Eyes closed

I was miserable after puncturing the LCD on my play-time (and blogger’s) laptop. Thought only tires punctured. Told myself off as I went to do my teaching stint at the College for the Blind, and later to talk to a group with macular degeneration. They were all cheerful enough – how dare I be miserable?

Malcolm, a busker from Three Cocks, playing in Ludlow last year. 

Got me thinking about blind street musicians and Davy’s (you don’t know him) researches into the biwa hoshi musicians or ‘blind priests’ who toured Japan in the 1200s; the blind minstrels of nineteenth-century Ukraine, known as the Kobzarsto persecuted under Russian rule (who wasn’t?); the famous Irish Turlough O’Carolan and the more recent Blind Lemon Jefferson. (Was Jefferson Airplane named after him? Or the spliff-holding device of the same name?)

Nothing wrong with Malcolm's sight (above). Sometimes, like him, I close my eyes when I’m playing, just to concentrate. Maybe I should wear dark glasses, but then I enjoy the eye contact especially with people's dogs. You feel they'd sit there and watch you all day if their owners would let them. 

Currently rehearsing for a busk at Abergavenny Food Fest. Wonder if I should dress up and look official?

Who's counting?

Took the train to Ludlow for a busk while Martin’s Antiques and Flea Market is on. (Bless him: he dropped a coin in the hat). Train turned out to be a sicky bus (Arriva were fixing the rails) from the Valleys who found his way on Satnav.

For heavens sake: he only had to ask the way. Alternatively Arriva could have booked a local coach driver.

Send me to India!

Travelled up with Max – him left outside All Saints, Hereford. We divied up the sites and he did front of house by the charity shop while I did The Passage. We both like The Passage because passers-by have to pass close by and are more likely to dip into their pockets.

Max is trying to raise the dosh to go to India with (or was it to join?) his girlfriend.

Saw him again today in Hereford.

-      How did you do Sunday? I ask.

His reply impressed me. 

Now I know you’re curious too. You want to know: how much did he earn? Thing is, you stand in one place long enough, playing good music and nice people drop 50p or a quid in your hat. Max did four hours. FOUR HOURS!

I’ve decided to stop counting the contents of the hat.

Like Dave said (previous blog): “Don’t think about the money. Think about the music.”

Working Cardigan

Nice lady from Bean & Gone in Cardigan comes out just as I finish playing by the Market Hall, a hard 50 minutes beside reluctant passers-by.

People seem embarrassed by my music, yet yesterday I gave some joker with a guitar and a bottle of cider 50p in much the same place.He'd got a full 'hat'.

      - Are you doing this for a charity or something?

      - No. I’m a writer. Writing about street music.
     - Well, take this (she slips a coin into my hand). It’s been nice hearing you. 
Bless. 

I should explain that I’m doing a street performance. It ain’t begging. 

Listen. You like it? Fine. Drop something in the hat if you want. No worries if you don’t. 

One fellow is determined to donate his 10p.

- In here? 

Confused, he's looking at my backpack. I stop playing to show him. From now on I'll use the proper 'hat' or pot (traditionally a leather pouch with the throat of a glass bottle neck sewn into the neck so's you could hear if anyone tried nicking your money). (No, that's not a £5 note on the left - just the hat's label). 

Black holes in B flat

I'm playing in Monmouth when a young mum asks: ‘What is it? And is it in B flat like my clarinet? I used to play, but I’ve stopped for so long.’

It is a soprano sax, young lady, and in B flat. Now return home and lift that clarinet to your lips once again.

On the basis that B flat is an important note in the comos (NASA is said to have registered the ‘sound’ of a Black Hole as B flat – 57 octaves below middle C) I try playing on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path near Strumble Head (above).

Surprise! Two dark heads bob up in the sea water before me. Looks like a couple of grey seals attracted by the sound. I play on for ten minutes then take up my binoculars.

Ah, it is just a pair of seaweedy bouys.

Ultimate, lighweight, busker's alto sax

The World's first polycarbonate saxophone (www.sax.co.uk) weighs in at 850gm compared to your favourite old brass alto at around 2.7kg. 

Sax.co.uk says it's not meant to replace your vintage Selmer, but it's a serious instrument and the price of a Chinese student model. 

Made of a blend of polycarbonate and ABS, it has a dark and warm tone. Mornington Lockett - he just played Brecon Jazz - see below - apparently wants one: "It's reminiscent of the old Parker Grafton sound."

And a quid under £350. 


Wonder if I could get a review copy. . .

Old Jazzers at Brecon

To Brecon Jazz to hear Derek Nash’s Sax Appeal (listen to him talk through his collection of saxophones and the Bakelite alto that makes him sound ‘like an old jazzer’ [www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQdPSlmTNcI]). Where last year we watched Hugh Masekela, this year it was a series of fine solos from the likes of Mornington Lockett, Scott Garland, Gary Plumley and the gravely baritone sax of Bob McKay.

Afterwards to meet accordionist and busker Francois who, in his lilting West Wales accent, tells how the business of street music is being jeopardised by gangs of Roma musicians. He reckons they’re being bussed into town by old fashioned gang-masters and let loose on the unsuspecting streets. Fine for passers-by, he says, but when they’ve only got one or two tunes in their heads and play them ad nauseam it gives other buskers a bad name.

Hum. My journalistic senses are aroused. Is there a story here?

Wow – it's (was) WOMAD

Shackdusters at WOMAD

Talked to Kev and Gary, solid musicians and long-time buskers (http://www.youtube.com/user/shackdusters). 
Their Shackdusters blues sounded excellent.
‘Street music? It’s vital,’ says Kev. ‘I played everywhere, in bands, the lot, but playin’ the streets is the most important.’

Kev started in 1958 – ‘I used to hitch down from Preston to London and busk there. The money was good an’ all. Street music: it’s called to me all my life.’

There were a few young buskers around too, like this guy (left). 

I risked life, limb and street cred by joining Brassroots’ workshop. Didn’t have the nerve to solo with them.They played a hell of a set in the evening. Fantastic!

WOMAD? We love you.