I have always been a nervous performer and every gig I have ever played has involved an effort of will. Of course, once on stage some inner monster takes over and, once it's all over, I have been glad to have seen it through. I rather thought that making an effort to perform online like so many others have managed to do might help, but it didn't ... not at all. If anything it compounded my sense of insecurity. Pretending to project to invisible people was frustrating because I made just as many (if not more) mistakes. I tried recording videos to share online, but that hasn't worked either. The same holes in my memory manifest themselves no matter how well I think I know the material. I can lose a word, a whole line, a chord, even a rhythm and the whole edifice wobbles alarmingly. Any improvement has come with the speed at which I can manage to recover. Strangely, these losses are not predictable. They never appear in the same places. I've come to the conclusion that it's not actually having to face the audience that I find difficult, but something much more subtle and I have never really been able to pin it down. This is one of the reasons busking in the street has always seemed a masochistic way to behave. I have always admired people who have the courage to do it and wished I could be one of them, but I'm not ... or so I thought.
A couple of years ago I was booked to play on a busker's trail for a local festival. I was surprised to find I enjoyed it, but I could never undertake it again without having somebody's "official" permission to set up and play. Then, ten days ago, something snapped. I had a moment of insight and sadness that so much of me that had been invested in working as a musician had been stripped from me. I had also lost what was left of my mojo and creativity. Very few new songs have been completed and only a few new ideas have been started in these lockdown months. I have been becoming even less visible than the singer of "Grey". No new work was being offered and I was slipping into retirement as an ex-musician.
It was a beautiful Saturday, so I loaded up a guitar, drumkit, harmonicas and guitar-stool and drove the twelve miles into the town where I no longer hold the monthly Songwriters & Poets evenings of the pre-pandemic era. By the time I arrived the market was packing up. I thought I could just set up outside the Bookshop, but when I walked across town, the Town Square was almost empty and, better still, not on a slope. I rolled out my Ghanaian mat, made from recycled plastic bags, set up my drums and stool, slipped on my harmonica harness tuned my guitar and, for the next couple of hours, sang and played to my heart's content. It was such a liberating experience and I was not expecting that. This felt like the start of a new chapter. I cannot believe how much fun I had playing to mostly indifferent people. A few of them took a few minutes to sit on some nearby steps or on a bench just within earshot. Some people stayed for a few songs. Small children danced and jiggled, one was pulled on to the dance floor by a grandfather. A few people dropped coins into my hat and in that couple of hours I earned enough to cover the cost of the fuel for the van to drive there and back again to the boat or nearly enough for my next order of organic vegetables. I had gone over much of my current repertoire and I was thrilled.
This was the first time I had played in such a long time that my voice was going and my fingers were sore. When I arrived back at the boat I realised I was also physically very tired. Although most people walked across the Square completely ignoring me that actually felt significant and important. They were completely at liberty to listen or not as they wished. Additionally I was not beholden to any promoter or event orgamiser and had no cause to feel the overwhelming responsibility of trying to ensure that whoever had engaged my services was getting their money's worth. I have always felt this responsibility to be a huge burden over decades of performing and I think it has been a big factor in ensuring I never sleep well the night before any booking.
In the nine days that followed that experience I have been out busking six times and have loved each experience. I also took up an unexpected offer of a pub garden gig. Each time I've gone out I've met many new and interesting people. Some days have brought unexpected reconnection with old friends. Some people want to come and chat, to discuss my unusual instruments or tell me about themselves (Pink Floyd's lighting engineer, anyone?). Some people walk jauntily through the precinct in time to the music and with a spring in their step; some acknowledge with a nod, a smile, a wave. In addition to some generous coinage from a few passing folk, I have been offered food, stories of incredible adventures, the aforementioned gig (no money, but food and great publicity ... oh right, that old chestnut 😆), an ice lolly to cool me down when it was very warm yesterday and one person even bought some merchandise! Quite by chance one of my oldest friends, who's been living in Eastern Europe for years, happened to walk across the town square in West Norfolk on Saturday while I was singing. We first met some forty-nine years ago when he lived in London and this was the first time he'd been to Downham Market ...
I'll never make my fortune busking, but it is good the days I break even. Only one day saw no money in the hat. Unfortunately I had to part with all the previous day's earnings to pay for parking. However, with magic like I've experienced so far I shall keep this new gig going while the weather is in my favour.
Frustratingly, my van has developed a fault, which cannot be addressed until at least the end of the week, so I'm stuck on my mooring at the moment when I want to go out and play in the street. However, at least I can take some time to tell you about it all.
For the first time I feel I am able to acknowledge myself as a musician rather than a fraud with musical aspirations and I love being completely independent as a performer. I have also started work on a couple of new songs. They may even get finished ...
