Diary Of A Busker Day 232

Posted on 18/05/2012 by Marvin

Diary Of A Busker Day 232 Sunday May 13th Winchester High Street (corner of Marks And Spencers, Time: 3:33-5:40pm).
A few feet in front of The Buttercross and facing down the High Street is Tony – Winchester’s premier sax player. As I walk by I think I wouldn’t mind a photo of him for my album. I stop, get my camera out and walk back a few paces but when I raise my camera so I can look through the viewfinder, Tony sees me, stops playing and says (loudly) that he doesn’t want me to take a picture. I ask him why not. He says it again – he doesn’t want me to take a picture. He comes over to me – “I don’t want you to take a photo, ok?” “OK, is there any reason?” He doesn’t say, just “I don’t want you to take a photo.” Fair enough.
I end up down at Marks And Spencer. Anthony stops by for 10 minutes – after not stopping for a few months, he’s started again to stop and ask about the guitar. I give him a copy of the photo I took of him the other day, with the King Alfred statue in the distance. He likes it – “Yes, that’s not bad, not bad at all.” He’s “still struggling” with the guitar. The trouble is he wants to learn how to play the fingerstyle way – with the chords, bass notes and melody all at once. He has a book of piano arrangements with the two clefs, for left and right hand and some guitar chord diagrams above. “So how do I play the melody?” I have to explain that the chord diagrams don’t tell you how to incorporate the melody – they’re just so you can strum along on the guitar. “They’re just the CHORDS, not the melody?” “Yeah. For all that, you need a book of fingerstyle arrangements. You’ve just got a piano arrangement book with the guitar chords. So you can play the chords and SING the melody, if you want.” No – he isn’t going to do that – “I want to PLAY the melody, like YOU do.” I explain; “But the thing is, I’ve been doing this for years! You need to learn some chords – strum some chords.” “Strum?” “Yeah, strum. Play ALL the strings. Strum.” “Not just the ones with the black dots on the chord diagrams?” “No! They’re just the fretted notes – on the guitar you have to CREATE the note, if it’s not an open string. With the piano, the notes already there, in front of you – you just have to press it, right? The guitar is different – those dots tell you where you put your finger. Then you strum ALL the strings, right?” I’m getting out of patience, which I always feel bad about later. Any musical instrument is difficult to learn, especially if you’re used to playing another one which is completely different…
At about 5 o’clock, I see Tony walking down towards me…he comes up, puts a coin in the bucket and asks why I wanted to take his picture. I tell him – “For my photo album. I’m taking pictures of alot of people I see when I’m out here.” “Really?” “Yeah, really.” “Not for any paper or anything like that?” “What? No – what do you mean?” As I’m saying this, it suddenly dawns on me – the letter I wrote to The Hampshire Chronicle last year, where I moaned about the loudness of saxophone buskers and their backing tracks. They gave it the title ‘This saxophony cacophany’. Oh dear, I’m embarrassed, but I can’t get out of it – he knows it wrote it. I don’t know how he knows my name. I’m pretty lucky, though – Tony’s alright about it – “All people have to do is come up and say – if they think it’s too loud. Hey, I’ll turn down a bit.” He talks about some seriously loud buskers – like the South American pan pipe lot who sometimes play near where we are now. Apparently, the Debenhams people came out to complain to them – they were out here playing for hours. Back to the embarrassing subjest of my letter, Tony says “Do you know how I found out?” “No.” “Frank told me.” “What?” “Yeah, Frank came into Sainsbury’s (where Tony works) and said ‘Did you see what Marvin wrote about you?’ and showed it to me and that’s how I found out, so don’t trust anybody.” Well, the rotten so-and-so. Frank’s the first person to moan to ME about Tony and other loud buskers who use backing tracks. The dirty sonofa… “Anyway”, says Tony, “Is Frank a musician?” “Frank? (I laugh)…well, he plays his accordion!” “Yeah, but is he a MUSICIAN? I mean…is there any melody? I can’t even hear a melody!” This makes me laugh, again. “I know what you mean – it all sounds the same. I get poeple coming up to ME and saying stuff like ‘What song is he playing – that guy on the accordion?’ I’ve got no idea. I keep thinking maybe the reeds or whatever it is are worn out on the upper register, where you play the melody, on the keyboard bit.” “Because he’s always going on about chords – diminished and whatever, I think he must know all about this but I can’t work it out. I even went up to him once and said ‘Sorry, what is that you’re playing?’ because I couldn’t work it out – the melody.” I laugh again – “I know! It all sounds the same, and he’s there playing for hours!” “Yes, and he gets to someplace really early, like when he plays near the fountain – ’cause I set up there sometimes, but sometimes I get there and he’s already there. And he’s been there since ten o’clock, he says. I mean, you know, people don’t want to hear all that so early in the morning, I think.” “No, I agree.” “You know, I don’t play that early – not before eleven. It’s too early! It’s too loud for people – I know!” Tony’s a nice bloke, and he DID give me a coin and I DO feel very embarrassed. Anyway, we shake hands – I’m glad he didn’t beat me up!
Near the end, when there’s not many about (to hear any mistakes) – I debut a new song; my arrangement of The Beatles’ 1968 ‘White’ album song – While My Guitar Gently Weeps. I’ve practised it alot at home but it now needs to be ‘broken in’ out here. I disfigure it somewhat, with a few mistakes, but at least one person recognises it; a woman comes up and says “I haven’t heard you play that before – is it a new song? – well I know it’s not ‘new’ – it’s one of my favourite songs.” I’m pleased to inform her – “Yeah – this is the first time I’ve played it…”
Earnings: £24.67p.

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Diary Of A Busker Day 231

Posted on 15/05/2012 by Marvin

Diary Of A Busker Day 231 Tuesday May 8th Winchester High Street (1.opposite Bellis, Time: 2:02-4:15pm, 2. corner of Marks And Spencer, Time: 4:56-6:25pm).
A bunch of girls sit on the steps of The Buttercross and listen to me (they’ve got no choice!). After a bit, three come over and contribute. I interrogate them and find out they’re Polish – after I say they sound German. They’ve been here (in Winchester) for two days and tomorrow they’re off to Brighton. I tell them I used to live there a long time ago – “It’s very busy – lots of people”, then, because I can’t think of anything else “lots of gay people”, which they don’t understand. “Gay, um…homosexual!” “Ah, yes!” they say.
An old lady gives puts a coin in the bucket, then, seeing a coin on the pavement next to the bucket tries to pick it up for me. But it’s not a coin – it’s some gum that’s been stepped on and flatened into a coin-sized shape. In fact, they’re all over the place, thousands of grey, coin-shaped circles! – something I’ve never noticed before which is strange as I spend half my life – it seems – with my head a couple of feet above the ground.
A very short, flat-capped man likes my sound and begins a conversation which, as so often happens, starts off in a normal way – “How are you getting on?…” but then ends up something completely different – his friend was visiting someone in America and the next day the person they were visiting died! Eric tells me his good idea – “Once in a while I have a really good thought, you know – and this is one of them. You should get together – all of you buskers. You and…who is it who does the accordion?” “Frank.” “Yes, and you should all form a band.” “Hm…yes…it would be quite a loud band, wouldn’t it?” After a bit more chat, Eric departs, saying “Goodbye Frank”!
My old guitarist chum and fellow admirer of Ragtime guitar, Phillip, turns up.I tell him about my photo album project – in fact why doesn’t he have a go on my guitar while I take a picture of him? So he does…and I find myself in the rather weird position of watching someone play The Third Man on my guitar. Phillip, enjoying it, carries on with the Roberta Flack ‘smash’- Killing Me Softly With His Song. Very mellow, quite nice. During this, an old lady hands me a pound coin which I put on the ground in front of Phillip. After his ten minutes spot I give him his pound, which surprises him – he doesn’t want to take it but in the end will take 50p of it and promises to write out the Roberta Flack song in guitar ‘tab’ for me.
I head down the road to a place I haven’t played at for ages – the corner of Marks And Spencer, where, being on the other side of the street from where I usually play – I’ve got the sun on me. So, it’s Here Comes The Sun. A woman says “They’d be proud!” I don’t know what she means – “Sorry? What’s that?” “They’d be proud of you – Marks And Spencers, for playing that.” I still don’t understand. “What do you mean?” “They’d be proud – it’s on the ad, on the TV – Gary Barlow singing that, on the marks And Spencer ad.” “Oh right – the TV ad!” Yes, she’s right – there’s an ad…on the TV… with this guy Gary Barlow…and he’s singing Here Comes The Sun. I immediately stop playing the song!
Halfway through my set, Frank walks by with his dog – Kazoo but his without accordion. I haven’t seen him for a few weeks and express my ‘concern’ – “Where the hell have YOU been, Frank?! I thought you were dead!” He says “I’ve just been doing the garden, you know…and learning a few more tunes – it all takes time…then there’s been the weather, a’course.” I tell him about my photo album but as he hasn’t got his accordion, there’s no point in having a photo of Frank The Accordion Man in an accordion-less state. He agrees. It’ll have to be some other time.
After not getting any contributions for about fiftenn minutes, I decide to pack up. It’s quite late, anyway…but just as I’m about to walk off, Anthony turns up…and it’s another of those times when the conversation goes off into a million (it seems) tangents. Anthony: “Phillip Glass – I was reading an interview, he practices EIGHT hours a day, still.” Then Anthony tells me about a program he watched about a cure for a rare disease that affects children – “…the doctors were able to cure this one child. They asked him ‘what are his chances now?’ and he said ‘Well, we can now give him a 70 year life’ and I thought, is that all? It’s not long, is it – 70 or 80 years (Anthony’s 73, I think), that we’re here for, when you think of it.” I agree. I say that it’s only in the last year that I’ve started to realise how short it all is – life. “That’s just age – when you suddenly realise yo’re closer to the end than the beginning.” Indeed. We then, or rather he, gets on to the subject of the ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’- “Do you know that everyday 25,000 people die of starvation? EVERY DAY!” Then, the Bible’s prophecy – “There will be a war between the King of the North – that means Germany, because Germany’s the hub of Europe. Europe consists of eight kingdoms – France, England, Spain and so on and so forth, led by Germany, and the King of the South, which is Iran and all the Middle East countries…then there’s the East – China, Russia…the King of the East…” “So you think there’ll be another global war, do you?” “Oh yes – and it’ll make the last one seem like a tea party.” “Oh dear. Well I hope you’re wrong!” Half an hour after I packed up, I finally leave to go home.
Earnings: £31.54p.

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Diary Of A Busker Day 230

Posted on 09/05/2012 by Marvin

Diary Of A Busker Day 230 Friday May 4th Romsey (The market, Time: 11:27-12:37, 1:12-1:44pm).
Back at Romsey for the first time in a long time I say hello to Bertie the flowerman and get his photo – standing with his mate Darren, who runs one of the other stalls. I tell them about my ‘historic’ encounter with Duck Baker on Tuesday. Bertie’s never heard of him. Darren has though – and is quite impressed. He says he heard him on a BBC radio show not long ago. While we’re talking, Bertie’s phone rings…after he hangs up, he says “That was Duck Baker.” Funny guy.
It’s another grey day and by Romsey standards, surprisingly slow. A lady comes up, contributes then, leaning into me, says “You could be out mugging old ladies!” I’m quite offended by this – obviously not enough that I want to give her her pound back, but…really! I say “No – I COULD NOT! Do I look like someone who would mug an old lady – or anyone?!” It’s as if I was on my way to do just that but happened to find this guitar here, and (miraculously) taught myself to play all this stuff immediately, then thought “No, on second thought, I WON’T find an old lady to mug, I’ll stay here and play this guitar for a bit.” After just over an hour I take a break and decide that if, after counting my money, if I’ve cleared £20 (after taking off the £6.10 bus fare), I’ll go home. However, when I do this, during my snack at the front of Romsey Abbey, I find that I’ve made only £11, so I decide to do another set. On walking back to the market, I pass some more pavement inscriptions – they’re all over this place. One says: DUST DOWN YOUR SHADED,FADED EYES
THROW OF DEEP WINTER’S TROUBLED SHAWL
FOR A WEALTH OF BEAUTY UNDERFOOT LIES
AND THE SPRING AIR IS A PROMISE FOR ALL
‘The spring air is a promise for all’? – It’s freezing! Back on the ‘beat’, one of the market men tells me about a group he was in years ago – “The Outer Limits, they were called, and they WERE! Couldn’t have picked a better name! They ere alright, though. Only had three chords!” he chuckles. After half an hour playing, I decide to pack up. I’m not in the ‘mood’ for it today and I think I’ve got the £20 now in the bucket. However, on my arrival back home, I find I was way off. For the second set I must have got only £2.50 – that’s for 30 minutes. Not too good. A bit of a waste of time. Romsey – you let me down. I may be some time returning.
Earnings: £13.41p.

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Diary Of A Busker Day 229

Posted on 08/05/2012 by Marvin

Diary Of A Busker Day 229 Tuesday May 1st Winchester High Street (1. opposite Vodafone, Time: 1:50-2:40pm, 2. opposite Fat Face, Time: 4:57-6:13pm).
The day gets off to a good start -- I get 6p from an Iranian-looking woman before I even start, as I’m tuning up. A few minutes in, ex-army Otto turns up, unusually sober. In fact, I don’t recognise him at first as I’ve never seen him walk straight. He’s not completely sober though -- I can smell some sort of alcoholic drink there. But he seems almost, God forbid, ‘normal’. He wants to give me a £2 coin but I’d rather not take anything as he’s been a bit of a nuisance in the past and I’ve told him to ‘get lost’ a few times. I try to get him to reduce the amount -- “That’s alot, Otto. I have change , you know…” “No -- the government’s feeding me. After they f*** you up, then they…” his sentence disappears as he walks off. The old lady in the electric wheelchair ‘trundles’ by. I always seem to be playing The Third Man when she turns up: “There he is, playing it again!…” she always says before chuckling. I’m not playing it now, though. I suddenly think -- I should get a photo of her for my album -- why not -- I see her around enough. I get her to stop -- and ask her name, which I don’t know but I’ve got to have a name next to the photo. It’s Maureen -- finally I know! She’s happy to pose, as well. I tell her about the photo album and some of the other people in it, like Delia, who won’t tell me her age. “Neither will I!” laughs Maureen. Then, of all people, Delia arrives! I introduce them to each other then Maureen’s off. Delia stays for a chat about a number of things…somehow we get on to Mrs. Thatcher. “I would kill her…what she did. I remember once. I had three grandchildren behind me. We were in a shop and one of them wanted a little thing, you know and I couldn’t buy them anything. That’s when I was widowed for the second time…her son Mark -- he’s a crook, they won’t even let him back in…but she, you know…she made thirty million from that Arab country…” Delia gets her old sweet tin out and we go through the old routine, “No Delia -- you don’t have to…” “Yes I do!…” “No -- you don’t have much…at least let me give you some change…” OK, a £2 coin -- I give her a pound back. I’ll see her on Friday, I say.
Otto comes back -- and he’s back to his usual self -- off his face (he’s only been away half an hour!) and it’s all familiar stuff -- he sits down next to me, on my right, “Hey!…pley some Chuck Berry…” OK, I say I’ll play a bit but afterwards I’ve got to do my usual stuff. “Yeh, yeh!…jus’… Chuck Berry…some rock ‘n roll…” So he gets his usual Johnny B. Goode intro, extended a few more seconds, then “That’s all I know, Otto -- OK?” Yeh, yeh…” I go into La Vie En Rose and then something quite remarkable happens. Halfway through, a man walks by (I’m not sure if he contributes) and, as he’s 20 feet down the road, turns and says in an American accent “You know any Merle Travis?” I look at him and there’s something really odd -- I know this guy. Or rather, I know who he is. It’s Duck Baker, the legendary fingerstyle guitar picker! I’m sure of it! Well, this is unbelievable -- half an hour ago, I was playing his arrangement of Georgia On My Mind, and now he’s here, in Winchester, 20 feet down the road from me. My brain sort of stops and I forget who Merle Travis is and think Duck Baker has said Merle Haggard, who was a singer. So I say something like “Um…I don’t know…I just play instrumental stuff…” Then he says, “Well you were -- just now, playing that…” Of course!, I was playing La Vie En Rose -- Chet Atkin’s arrangement which is Travis picking! I suddenly realise and stutter, “Oh yeah, um… yeah, I do a couple, um…”, -- but can’t remember what they’re called -- my brain’s still not working! I remember, “Dance Of The Goldenrod, yeah, I do that one!” I play the first part of the verse, then mess it up. He doesn’t recognise it, I say the name, “Oh yeah” he says. Then I remember Cannonball Rag -- Merle Travis’s signature song. I play a few bars and shout out “Cannonball Rag!” He walks back to me. I say, “Uh, you’re a lot like an American, um…do you play the guitar!” “Hi, I’m Duck Baker, yeah, give me a call sometime” and hands me his card. My brain’s still stopped but we have a chat -- I thought he lived in America -- he spends alot of time over here, now -- he lives in Reading. I tell him the Focal Dystonia section of my ‘hard luck story’ -- I can’t recall his response. I show him my/his arrangement of Georgia On My Mind -- photocopied and taped together in my songbook. “Well, you can play it as I’m walking up the street -- I might see you on the way back, anywway.” And with that, the great Duck Baker walks off. And then, a terrible thing happens -- which I could have predicted -- I start the song -- Duck Baker’s arrangement, and mess it up, completely. There’s nothing to be done about it. It’s one of those (thankfully rare) moments when you want the ground to open and swallow you up. And then, after he’s disappeared, I see my camera -- totally forgotten about in my starstruck confusion -- lying on the pavement. I haven’t even got a picture to prove I met Duck Baker -- the great guitar genius and the only one of my ‘idols’ I will ever meet (as he’s the only one still alive). What an idiot I am. I (mentally) kick myself to death. I become morose and think ‘another missed opportunity’… . What to do… . I decide to stay here, in case he comes back and then I’ll get a photo…but he doesn’t. But I can’t tear myself away although I really should, after all, the guys in Vodafone must be getting pretty bored with me. I have an idea -- I’ll move up a bit, to the other side of the street (so they can’t see me and where they can’t hear me as much). So now, I’m about 40 feet up from Vodafone, with, for the first time ever -- the sun on me. I play and keep looking up the street, to my right to see if the great Mr. Baker is coming back down…I’ll know if it’s him: quite tall with a blue T-shirt. …time passes by… Jeremy turns up and I tell him the story -- of my extraordinary meeting and missed opportunity. Jeremy’s never heard of him and points out that I’m probably the only person here today that would recognise him. He’s probably right -- unless you’re a fingerstyle guitarist, you probably wouldn’t know. Jeremy spends a few minutes consoling me then he’s off. …time passes… It’s getting late and there’s not many about. A girl on a bike slowly pedals past then turns around and comes back and gives me a donation for which I thank her and say “I’ll play the bike song” -- Bicycle Built For Two (from my Merle Travis book) but I’ve forgotten the name! I hunt for the music…I find it. “Here it is, you know -- ‘Daisy, Daisy’ …bicycle built for two, you know that one? -- it’s really old!” She doesn’t, she says. I play the simple intro and am about to go into the up-tempo, Travis picking verse, when…he’s here -- Duck Baker! Come to say ‘hello’ again! Quick, think QUICK!! (I think). “Please, Mr. Baker, will you pose for a picture?” I give the girl my camera, which I remember this time and explain the situation -- “This is Duck Baker! He’s the MAN! Just press this button, here…” We pose, me and the internationally renowned D. Baker, for a picture, then I have a moment of pure inspiration -- maybe Duck Baker would agree to hold my guitar. I put it to him…and he does! After the first picture, the girl says “Oh, the light’s a bit bright, maybe you could move over here…” Don’t worry about that -- just get the flaming picture! So, she takes another one -- all together, I’ve got three photos of me and Duck: one of just us and two of us with the great picker holding my Epiphone Casino guitar. I once again press on our photographer (who doesn’t know him) the importance of the situation -- “This is Duck Baker -- he’s one hundred times better than me!” “Oh” she says, then to Duck Baker, “Maybe you can play a song?” But no -- he politely declines -- he’s in a hurry and has to go back home. He says again “Give me a call sometime” and is off. I (again) think fast…what should Duck Baker hear, as he walks off down an almost deserted Winchester High Street. Hm… Of course! -- what else but a bit of Travis picking in the shape of the theme from The Third Man -- what else?! Famous guitar player or not -- no day out in Winchester would be complete without a bit of The Third Man/Harry Lime Theme played by me -- MBN, as you’re walking off home.
Earnings: £36.59p (possibly including a £1 coin from Duck Baker -- legendary American jazz/blues/folk fingerstyle guitarist genius).

Duck Baker

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Diary Of A Busker Day 228

Posted on 02/05/2012 by Marvin

Diary Of A Busker Day 228 Thursday April 26th Winchester High Street (opposite Vodafone, Time: 1:15-4:09pm).
I set up and get through one song – Albatross, then it starts to rain…but just lightly, so I carry on with La Vie En Rose…but after a minute, it really picks up so I have to stop – the shortest set I’ve ever done – 5 minutes. Naturally (and infuriatingly, although I should be getting used to this by now) the rain stops the second I pull the zip shut on my bag. Arrggghhhh!!! I set up again…and it does it again – I get through two songs then have to pack up! I set up for the third time and start with When I’m Sixty-Four, which was written by Paul McCartney in the late 50s, performed occasionally by The Beatles in ’61, recorded in late ’66 and released in ’67 when his dad was 64, or something like that. A funny thing happens. Just after I start it, Janet (ex-Shadows bassist Jet Harris’ girlfriend) comes up, “I can’t believe you’re playing that again! You were playing that before, when I saw you! I can’t believe it!” She’s right – I was playing it a few days ago and she walked up, saying that (her 64th) would be next year. A coincidence, then and now today and I swear I never saw her. Continuing the Beatles theme, I play Here Comes The Sun. One woman walks by, laughing -”Here Comes The Sun?!” Indeed – that’s why I’m doing it…another comment from a lady, as it starts to rain again, “You’re very brave, aren’t you?” – nope, I’m very stupid, more likely.
About a week ago, a man – another musician, came up to me, dragging along a crate and a couple of suitcases. He said he’d just moved to Winchester and started to ask me about busking here. He now turns up and stands next to me, waiting till I finish the song. When I do, he says he has a “proposition” to put to me – if I’m not keen on it, he won’t mind (which means he will, I bet). He thinks it would be a good idea for me to team up with him – he looks at my bucket, “You could make twice as much as that. It could be a great opportunity to get to another level.” Specifically, he says HE would play the lead lines while I would supply the backing or rhythm accompaniment. I’d be his backing band. So, basically, I would be playing less but have to completely rearrange all my music, as I play arrangements designed for SOLO guitar, meaning the bass, rhythm (or chordal voicings) and lead (or top melody lines) are all incorporated into the arrangement. It’s all, more or less, meant to be played together. Also, one of the (few) advantages of busking solo arrangements is that I am my own boss – I haven’t got to put up with any other musicians’ 1. lateness/non-arrival, 2. drunkeness/mood swings, 3. pointless discussions over set lists, 4. ego/arrogance, 5. being subservient to a dominant personality – always another’s… and many more. Having suffered all this for more years (decades, in fact) than I care to remember, I’m not interested and decline his “offer” politely. But he becomes insistent – maybe his musicians’ ego has been slightly put out. He says I’d be a fool to pass up an opportunity like this – of working with him. Again I politely decline – it’s just not my “thing”, I say. He keeps on… I decline several more times and he’s clearly getting annoyed – he walks off, muttering (again) about how I’ll be missing a great opportunity. I finally lose it and shout “WHAT MAKES YOU THINK WORKING WITH YOU IS GOING TO MAKE MY LIFE SO MUCH BETTER?!” He replies in the usual “I’m just saying, it’s a great opportunity, etc….” and carries on up the road.
Half an hour later, I take a toilet break then walk up to The Buttercross the back way via the alleyway leading from the cathedral grounds…and who do I see set up at the end of the covered bit but this bloke. And what is he and what is he doing? He’s a SAXOPHONIST WITH LOUD BACKING TRACKS. The most arrogant kind of busker that ever blasted the face(s off any one on any High Street) of the Earth. I should have known. I go back to the place I was before and find street-cleaner Alan having a rest. We talk about the rain – I say I’ve packed up three times. “I packed up the minute I got here!” he says, chuckling. “Alan, there’s a guy playing up there who tried to get me to play with him and he got really annoyed when I said I didn’t want to. Go and check him out – he’s playing a saxophone over jazz backing tracks.” “I’ll do that – maybe knock over something – by mistake, of course – while I’m there.” “Yeah, just go and knock a speaker over, or something.”
During my second set I’m pretty lucky – I only have to pack up, actually – move my stuff against the shop wall, only once – when it rains. A blind guy, early 30s, comes up. “I have a complaint to make.” Here we go, I think. “…you’re stopping me from doing my shopping – I’m listening to you.” Ah – so it’s a compliment! He holds out his hand which has about £4 in silver coins – 50s, 20s, 10p pieces. I say “That’s alot there, you don’t have to give me all that.” But he insists. He’d like to hear Mr. Sandman – it’s his girlfriend’s favourite – she’s blind as well – I ask. While I’m playing it, I can see he’s recording me with some small, phone-like device, with tiny buttons on it. In fact he stands next to me and records me for the next twenty minutes. Then he walks off but after hearing me start Over The Rainbow, comes back to listen (and record) some more – I reckon he’s got a whole album worth there – he could bootleg it. Actually, I’ve seen him before. he used to busk here with his friend, singing and playing the guitar. I remember, it must have been at least two or three years ago – well before I started. I’m sure I gave them some money – not every time I saw them, though. We chat a bit more – his friend got another job and is doing well. He (the friend) doesn’t busk anymore. He says I should busk at the farmer’s market which they set up down near the fountain, where the old post office used to be. That’s where they used to busk – they made alot down there. I should see Jan, the jam lady. “Just tell her Justin sent you.”
Earnings: £29.76p

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Diary Of A Busker Day 227

Posted on 01/05/2012 by Marvin

Diary Of A Busker Day 227 Tuesday April 24th Winchester High Street (1. opposite Vodafone, Time: 11:43-1:25pm, 2. opposite WH Smiths, Time: 2:15-5:15pm).
It starts raining – or “drizling” rather – just as I start to play, but it’s not too bad and stops after three songs. A couple in their early 60s stop and listen, pay a compliment (verbal not coinage), walk off, have a discussion nearby, then come back. He says “It’s stupid to compliment you and not give you something!” (I agree). I say I wish everyone who complimented me gave something – I’d be alot better off. He asks if I know Bert Weedon’s died. No I didn’t. This man happens to be a friend of Bert Weedon’s bank manager. He tells me an interesting story – “Apache was actually written for Bert Weedon – and he recorded it, but he wanted to wait until the summer holidays were over before he released it. In the mean time, The Shadows did it and released it and beat him to it.” I wonder if Janet knows that – I must remember to ask her, in fact, I wonder if Jet Harris knew that! Back to Bert’s bank manager’s friend, “…yeah, he was ninety-two, I think. Had a few bob, though – that’s what my friend says.” I suddenly remember something – a couple of months ago, I bought a Bert Weedon album (vinyl, of course) from a charity shop in Eastleigh, for £1.99. I tell my man. “Well, it should be worth a bit more now, I expect.” Even if it says “To Collette” on it?
…after they leave – not more than one minute, someone old bloke comes up – “Hey, d’you hear about Bert Weedon?” “Yeah, there was a guy here a minute ago, his friend was his bank manager, apparently Apache was written for him…had a few quid…signed album…” Then, a minute after HE goes, one of the local Drongos/nutters comes up. I see this guy around the high street – always wears dark glasses, leather jacket, sort of “lopes”/slithers around, always grinning and muttering something, like now, “…(muttering)…Bert Weedon…(more muttering)…” “Not you, too! He’s just died, I know.” “What?” he says. “Bert Weedon’s dead, right? You were going to say that, weren’t you?” “Is he?” “Yeah< you were saying something about Bert Weedon just then!” “Yeah – that thing you were playing, a bit like Bert Weedon.” “Oh right…so you didn’t know he was dead?” “Wha? No” However, I have to correct him – it should be sounding like Chet Atkins and with all due respect to the recently deceased and his famous 1,2,3, Step guitar tuition books, if what I’m playing sounds like Bert Weedon, there’s something wrong. Bert Weedon, indeed.
Later on, two young guys walk by, chomping on hamburgers. One says – or shouts “Sandman! Play it!” They don’t even stop walking, or chomping. They just demand it, so I certainly will NOT play it.
I take a break – warm my hands in the toilet (sink) and have a snack and smoke half a bowl in my pipe…and walk back to the high street and there are still no other buskers out today which reminds me – I haven’t seen Frank for awhile and I must get a photo of him for my album. I should also have got a photo of the shade-wearing Drongo… I set up right opposite the entrance to WH Smiths and start up…Alan, the friendly and incredibly wrinkly-faced, recently back at work street cleaner is out with his McDonalds cart – “I’m lovin’ it” written on the side. He makes to pick up my bucket with his litter picker-upper stick with the claw-like thing at the end. Funny guy, he is. Then, because it’s Tuesday, it’s Delia, who tries to creep up behind me – but I know it’s her because I can see the wheel of her trolley out the corner of my eye! “I know you’re there, Delia! I know it’s you!” I turn and see her. “I didn’t want to disturb you – playing the song, you know.” “I always know if someone’s there. A shape suddenly stops moving.” She’s been to the dentist, done some shopping – bought a load of evaporated milk cans (they’ve got a nerve selling tins of air, I always think), bought some Dahlias for her garden – “it keeps me fit.” She explains to me (again) how she has a different job to do in her house everyday – dusting on Sundays – “I always use a damp cloth, you know. I’m allergic to dust blowing all around the place”, …washing the lino on (I think) Mondays… She tells me about her record collection – “I have that one, Tammy (I was playing when she crept up) on a 45 single – Debbie Reynolds sang it.” “Yes, she did – in the film, when she’s sitting near a window, although a bunch of blokes sang it at the beginning, some harmony group…so do you have a record player?” “Oh yes – a Monarch. All in one box, you know. I don’t like cds – there’s no depth, you know. I don’t care what you say, there’s no depth in them!” I’m impressed – a discerning listener. “I agree! And all those old records – they were meant to be played on those record players, you know. I couldn’t agree more!” “Yes, and cds skip and you can’t fix them…”
Mick the ex-cruise musician stops by, very smart – in the usual: black roll-neck and navy blue blazer. Very “spiffing”, so I must get a photo of him – which he’s happy to pose for…and it’s a great picture: wide, “laddish” grin – the face of a man who’s seen a few..cruises. And I’m amazed to find out he’s sixty-nine. I chat with Mick for quite awhile – which I don’t mind as I’m here three hours and need to “stretch” myself. He enthuses about an incredible musician who plays a piano concerto on a guitar “…and if he can’t play a bit, which, on a guitar, some things you can’t, he HINTS at it, so you know what it is he’s trying to play…” So, “Did you hear about Bert Weedon, Mick?” No, he hadn’t and he doesn’t really rate him much – “Didn’t he do Raunchy, or something, you know, that three note thing?” “I don’t know – was that (I play the three note Raunchy riff)… I know he was really popular, wasn’t he – in the 50s and 60s. More of a Hank Marvin style, though. Not really solo guitar…”
A short woman stops in front of us, “Didn’t you say you had a cd of your playing? – you remember me, don’t you?” “Um…yeah, from last year, right?” “Yes, do you have a cd – with you playing?” “I do but it’s my own music, not what I play out here.” “No, but it’s YOU playing, is it?” “Oh yes, doing everything – but it’s my own stuff, not what you hear me doing out here.” “Can I buy a cd – do you have one?” “Oh…yeah, I do (I get one from my guitar case)…here it is.” “How much do you want for it?” “Um…seven pounds, is that alright?” In the background, I hear Mick mutter something about how rubbish my abilities as a salesman are. “Yeah, that’s alright – I’ll have to get some money though. I haven’t got any, Ok?” “Ok.” …one hour later, I’m about to leave and she still hasn’t come back. I bet I’ll see her in a year and we’ll go through the same thing…
Earnings: £54.05p.

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