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| Tuning up those new strings |
A few weeks ago I saw a post on Facebook that the folk festival fringe in Cromer - known this year as "Folk Off The Pier" - was going to have buskers in town for the first time. Having played sets for Richard Penguin's Teatime Assortment a couple of times in previous years I thought I would give it a go. It would give me something to aim for after my stroke. I'd had to miss another booking back in March because I hadn't recovered well enough to risk it. I sent some details to the organisers and was pleased to be accepted. They also offered me a fifty-minute set in one of the pubs in town. I don't make a secret of my feeling that pub audiences are not really interested in the kind of work I do, but this was a folk festival event, so what could possibly go wrong?
I had spent a lot of time building up my stamina in rehearsal at home and during the week before the festival I played a couple of short sets at different events. The first of these was at my regular Songwriters & Poets Night when I managed five songs. The second was in the garden of a friend with a lot of other folk musicians where I was allocated time for three songs. I had managed both sets without mishap, so I went to Huntingdon in the week before the festival to see how I got on with some actual busking. It was a relief not to be carted off to hospital in an emergency vehicle, so that meant I felt ready to attempt the festival. I am pleased to say that it was mostly a very positive experience. I met lots of friends, often as we passed each other in the street or while performing in one venue of another and made a few new ones. I also met a few people I probably should have already known since we knew many of the same people without our paths actually having crossed before.
My work was split into eight sets, including six busking spots, over the three days of the extended weekend with the festival kicking off on the Friday. My first busking spot was outside a café near the church in the town centre at mid-day. I rolled up in time for my hour-long slot and the owner was surprised to see me. He wasn’t expecting anyone till Saturday! Staff quickly moved a table to make some space for me. I do require four or five feet of depth to accommodate my folding stool and drum kit. That left just about enough space for mobility vehicles and pushchairs to pass. I was offered a coffee, but I usually just drink water which someone kindly brought out for me. The situation worked well. People sat on the wall across the street, in their cars in the disabled spaces or at the other table outside. Because I play without amplification my sound doesn’t carry far, but those who were interested enough seemed to be able to hear. We were far enough from the main street that the traffic didn’t affect things much except for the buses and motor-bikes. Although I played from 12-1 none of the promised food was offered. It seems I was not alone among the buskers who were expecting to be able to eat when playing at a café around meal times. This was very much to the dismay of the organisers who had arranged for food for buskers. Dismantling my rig and loading up the trolley to find the next space due to begin in an hour didn't leave much time for eating anyway. If music be the food ...?
The next spot was on the pier near some wooden shelters. It was a relief that the weather was good. A howling gale on Norfolk's north-east coast, suspended over the sea, would have been a bit of a challenge. As it was I was afraid of losing one of my expensive hardwood guitar picks between the wooden decking of the boardwalk. It was a nice spot, but not specially profitable. The main challenge here was getting down the very steep slopes from the town centre to the esplanade without my trolley running away from me and then getting back up again where I really had to rest halfway. It would have been a challenge had I been fully fit. One kind man offered to help me by pulling the front of the trolley, but I suspected this extra tension would have completed the separation of the handles from the base frame. I have only had eleven months use out of this trolley which was sold by a music equipment company on the basis of it being just the solution for carting heavy gear about. A polite and strategically targeted e-mail was forming itself in my head.
Early evening was time for my short set at the local Social Club, the scene of previous performances in pre-covid days. It was lovely being among friends and it was impeccably well-organised. The set up was painless and the sound engineer did a great job. Unlike a few people in previous years this audience really knew how to listen. It was great fun.
The following day the first of my three sets was due to begin once more at mid-day. It turned out to be a lovely spot by another café on the esplanade and another lovely day - apart from having to negotiate the cliff-face slope again with my trolley in its rapidly deteriorating condition. The very friendly shop staff offered me a coffee, but filled my mug with tap water on request. The 11am busker hadn’t shown up so when I arrived at 11.15 they thought I was him/her being late. I explained I was early and they asked me to play anyway, which I did. I played for about one hour and forty minutes. In addition to the usual parade of perambulating people there was a stationary audience queuing for coffee and cake or seated at tables a few yards away. It was possible to have a bit of banter with members of this audience at times, which made for a more personal performance and gave an occasional opportunity to explain a bit of the context of some of my songs. The sun appeared between the day’s two periods of fog and it felt quite special.
That bubble was burst during the afternoon, when my next spot was on the main road through the town outside a bank. When I arrived I found my space had been taken by a table of people collecting signatures for a petition. They offered to move round a raised planter surrounded by circular bench seating to give me space to set up more centrally. Unfortunately, although in sympathy with their cause, it was hard to concentrate with the arguments that ensued right next to me when some of the townsfolk didn’t want to Stop The War or offer any kind of welcome to refugees. The discussion got a bit too exciting at times and wasn't much masked by the noise of the traffic that roared by non-stop. It is certainly not a spot I would have chosen for myself as an unamplified performer even without the political differences being aired a metre from my left ear. Actually it was horrible.
That left the pub set to finish my working day. This was a fairly pointless experience and it confirmed the reason I don’t play pubs. Having been under the mistaken impression this was going to be a folk audience, most people were just there for their Saturday evening down the pub. It was loud with the sound of people drinking and socialising and very few could hear anything I was doing. I couldn’t even hear what I was doing and I wasn’t even sure if I was singing in tune. There was a P.A. but no one to drive it. Someone had shown one of the bar staff which two faders to push, but there was no chance of equalising the sound or even setting it up. I know the principles of how to work a P.A. but every desk is different and I did not have my glasses with me to find how to switch on phantom power for my microphone or which pots and buttons controlled which functions. I did take my own microphone, but left all my leads in the van, parked fifteen minutes walk away. The previous act was a hefty group of shanty singers who took a long time to clear off the small performing area, so I had to set up very quickly. I had had to wait in the street before I could even get my instruments into the building to set up. I was actually in the street because the pavement wasn’t wide enough. Given the fact I had no idea what was supposed to happen with the P.A. I sang a song acoustically and it was completely lost in the noise of the pub, so I set up my mic for the next song, but people couldn’t hear the guitar. There were a few people sitting nearby who wanted to listen, but the shouting and shrieking from the table closest to me made that impossible. I would have gone and sat very close to the would-be listeners, but that would have meant me blocking an entrance and people would be trying to get past me with drinks. I had a small amplification system in the van, but because I couldn’t park near to where I was playing there wasn’t time to go back and fetch it. Someone from a band due on later kindly went and fetched a guitar lead for me to borrow, but that took him about fifteen minutes. Even amplified a bit it was still an unedifying experience. If I turned the sound up, the shriekers shrieked louder. I think there might have been about a dozen people who would have liked to listen, but they couldn’t hear a thing. I was definitely the wrong act for that venue. A solo performer should not be expected to manage an unknown mixing desk and carry on with the performance. I could have been louder with my own little rig, maybe even loud enough, but the potential difficulties were not clear to me in advance. It was horrible (again) and I was very pleased when the horror show was over.
The first set on Sunday was a nice setting outside yet another café, but there was not much room without moving some furniture about. The narrow street was good for the acoustics and for seeing lots of old friends who passed by. Most were on their way to somewhere, but some came back when they could. There was another venue just round the corner from where another set of buskers could be heard quite clearly thanks to their portable p.a. system. This was the first time I'd experienced audible crosstalk between buskers, so thanks to the organisers for choosing the venues which mainly avoided such a problem.
The staff at the café were friendly and obliging. The owner gave me water and a 10% discount voucher for food. I decided to try and eat that day, but by the time I finished at mid-day they’d run out of all the vegan options on their menu. The food took a very long time to arrive. I noticed they sent a member of staff out; I assumed that was to go and pick up some supplies. Eventually someone turned up with a vegan burger and chips. However while here I had one of the strangest experiences of the weekend.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by anything, but this was a first. While I was playing a lady customer came out from inside the café and asked me to stop using my kick drum because it was hurting her husband's ears. They were sitting halfway down the room, which was already fairly busy, while I was outside. I explained that what I do is a matter of whole body coordination which has taken a lot of rehearsal. I cannot just stop playing one part of one instrument. She was very insistent. She did say she would give me a generous tip and that they wouldn’t be much longer. I threw a towel over the kick drum to muffle some of the resonance and played almost inaudibly. They took until the end of my penultimate song to emerge from the café and she didn’t tip anyway. I really don't understand why the poor man was suffering so much. I'm pretty certain the café noises reverberating around the hard walls and floor of the interior would have masked any noise I was making. Had it been me I think I would simply have turned my hearing aids off. He had that option, but apparently didn't think of it. Perhaps he experienced hyperacusis that responded dramatically to my kick drum frequencies.
My final busking set of the festival was back on the main road near to where I had been the previous day. Being a Sunday it was far less busy and there were no people arguing over their political differences. Once again the previous performer was a no show so I set my spot up early outside the parish hall. I started playing to keep some continuity going while being quite prepared to stop if he or she turned up. No one else appeared so I was playing there once again for about an hour and three-quarters. After the first forty-five minutes, when I was scheduled to start, the coffee shop next door closed and there was no reason for anyone to be on my side of the street. Because some shops and a café were open on the other side of the road that’s where people were. A few stopped to watch from the opposite pavement, but I don’t know what they heard. One or two even came over to listen for a bit. It was not very rewarding financially. After nearly two hours I'd earned just £2 in tips. As I was packing up two young girls appeared and each handed me a pound coin, which doubled the take. They assured me they'd heard some music while I was still playing. I would have counted that spot as perhaps not the best use of time had not two men come along near the end of my set and wanted to talk about the instruments and the music. I was able to play a song or two specially for them to highlight parts of my instruments they hadn’t yet heard. They were very interested in what I was doing and made that whole session worthwhile. Such chance opportunities for discussion and sharing is one of the most enriching things I enjoy about busking life.
Placing things in perspective some of my favourite musicians were playing in the main festival, but I didn't get to see any of them. Over the three days and after deducting money for parking at £7 a day, and an evening meal on two days I was left with just £21. I don't think that would have been enough for a ticket to any of the main festival events and it certainly didn't cover the cost of the fuel to get there and back again afterwards, although following the event the organiser of the fringe festival did send me some money towards travel.
I enjoyed the busking and would have enjoyed it still more had I been able to select which spots I played. I'll come back to the town, but unless there are some changes it may not be as part of the festival. I'll keep flying the flag for independent music 😇
