Diary Of A Busker ~ Day 89

Diary Of A Busker Day 89 Friday April 29th Winchester High Street (corner of Marks And Spencer, Time: 4:47-6:40pm.)

Royal Wedding or not, there’s busking to be done and by late afternoon there should be some people about the town – well, that’s what Alan, my friendly 75 years young street cleaner said when I saw him in a supermarket earlier. I’m reckoning many will have had a drink, or ten, so maybe there’ll be a few in a more friendly, nay, even generous? state of mind than usual. So, into town I go and yes, there are a few people around, not nearly as many as on a normal weekday but it’ll do – and in my experience, the few people that ARE about are more giving of their attention.

A few songs in, four teenagers – two boys and two girls walk by. One says “those two hate the wedding!” pointing at ‘those two’. As they turn the corner they give me the sign of Dionysius – forefinger and little finger outstretched, the two middle ones curled against the palm. This sign of the two-horned Greek god of pleasure is usually used by members of hard rock groups and their followers, not usually by tipsy teenagers. They disappear but come back a few minutes later to talk to me. They’re quite cheeful and the blonde girl has definately had one or two or three…or the aforementioned ten – “Hey, are you Irish?” “No, I lived in Canada for a long time. Have you been to a pub?” “Naw, friends house!” “Oh, and you’ve had a couple of drinks?” I say and nod towards the blonde. “Yeah! What do you play – can you play Freebird?”  I get asked this often – why? – it’s nothing like anything I play! “No, sorry. Have a look at this set list.” I hand it to them and they all have a look. “Mr. Sandman, yeah, can you play that?” says the blonde “…only I haven’t got any money, look” she says as she feels her skirt which hasn’t got any pockets. “It’s OK” I say and start playing. They walk off straight away, the blonde turning around to blow me a kiss – she really HAS had a few.

My next visitor is a young boy who comes and sits in front of me. He has a sweet face, blonde hair and wears a small, black hat which looks like it’s made of plastic. I finish the song and ask him if he plays the guitar. Yes he does – the classical guitar. “Really? And do you have an acoustic guitar?” “Yeah, I like yours though.” “Thanks. I play alot of Chet Atkins stuff, have you heard of him – he’s an American guitarist, died about ten years ago.” “Um…no, I’m nine years old (that’s no excuse) so…no, that was before I was born.” “Oh yeah, you’re right. What’s your name?” “Ben. Do you need a license to play here?” “Oh no, not in Winchester, you can just turn up anywhere here and play.” “Oh, right, ’cause I dance!” “Really? Well, yes, you can come here and dance if you like – make some money!” He seems pleased by this and says “OK, thanks – you play great!” and goes off to join his parents on the bench, nearby.

One of my regulars turns up – the old man who lives in the St. Johns Alm houses down the road beyond the King Alfred statue. He wants to learn the guitar and I gave him my number months ago but he hasn’t called to arrange a lesson. He’s very curious and leans in close and asks me lots of questions about my guitar – “…and what notes are those?” he points to a string. “Are they the same as on the piano – C, D and so forth?” “Well, yes and no – the open strings are E – that’s the low one.” “Which one’s that?” “The thickest one, here…” I put my finger on it. “Yes, and the next one, what’s that?” “That’s the A string, the A note.” I go through the whole lot – he asks me about every one. For once, I’m relieved I’m not playing one of my 12-string guitars! He points to my thumpick – “And what is that, what does that do?” “I use it to strike the notes, with this hand – my right hand.”  “And the other hand, what does that do?” “My left hand? That one frets the notes.” “Frets? What’s that?” “Frets? These are the frets” – I point to one. “When I press down on the fret, it makes a note…” “And how do the two hands correspond to each other? What is the relationship – do they do the same thing?” “No. When I press the string” He interupts – “String? What’s that?” “What’s what?” “What did you call it?” “A string? What’s a STRING, you mean?” “Yes.” “A string, it’s this thing here, this wire.” “Yes, I see…and what does that do…”!!! Oh my goodness – this is going to take ages! What’s a string?!

While I’m playing Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring, another old man regular comes up. He listens then says “They have a wedding and shut the world down! Anyway, you play well – who wrote that?” “Thank you – a man called Johann Sebastion Bach.” “Ah yes, Bach.” “Yeah, he wrote it about three hundred years ago, something like that – it’s a beautiful melody, isn’t it?” “Oh yes – here’s a pound for you, please carry on.” he walks off around the corner, I resume playing it and when I finish, he reappears – he must have been listening around the corner, out of sight! He again compliments me, “Yes, very good – you play well.” “Thank you very much, you’re very kind!” I say, and he walks off again. I feel a bit sorry for him, his clothes are ill fitting and could use a good clean.

So far, I’m pleased with the money that people are giving and, as I was predicting and hoping, the percentage of passers by who are contributing is definately more than when there are many more about…a rough looking guy on a bike stops next to me and says in a quiet voice “Do you smoke weed?” “Me? No.” “I’ve got two joints here, I want to sell ’em.” “Hmm…sorry – no thanks!”

It’s near the end – all in all, a pleasant day. I play Ol’ Man River then La Vie En Rose – I’ve played it a few times today. People like it and it’s one of the easier ones I do. Four people a bit older than me walk by. One of them – a man, breaks off from his companions and comes over. He waits until I’ve stopped playing before he speaks – very polite, I wish more would do this instead of coming over and talking straight away, over the music! “That Chet Atkins has a lot to answer for!” He’s a Scotsman (or someone putting on a Scottish accent). “Ah! you guessed the arrangement!” “Oh yes, I could hear him in that.” I do alot of his arrangements – Ol’ Man River – the other one you heard, that’s one of his, on the cd of stuff he recorded at home which wasn’t released till after he died.” “Really? I got the first album he made – Chet Atkins’ Workshop in 1962.” He is mistaken! Chet’s first album was made in 1954. “Yes, I’ve got that one, too.” I say, keeping silent about his gross inaccuracy of earlier. “I had some friends who actually met him, AND played with him, in Tennessee – where did he live?” “Nashville.” “Yes, Nashville! They were all good musicians – your calibre (you’re too kind, my man) and after they were playing, Chet Atkins said “Hey, you guys are better than me!” “Wow!” I say, “Mind you, I’ve read he was quite a humble guy, so I can believe he said that.”  “Anyway, you take care, and thank you – that’s brightened up my day.” And with that, he walks off to join his friends who are unlocking their bicycles on the other side of the road. A nice man to bring to a close this late, not too gruelling (almost pleasant, even) session resulting in £23 in just under two hours.

Earnings: £23.26p