Posts Tagged ‘Little Grass Shack’
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The Nick of Time
0September 10, 2019 by admin
The signs of the approaching autumn are multiplying: red crabapples are ripening on Central Park West; orange hips cover the rose bushes; spiky red dogwood fruit hangs above the button-seller’s head. The gomphrena continues to dominate behind the benches, plush purple buttons slowly swaying on tall stems. The only real color in Strawberry Fields comes from the pink dog roses across the path from the peace-loving peoples’ plaque. Next year’s magnolia flowers are locked up in 2-inch buds that will survive the winter.
The Italian accordion player and the jazz violinist had Bethesda Fountain to themselves; I moved on to the maple. A Croatian family on bicycles stopped to ask directions to the Bow Bridge. The 20-something daughter interpreted for her parents. “My father wants to know where you are from,” she said.
“Here. New York.”
“Your father then”
“New Jersey.”
“His father?”
“Eastern Europe. Near Kiev, which was part of tsarist Russia.”
“My father is from Ukraine,” she said.
The father gave me a dollar. “I love New York,” he said.
A Japanese man carrying a bass viol on his back stopped to listen to me. Between songs he asked me about my repertoire; as it turned out, he too played the old songs. By another stroke of luck, we were in tune. We played “Sunny Side of the Street” and “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love.” He was a busker in Tokyo and had come to the U.S. for the Detroit jazz festival. The bass was a rental.
After our 2 numbers, I directed him to the fountain and to other busking locations. Resuming my solo act, I played for another 30 minutes and only received another dollar from a passerby.
“There’re lots of people at the fountain,” the big bubble man told me on his way to the boathouse bathrooms to pee and refill his bucket.
Taking his advice, I moved my gear. The change of venue did nothing to change my luck. It was looking again as if I wouldn’t make carfare. As I started my final number, “Little Grass Shack,” a 40-something woman walked by and put me over with a dollar.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: I Can't Give You Anything But Love, Little Grass Shack, Sunny Side of the Street
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Busker Management
0June 25, 2019 by admin
Color has returned to the Women’s Gate. Swathes of yellow stellas, red and pink begonia and emerging red roses have joined the gomphrena and cleome that I saw being planted almost 2 weeks ago. The dogwood blossoms have transformed into grape-sized seed pods on long stems.
Orange day lilies tower above the rock of peace; I can’t read the plaque on that rock without a shudder or a laugh at all the wars these so-called peaceful countries have waged since joining with John Lennon to “Give Peace a Chance.” Dusty pink astilbe and yellow archangel round out the catalog of flowering plants.
As I descended the stairs to Bethesda Fountain, I located the source of the amplified guitar I was hearing. It’s Colin, the singing cowboy, returned to the park for the summer, playing “Layla.” I sat down next to him, waiting for him to finish. Two policemen on horseback clopped through the fountain area and up the path toward the boathouse. Colin kept singing. When they’d passed, we started to laugh. You never know when the authorities will enforce the rules about amplification.
Colin was done, but someone else was waiting to play, a percussionist with drumsticks and a tambourine. He said he’d only play for 30 minutes, so I moved to the opposite side of the fountain and warmed up.
After 30 minutes, he was gone and I moved back to center stage with $3 in my case.
I’d spent more time with 2 walkaways than with all the people who gave me money combined. A young Bangladeshi man, wired to his phone with a headset, was live-streaming to his family back home. “They think you’re terrific,” he said. “Say hello to them.” I said hello. I sang a song. I put a lei around the young man’s neck and had him dance. “I love New York,” he said. “Everyone has been so kind and helpful. And now here you are, so welcoming to me and my family, thousands of miles away.” He shook my hand vigorously, then moved on.
A group from the photography club of PS 7, in the Bronx, also stopped to dance. Six kids danced to “The Hukilau Song” while their classmates took photos. After the dance, their adult supervisor hurried the kids along to the next photogenic venue.
At center stage, I laid out my paraphernalia again, then heard a violinist tuning up. He too was amplified. I approached and told him I’d been waiting for the drummer to leave; he could move to the opposite side of the fountain if he wanted. “Oh, while we’re talking,” I said, “that amp…”
“I know, I know,” he interrupted me. “I’ve already been told.”
I began singing, and before long a man walked by and put a dollar in my case. Soon after, a kid of 8 or 9 put in another dollar.
A little girl stopped to inspect my case. “Have you got time for a hula today?” Her mom and dad were nearby; they nodded their permission and gave her a dollar for me.
A little kid smiled at me and gave me 10 cents.
A 40-something from North Carolina, for whom this was not her first hula, danced an expressive, sultry hula, then gave me a dollar. She was followed by a preteen whose hula was somewhat stiff. She also gave me a dollar.
A group of kids from California walked by. “Has this group got time for a hula today?” The tour guide posed the question to his charges. No one seemed to want to dance, until a young man of 15 or 16 stepped forward. When no one joined him, I said, “It’s you and me, man.” I’d barely begun “The Hukilau Song” when some other kids walked up, put on leis and joined the first in a hula. Altogether, 5 kids danced, ending in wild applause from their friends.
“You deserve a tip,” one of the kids said, dropping a handful of change into my case. “You are awesome.” A couple of other kids also ponied up. I tipped my hat to the tour guide.
A 12-13 year-old boy broke away from a gathering of kids with a $10-bill in his hand. “You need change?” I asked him. He looked at me as if I were crazy. “Great, thanks a lot,” I said.
“Congratulations.”
A young girl from Boston gave me a dollar for a hula.
Another young girl came up with a dollar. Her name was Caitlin, and she had recently moved from Arizona to Florida. She danced to “Little Grass Shack,” and had done so with such delight her grandmother was moved to give me another buck.
After my set, I moved to the shade and counted out $21.38.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Layla, Little Grass Shack, The Hukilau Song
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The Coolest Guy in Town
0May 16, 2019 by admin
It was another monochromatic day at the entrance to the park, with spring flowers fading and summer yet to blossom. Daniel Webster cradled a bird’s nest in the crook of his right elbow, where his right hand disappears beneath his lapel. Azaleas brightened things up around the fountain, and the first dog rose, still in bud, revealed a bright red petal, yet to emerge.
Bethesda Fountain swarmed with people enjoying the sun after days of rain. A group from Sweden sat near me at the rim of the fountain. When they got up to leave, a man approached. “Is it all right?” he said, holding a fistful of change.
“Thank you,” said I, and 6-8 quarters rained down into my case.
A lady with a baby stopped to listen. She gave me a dollar to pose for a selfie. A pre-teen boy peeled away from his parents and tossed me a nickel. More coins came my way, until an Indian dad gave each of his 2 children a paper dollar to put in my case.
It was shaping up to be a low-earning day, when late in my set a quartet of Canadian teens from Nova Scotia stopped to give me money. The first thing I saw was a ten-spot from one of the girls, followed by singles from the others. “Have you got time for a hula today?”
They danced to both verses of “The Hukilau Song,” and when they were done, some of their classmates stopped by. “Too bad you guys missed the hula.”
“It’s not too late,” I said, putting leis around their necks. “Do you guys know how to hula?” They did not, so I recruited one of the first group of dancers to lead them. This time we danced to “Little Grass Shack.”
Giving back the leis, the recruited dancer said, “We’ve been in New York 3 days, and you are the coolest person we’ve met so far.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s true, the coolest.”
Delighted, they walked away. Delighted, I counted out $16.65.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Little Grass Shack, The Hukilau Song
