‘Uncategorized’ Category
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Spring Has Sprung
0April 19, 2016 by admin
It’s been weeks since I sallied forth into the park with my uke. Spring got there before me. White daffodils led the way through the 72nd St. Women’s Gate, where it met up with pink and yellow tulips, among which had sprung strange, yellow-blossomed fritillaria, each 2-foot stalk topped with a leafy bonnet of green. White and red tulips massed behind the benches, and the wisteria entwined in the north pergola was greening out. Everything was greening out, even the chestnut tree, which had been mercilessly pruned to contain the blight.
Pheasant’s eye narcissus formed a moat in the grass around the Imagine Mosaic. Last year’s winter-burned rhododendron had been replaced by hardier hellebore. Deep purple wood hyacinth lined the path, along with various colored pansies. And in the dappled sunlight were white trillium and solomon’s seal, already a foot high, not yet in bloom.
Bethesda Fountain was full of buskers. The Boyd Family Singers, as usual, owned the arcade. On the stairs leading to the fountain, a Chinese man scratched a tune from his 1-stringed instrument. At the path leading east to the boathouse was the cowboy, crooning country tunes with his amplified accompaniment.
Settled under the still-leafless maple, I began my set. After almost 30 minutes, a man gave his 5-year-old daughter 50 cents to start me off. After another 15 minutes or so, a woman opened her wallet and let out a dollar. A young couple, without stopping, tossed in 2 singles. As I sang “That’s My Weakness Now,” a man set up a tripod and recorded the final verses. He thanked me with a dollar.
At the end of my set, rocking out on “Little Grass Shack,” a man walked by with a toddler on his shoulders and another little kid holding his hand. Without stopping, the man let go of the kid’s hand, and, with perfect timing, the kid dropped 31 cents in my case and ran off, like a humuhumunukunukuapua’a swimming by.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Little Grass Shack, That's My Weakness Now
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A Good Friday
0March 27, 2016 by admin
The sky looked like a concrete sidewalk, including the variations of gray and the swirling irregularities, as if smoothed by a distracted workman. Rain was predicted for the morning, but by noon it still hadn’t come.
There seemed to be no life on the wisteria covering the north pergola. Upon closer investigation, however, I could just make out some growing tips emerging from the vine’s creases. It was the change of shift at the Imagine Mosaic, one guitarist carrying away his case to count his money, the next sitting down on the back of a bench, his feet on the seat, his case on the ground, tuning up. The magnificent magnolia was drawing a crowd; I edged my way past to avoid spoiling anyone’s photos.
Was that a raindrop? No. Is that a dandelion? Yes.
The cowboy had arrived before me, so I set up under the leafless maple. A man smiled as he tossed me 50 cents, then looked to the sky. “It’s not gonna rain,” I said, just as the leading edge of the front moved overhead, and annoying drops turned into real rain, rain I could no longer ignore. I folded everything into my case and headed for the tunnel under the road leading to the Conservatory Pond. Although I was no longer walking with an air boot and cane, I could still only make my way slowly, so I got pretty wet.
The space under the tunnel was packed with tourists waiting it out. Despite the darkness, I found a cloth in my case and wiped down my uke. After 10-15 minutes, the rain stopped, the sun peaked through, the people scattered, and I headed back to the maple. On a hunch, however, I kept walking to the fountain to find the cowboy hadn’t come back, so for the next hour, center stage was mine.
A school group from San Diego had time to hula. Eight or nine teenagers donned leis and pranced around. Once again, my case filled with bills. After the dance, the kids hung around, during which time I learned that they’d never heard of Laurel and Hardy (“Honolulu Baby”) or Dean Martin (“Making Love Ukulele Style”). One girl asked what decade my songs were from. “Mostly the 20’s and 30’s.” The look on her face made me realize just how long ago that must seem. Comparatively speaking, how many songs from the Civil War did I know at her age?
“Have you got time for a hula today?”
A shy teenage girl from Virginia was talked into dancing by one of her friends. After a few bars of “The Hukilau Song,” a pair of younger girls from somewhere else wanted to join in. “Put on a lei.” I motioned to the colorful array of leis draped over the back of my case. The three danced a verse, the Virginian bowed out, and the kids kept waving their arms until the final Huki-huki-huki-hukilau. What had started as a dreary day was now bright and warm. When I played “Tiptoe through the Tulips,” I felt that by singing, as the song says, “we’ll keep the showers away.” The front moved through;people were happy to add to my growing pile.
Over my shoulder I could hear amplified music. It was the Chinese accordion player, sitting on her stool in her cap and sweater, midway between me and the Boyd singers in the arcade. She was really too close – I could have called her out on her breach of busker etiquette — but I didn’t. It had been a fine day. I made $22.42.
As I walked past the accordion player, she played the theme from “The Godfather.” In a box at her feet were a few dollars and her CDs. My CD, “Aloha, New York,” is currently out of print. I must attend to that.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Dean Martin, Honolulu Baby, Laurel and Hardy, Making Love Ukulele Style, The Hukilau Song, Theme from the Godfather, Tiptoe through the Tulips
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The Tough Get Busking
0March 24, 2016 by admin
It was another warm day for March. The park is slowly showing color: purply-white phlox divericata, red-striped ground tulips with golden yellow middles, deep blue wood hyacinth, yellow daffodils, baby-blue chindoxia and dusty brown hellebore. The rose bushes are bursting with claret-colored leaves, the magnolias have popped, the forsythia have flowered, and the fern-like leaves of the willows by the lake droop toward the water.
The buskers too are out in force. Benny and Griff still cavort at the foot of the stairs by the fountain, and the amplified cowboy sings along with his recordings. At my secondary location, near the maple on the path, the doo-wop ensemble, consisting of a bass viol, a lead singer and 4 backups, has gathered a large crowd around them. I crossed the road in search of place to set up. After wandering through the area around the Conservatory Pond, I circled back and found a place under a pin oak.
A young man started me off with a dollar, followed a few minutes later by an older man, who folded his bill into a tight aerodynamic package which he launched into my case. A trio of bicyclists from Denmark stopped near me, one of whom dismounted to give me dollar.
An older couple stopped to chat. I’d seen them before over the years. We talked about retirement; they wanted to know where the Meta the harpist and Arlen the dulcimerist had gone. I, of course, could not tell them.
A large school group came toward me from the east. “Does this group have time for a hula dance?” I asked the apparent leader. “Could be,” she said.
I handed out a dozen leis, my entire inventory, and off we went to the Hukilau. At the end of 2 verses, the dollars started rolling in. Usually a large group is good for $3-4, but these kids, from somewhere in Connecticut, kept dropping money in my case until there was a large heap of bills. I put my metal capo on top of the pile to keep it from blowing away.
Not long afterward, 2 girls from the Florida panhandle went to the Hukilau. One of them gave me a dollar, the second gave me $2, and a third, the designated documentarian, kicked in a fiver.
A steady flow of music lovers added to the pile until quitting time. Despite the competition, which had driven me to set up in this unfamiliar spot, it was a stellar day.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: The Hukilau Song
