I am aware that it has been a couple of months since I wrote anything here. I do actually have a couple of essays in progress, but I am afraid I was very rudely interrupted by a most unexpected event. Remind me to tell you about Downham Market and about the abandoned North Coast Tour!
It was actually the abandoned tour that led me to Norwich on 11th August. The Norwich City Council website present the city as a welcoming place for street performers. That, at least, is enlightened. Despite the fact that Norwich is such a fine city and that I have spent many pleasurable hours there over the past thirty-five years of living in the region I have never examined it from a busker's point of view. There are rules, but they are basically the same as the so-called "Busker's Code" and amounted to do not set up within earshot of another performer, move if asked to do so by a shop-keeper, be prepared to give way to another performer if you been in one spot for a couple of hours. That all sounds very reasonable to me. I wanted to give Norwich a try since it was a) apparently so welcoming, b) our largest local city c) well recommended by other street-performer friends. As with all popular town and city centres though, parking was expensive.
I parked in one of the city centre multi-story car parks and wheeled my kit towards the market. I didn't know whether I was going to set up somewhere close to the Market or head back up the hill into the main shopping area. I decided to stay near the Market, because there were other performers visible among the shops. I found my spot, set up and began to play.
Contrary to a popular notion of the degree to which the citizens of Norwich appreciate live music, I was on my third song before anyone dropped anything in the hat. There were plenty of people walking by, but walking by was all they did. I was wondering whether Norwich folk are so used to live street performance that they had become more discerning. Maybe I did not come up to scratch? One woman came by and observed helpfully, "You're losing the competition!" Clearly I was although I had failed to register I was in one. Just after I had started to play The Karaoke Soprano had rocked up, plugged in and proceeded to warble her way very beautifully through songs from the shows and some of the usual popular classics. Unfortunately for me and probably any other aspiring street musicians, her volume was set to destroy and I imagined her songs being heard on the wind as it blew through Cromer. I wondered why I was always so careful not to interfere with anyone else's performance. Well, I'd set up and I wasn't earning much so I would see out my three hours of parking (any longer and the rate increased significantly from its already stratospheric £6) and be on my way.
A family with a very distressed child were trying to sort their problem nearby. Any contribution from me to the city centre audioscape was pointless so I abandoned the song I was singing and launched into my perennial child-pleaser, "Twinkle Twinkle". It pains me that, among the incredible wealth of English language nursery songs, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" is by far the most well-known and often the only song a young child appears to know. However, I noticed that when small children are around they do pay attention to this song they recognise. The screaming child did not disappoint and once his attention was drawn to the song by his father he forgot to arch his back and scream as his pushchair protest began to subside. I've seen this happen often and the effect is generally quite magical. Both parents gave me a big smile and the father mouthed a very relieved "Thank you" at me. They made a generous contribution which certainly made my hat look better and they even stayed to listen to most of one more song. I carried on with my set, never becoming any kind of threat to to The Karaoke Soprano. I have to give credit where due, she did have a lovely voice and would doubtless do very well on one of those Saturday evening talent shows on the television. She still wasn't playing fair though!
A man approached. He listened to the end of a song and we struck up a conversation. He was clearly well-informed on matters musical. At some point he asked, "Do you recognise this t-shirt print?" I mentioned that it looked like a Don Van Vliet and he smiled his approval. "It was the picture on the sleeve of "Bat Chain Puller" he said. I didn't feel it necessary to correct him that it was actually Shiny Beast - Bat Chain Puller, although the two are quite different albums by Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band. So, after checking whether I knew some of his favourite singer/songwriters he decided I probably met his standards of knowledge. He asked where I was from and we began to talk about the Fens. I asked whether he wanted to hear "Every Foot Of Progress", my song featuring some Fen history. He sat on a nearby window ledge to listen and I started the song. The instrumental intro and the first couple of verses went to plan, but as I launched into the third verse, the aforementioned very unexpected event occurred. The fingers on my left hand stopped obeying my demands and refused to settle into the correct chord shapes. My right hand kept playing and even my feet kept the drum part going, but I could not play the chords. I remember the effort of will it was taking to stretch my fourth finger into its place to play a simple chord of G major. The other fingers had their own ideas about where they were going to land on the fretboard. I was playing utter nonsense. I also lost all the words to verse three, so I thought, okay, time for a harmonica break. Unfortunately I could not find the right notes on the harmonica either and in the end I had to admit defeat and stopped the song. I apologised to the man and explained what had happened. He thought I'd just forgotten the song. I sat there feeling very sorry for myself as he wandered off into the city crowd. After about five minutes I was able to carry on and played something I knew better without further incident. I packed up and loaded my trolley to head past The Karaoke Soprano, who turned out to be a much younger woman than I had imagined, but who was clearly on a roll, albeit still very loud. She was backed against a wall by a semi-circle of adoring members of the public who whistled, cheered and applauded at the end of a song. I got back to the van and paid for my parking. Thanks mainly to the parents of the distraught child and the Captain Beefheart fan I had enough to pay for the car park leaving two whole pennies for myself.
I wish the Karaoke Soprano well. My set had come to a stop with my first experience of what I was to discover several hours later in hospital and after a CT scan, was a Transient Ischaemic Attack (TIA) or mini-stroke. Great!
