist sang “Here Comes the Sun.” Randy, the dobro player, was set up on the rock with the plaque listing the countries of the world who supported John Lennon’s philosophy of peace. Someday, when I feel I can stand the irony, I’ll read it.
Across the road to Daniel Webster, and over Cherry Hill to Bethesda Fountain, there is no color at all, until the water lilies, blooming yellow and pink, at center stage. Except for the big bubble man, no one was busking. “This is weird,” he said, leaning on his sticks in front of a pail of soapy water.
A little out of practice, I forgot some chords, forgot some words, but warmed up fast enough. A man in a panama hat gave me 50 cents. Later, a young girl also gave me 50 cents.
A horde of South African teenagers descended on the fountain area. The adult supervision discouraged them, but a group of 6-8 kids wanted to hula. They danced to “The Hukilau Song,” both verses, while their friends took pictures and shot video. A few kids tossed some change into my case, then rejoined the group.
An English adolescent in a ponytail and braces on her teeth, stared wide-eyed at a homeless man who sloshed through the water with his pant legs rolled up, reaching for the silver tossed in by wish-makers. “What do you think he’s doing?” I asked her.
“Cleaning up?” When I explained what was going on, she said, “There’s a wishing well in our village, and people throw in coins. I never thought about where the money goes.”
Three women were sitting on the bench, moving to the music. I invited them to hula, and one pointed to the other, the other to the third. In the meantime, I scooped up 3 leis and waved them as enticement. One stood up, sat down; the other stood up, sat down. “Am I going to have to come over there?” I advanced on them and led them back to center stage, where they danced a lovely hula. They were Polish. At the end of the dance, they returned the leis and walked away.
At the end of my set, there were only coins in my case, totaling $1.77.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Here Comes the Sun, The Hukilau Song
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$110 of Aloha
0April 16, 2015 by admin
The day started out cool and windy, and ended warm and windy. Yet another guitarist serenaded the throngs at the Image Mosaic, this time with “Here Comes the Sun.”
The water in Central Park was turned on. The sparkling splash of Bethesda Fountain accompanied me throughout my set, and will so now until fall. On the masts flanking the lake were hung long green pennants that snapped in the wind, the metal halyards clanging noisily.
Before I could ask a group of middle-schoolers if they had time for a hula, they were pawing through my leis. We danced a single verse of “The Hukilau,” while the adult leader of the group waited impatiently nearby. As they ran off, a few kids dropped singles into my case; one girl, with purple highlights in her hair, ran back from the Arcade in order to make a belated contribution.
The day was extraordinarily beautiful. Two moms with their toddlers listened from the bench. One of the kids, about 2 years old, bounced to the music, approached cautiously, then ran back to familiar arms. A woman walked by and thanked me with a buck. The toddler approached again, ran back. Finally, holding mom’s hand, the toddler made it all the way and dropped a Susan B. “And the other one?” asked mom. It is a well-known phenomenon: children tend to pocket money meant for me.
A man my age walked up with a big smile on his face. “You keep the real songs alive. I love the low poetry of the lyrics. I can’t stand what passes for music today.”
I agreed. “Nobody rhymes ‘daily’ with ‘ukulele’ anymore, or my personal favorite, ‘hula’ and ‘Honolula,’ although Dylan did rhyme ‘Honolula’ with ‘Ashtabula’ in the ‘70s.”
“Don’t you get discouraged that so many people just ignore you?”
I opened my arms to take in the magnificent day. He smiled with understanding and put $2 in my case. “You’ve got the right attitude.”
People do indeed ignore me, although I figure for every $1 put in my case I bring $5 worth of aloha.
A Hispanic family gathered around. “Have you got time for a hula today?”
“How much?”
“Nothing, it’s free.” So the 4 children, ranging in age from 6 to 16, donned leis and hula-ed away, laughing and jostling each other while dad shot video. When they finished and moved on to other delights, a middle child ran back with a dollar.
It was a big day for Brits, where they love the uke. “My favorite movie is ‘Sons of the Desert,’” one man told me, so together we sang out a few bars of “Honolulu Baby.” It was a $10 performance, boosting me to $22 for the day.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Here Comes the Sun, Honolulu Baby, The Hukilau Song
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Tuning Up
0April 3, 2015 by admin
I’d been keenly watching the weather reports, waiting for a day such as today: bright sunshine, temperatures approaching 60. Strapping my tenor uke, with low-G tuning ratcheted down to F#, to my back, I headed out to Central Park.
Not much plant life yet, the holly, rhododendron and juniper providing the only show of green. Clumps of snowdrops bloomed under a towering ginkgo and swept out along the path to Strawberry Fields. A guitarist played “Here Comes the Sun” from a bench. A big fat robin strutted his stuff on the lawn.
The park, however, was teeming with human life. Tour groups clogged the paths as I wove my way down the hill toward the road, where the artists have set up a table to sell their wares. Nearby, a magnolia pushed up its fuzzy buds, and, at the road, yellow croci bloomed on an outcrop of Manhattan schist.
Bethesda Fountain is still dry. I heard the wail of a saxophone. It’s Rakeem, to whom I tipped my hat as I walked by. John Boyd and his choir were hard at work in the Arcade, taking full advantage of the acoustics. The Bubble Man worked the plaza; he’d tied a grid of string on his dip-rope, so instead of one giant bubble, he makes clusters of bubbles that are lifted by the wind off the lake to the west.
At my second location, a young woman played the viola, so I walked to location #3, where I hung my hoodie on the fence and set up in the sun for my 90 minute set. They are doing work at the Boat Rental behind an 8-foot fence hung with opaque green netting. It’s ugly, so I keep my eyes focused on the bare upper limbs of trees and the blue sky.
A male couple, walking their dog, gave me the first dollar of the season. A little later, another male couple with another dog chipped in 50 cents.
“Has this group got time for a hula today?” Sadly, no, yet one of the teen-aged boys tossed a quarter into my case as he walked by.
“It must be spring,” announced a man to no one in particular, as if Mr. Ukulele, like robins and croci, were a vernal harbinger.
Some chord patterns to the old songs took a while to recall. I kept repeating the songs until muscle memory kicked in. During “All of Me,” a 60-something Spanish man stood next to me and sang along. We sang it twice while his female companion shot video, then off they went.
An Australian dad with a toddler on his shoulders, in a deft move, pulled a dollar out of his pocket for me. A lady walking by gave me a dollar too.
Three high-schoolers caught the aloha spirit. To the strains of the “Hukilau Song,” they gracefully waved their arms and swiveled their hips. “Can we do it again?” This time I played “My Little Grass Shack.” People stopped to enjoy the show.
As the teens walked off, a man who had been watching emptied his pocket of change. “You sure know how to bring out the best in people.”
Category Uncategorized | Tags: All of Me, Here Comes the Sun, My Little Grass Shack, The Hukilau Song
