‘Uncategorized’ Category
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Off the Schneid
0September 27, 2017 by admin
The cylindrical celosia behind the benches has turned gray. Only the gomphrena contributes color, its magenta buttons rising 6 feet on skinny stems. The invasive wild asters have begun to wilt. Farther down the path, boneset has overgrown half the wood anemone; the other half sports 18 flowers, most of them from the lower reaches of the plant. The smaller plant, without any weedy interference, has at least 30 flowers.
I set up in the unseasonable heat and played for a full 30 minutes without a single contribution. It looked as if, for the first time, I might be shut out. I stopped for a rest and a long drink of water. As I started again, a family of 3 walked by, and dad pulled out a dollar for me.
Two women stopped some distance away and turned their backs. They were going through their change purses, which together yielded 80 cents.
A 12-year-old came off the benches with another dollar, then joined his family as they left the area. The benches were empty now. Anyone with any sense had moved into the shade of the arcade, where a doo-wop group was performing.
With 5 minutes left to go in my set, a well-dressed 40-something woman walked through the plaza. “Have you got time for a hula today?”
“I could use a hula,” she said. She danced to “The Hukilau Song,” with effortless motions and a beatific smile. She was from Napa, California. “Sorry I don’t have more,” she said, putting a dollar in my case.
“Not a problem. Thanks for stopping.”
“Aloha.”
Category Uncategorized | Tags: The Hukilau Song
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The Return of Aloha
0September 26, 2017 by admin
The park on Monday was free from Friday’s annoyances. The wood anemone derby had a new leader. The path-side plant had only 8 flowers; boneset had overgrown half of it. The smaller plant made a spectacular show of 25 flowers.
Colin, the cowboy, told me that Saturday was even worse than Friday for noise. Carole, the photographer, confirmed it. Hers was the first dollar of the day, but she didn’t stick around to chat. “It’s too hot,” she said.
An Australian man ran up to me while I sang “Fit as a Fiddle.” He joined me in singing the final 8 bars, then gave me a fiver. Moments later, he returned with his wife and kids for pictures.
A man from the benches gave me a dollar, followed by 2 hula-dancing walkaways. The first was from India, a petite 20-something with coal-black eyes; the second from Indiana, a buxom blonde, who told me that she didn’t really know how to hula, but was a dancer and could fake it.
A mom from the east side put leis around her toddler daughter’s neck and her own. When the girl just stood there, the mom let go of her hand and danced on her own. Afterward, she gave me a fiver and asked for my card.
A large group of Australians entered the park. Three of them hulaed while the rest cheered them on. Then they walked away. A little girl was waiting for the Australians to leave, then asked if she could dance. She already had a dollar in her hand for me. While she danced, another little girl came off the benches and threw some change into my case.
The park seemed to be teeming with Australians today. The next group arrived by bike. “Have you got time for a hula today?” They did, but like their compatriots before them, they walked away after the dance. Another Indian girl danced next and dropped a dollar. A couple from Toronto gave me two.
A man and woman in their 30’s contributed $2. “Pretty music,” said the man.
The final 30 minutes of my set was sung to an empty plaza. The lunchtime crowd had gone back to work, or off to the next tourist spot. I counted out $22.51 when a young couple approached. “This is for you from earlier,” said the man, handing me a buck. I tucked it in my pocket and revised my notes.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Fit as a Fiddle
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Mr. Ukulele Loses His Aloha
0September 25, 2017 by admin
Friday started out bad and got worse. As soon as I entered the park, I was assaulted by loud music. Some moron with a boombox had cranked it up to 11, or so I thought. “Aren’t there rules about amplification in the park?” I asked a green-shirted volunteer in the information kiosk.
“Yes, there are, but this is the only time for the musicians to rehearse for Saturday’s concert.” The concert she was referring to was the Global Citizen Festival, an annual event since 2012, which featured, she told me, “world-class performers like Stevie Wonder and Elton John.” The concert was held on the Great Lawn, some half mile from where we stood.
From Central Park West to Fifth Avenue, waves of rock riffs roared from the north. It stopped from time to time while technicians fiddled with the bass, thumping like a migraine, then began again. The noise echoed around Bethesda Fountain, where a sad-looking woman played folk songs on her acoustic guitar. Farther east, under the maple tree, the caricaturists and begging Buddhists occupied my secondary and tertiary venues.
Instead of giving up and going home, I hit upon the idea of playing near the Alice in Wonderland statue. In my early days as a busker, before the Quiet Zone Wars, I frequently set up between the Conservatory Pond and Alice. Like Bethesda Fountain, Alice was a destination, especially for children; unlike the fountain, it remained a Quiet Zone after the peace. Despite the ambient amplification, if I played softly, using an inside voice, so to speak, I could sing my set here.
As I put out my solar-powered hula girls, I was mobbed by little kids . Each kid wanted a chance to position the toy on the ground and watch it dance. In the melee, the yellow hula girl was roughed up in what turned out to be a non-life-threatening injury. When it came time for a hula dance, however, nannies and governesses whisked the kids away.
Two older girls, maybe 6 years old, hung back. They did not want to hula, but they seemed to enjoy “I Wonder Where My Little Hula Girl Has Gone.” One ran off to get a dollar from her mom, who sat out of sight on a bench. Not to be outdone, her friend ran in the other direction and returned with a dollar too.
The first hula of the day was by a little girl, the second by an Argentine woman.
A man motioned for permission to take my picture, after which he gave me a buck. “It’s very happy music,” he said. Two women got off their bikes and leaned against the fence across from me, listening with smiles on their faces. After a few songs, one remounted and the other came forward with $2. A woman from the unseen benches to my left surprised me with a dollar.
With 9 singles in my case, the day’s busking proved to be far more successful than I thought possible 90 minutes ago. As I was about to wrap up with “My Little Grass Shack,” a green shirt pulled up in his Konservatory Kop-mobile, told me I was in a Quiet Zone and asked me to leave.
“Listen,” I said, as another bass sound check rattled my teeth. “Are you seriously going to enforce Quiet Zone rules today?”
“You can’t play here. You can play farther uptown,” he said, pointing north, closer to the source of the noise.
My aloha spirit, put much to the test today, drained away. “I’ve been kicked out of better Quiet Zones than this,” I said.
“I’m not kicking you out, I’m asking you to leave.”
“Ok, as long as you’re asking, I’ll leave after one more song.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Is it 20 minutes long?”
“Why don’t you take a spin around the pond; I’ll be gone before you get back.”
I sang “Little Grass Shack,” packed up and left, not at all happy about this day.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Global Citizen Festival, I Wonder Where My Little Hula Girl Has Gone, My Little Grass Shack
