‘Uncategorized’ Category
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May Day
1May 2, 2017 by admin
After a 3 week hiatus, I returned to the park. Most of the daffs were shot. Silvery rose-colored tulips dominated the hillside by the hundreds, giving way to purple pansies and multi-colored South African daisies at the entry to the park at 72nd Street. Above the corpses of white tulips now rose pale yellow fritillaria imperialis, their shy flowers peeking up from a cover of spiky green leaves. Next to the still bud-less rose bushes was a single bleeding heart.
The area around the Mosaic Fountain was in deep shade. There, Solomon’s seal and buckeye bottlebrush dominated. One pink wild geranium was also having its moment. The pallid white conical blooms on the chestnut tree masked the disease we know is there.
The park today was full of families, dogs and bikes. Local school kids, under the watchful eye of their gym teacher, ran relay races to a big tree and back. What started as a cool day had turned delightfully warm and clear.
I set up at Bathesda Fountain, center stage, where I soon attracted the attention of a toddler. She could barely walk, but with a lei around her neck, she could hula. Her father gave me a dollar. Soon a young man got up from his bench and dropped a dollar bill and some coins into my case A young woman from Michigan, who danced her first hula ever while her boyfriend documented the event, netted me another $1.
A trio of Greek girls got hold of my leis and frolicked around the fountain. They asked me to play something Greek; all I could come up with was “Never on Sunday.” They had never heard of it, nor of Melina Mercouri, the Greek actress and politician who’d made the song famous long before they were born. That notwithstanding, each gave me a buck.
A stressed office worker from 55th St. had come out to the park on her lunch break to enjoy the beautiful day. Not long after we started to talk, she was swaying to “The Hukilau Song.”
About an hour into my set, a young man with a broad grin and straw hat, approached. His name was Jonathan. In about 45 minutes, he would be conducting a wedding. Since live music is always better than pre-recorded, he’d checked out the buskers and chose me to provide the processional over the kids playing guitar and mandolin. “Because you looked more like a professional musician,” he told me. I assured him I was not, but that didn’t stop him. “Can you play ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow,’ the Iz version?”
“No, but I can play the Judy Garland version.” That seemed fine to Jonathan; we struck a deal for $25. I moved to the far end of the fountain, facing the lake, and started to entertain the wedding guests as they arrived. Between songs, surreptitiously, I rediscovered the forgotten chords I would need, so that by the time I got the nod from Jonathan I could pretty well croon the tune without mistakes. As I sang “why, oh why, can’t I,” Marielle and Ray had reached Jonathan and the ceremony began.
Afterward, everyone gathered for pictures while I sang “The Hawaiian Wedding Song,” followed by “Making Love Ukulele Style.” It was a fun gig. With $34.72 in my pocket, I exited the park.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Making Love Ukulele Style, Never on Sunday, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, The Hawaiian Wedding Song, The Hukilau Song
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First Day Out
0April 12, 2017 by admin
The temperature shot up to the mid-70s, so, without much preparation, I set off for my first busking session of the year. It had been a lazy winter, uke-wise. Except for a star turn on New Year’s Eve, I hadn’t played at all, and even then I’d played my soprano uke. My tenor uke, for outdoor playing, was in the same sorry shape I’d left it in, with pieces of paper lei and dried leaves crushed in the velvet corners, my last CD in a cracked jewel case, broken cocktail umbrellas, and the uke itself horribly out of tune.
Minimally organized, I went forth to Central Park, at 72nd Street, where The Dakota had emerged from its safety netting of last year, with freshly cleaned buff brick and ornate stone and terra cotta trim. Entering the park at the Women’s Gate, I was treated to a hillside of daffodils, tulips and hyacinth. The rose bushes had finger-sized shoots growing from old wood, while grape hyacinth bloomed at their feet.
At the Imagine Mosaic, the same spring flowers, along with an expanse of wood hyacinth, bloomed all around. The troubadour on duty played “Let It Be.” There were aspirational buds on the chestnut, and farther down the hill, hellebore made a great success where a few years ago rhododendron failed. Fuzzy flames adorned the magnolia, and astilbe unfurled its leaves low to the ground. In the middle distance and on Cherry Hill fruit trees bloomed pink and white.
At Bethesda Fountain, where I like to set up, a man played lounge music on an amplified acoustic guitar. Buddhist beggars stalked the crowd, pushing prayer flags into people’s hands. The lake teemed with rowboats.
I moved on to my maple tree, halfway to the boat house. I started out with the old playlist. Unlike other first days, I was able to remember most of the chords and lyrics. Soon enough a woman tossed 31 cents into my case. A while later, a man gave me $2 for the long video he shot. I got a dollar from a 20-something woman, and another dollar and change from 2 pre-teen girls. No one wanted to hula. “But thanks for asking,” said one of the girls.
A man stopped and shot another long video; I gave him a good show. He peeled off a fiver and tossed it in my case. “You like ukulele music?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said in a thick Russian accent. “It makes me happy.”
Me too.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: h, Let It Be
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Farewell Concert
0November 3, 2016 by admin
It’s a lovely November Wednesday, with temps at 70 or above. It seemed a good day for my farewell concert. At the Women’s Gate, the barricades for the NYC Marathon are in place. Giant oaks, the last of the great trees to lose their leaves, are rusty brown. The roses still bloom; next to orange hips, red growing tips push skyward. On the wood anemone there are 4 perfect flowers.
The cowboy told me he started late due to a movie crew, so I hiked to my maple and sang out over the lake. The small mulberry tree in front of me was heavy with red berries. Where have all the birds gone?
After 30 minutes, only 1 man, who carried some kind of platform or low table, made a contribution. He carefully balanced his load on his shoulder, tossed a crumpled bill behind his back into my case, regained his balance and kept walking.
I went back to the fountain, where the cowboy was finishing up with “Sweet Caroline.” After an hour, I’d tripled my money, i.e., I’d made a total of $3. The last contribution came from a man my own age. “I admire your nerve,” he said.
“After the first 10,000 times, it gets easier,” I told him.
UPDATE: Simon Woo, of ABC fame (Australian Born Chinese), sent me these pictures.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Sweet Caroline
