Posts Tagged ‘The Hukilau Song’
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Beating the Rain
0September 29, 2016 by admin
In spite of the threat of rain, I made my way to the park. Chilly gusts of wind drove fat black clouds across the sky. The thin crowds were swaddled in sweaters and jackets. Across from the plaque of peace-loving countries, a lone wood anemone, covered in tight buds, displayed a single flower. The plant shot new branches more than a foot long from the lower leaf clusters. The flower was made of 7 white overlapping petals around a yellow center of pollen bearing anthers, with thread-like filaments emanating from a green pea-sized ovule.
The cowboy had been joined by another guitarist and a young man, who shook out a beat with what appeared to be a coffee can full of pebbles or beans.
Under the maple, where I’ve played only infrequently this year, I prepared to sing to the birds. They flew in and out of the English Mulberry tree, pecking at the small yellow berries. In both directions, the path was empty.
A young girl of 6 or 7 named Preston was delighted to dance. Somewhere she had learned to hula. She swayed from side to side and fluttered her arms, while her proud parents looked on. Two Australian teenagers went to the hukilau next. As controlled and dignified as Preston had been, that’s how wild these girls were.
A dark-haired toddler stared at me suspiciously. “Would you like to dance the hula?”
His parents were encouraging, so I slipped a lei-crown on his head, but he shook it off. “That’s ok,” I told him, “we don’t need that.”
He didn’t know what to do, so I bent my knees; he bent his. I rocked from side to side; he rocked too. There was only so much I could do while strumming the uke, but every movement of mine got a response. By the end of the song, his parents and I agreed that a hula had been committed here today.
My last dollar arrived at the end of long line of hula dancers. A family of 6, in single file, had heard my music from the crest of the hill. First one, then another of the teenage children, skipped and swirled, followed by mom and the younger children. Dad brought up the rear with his wallet in his hand.
At the end of my set a man and his wire-haired terrier stopped to chat. He remembered me, from conversations we’d had last year or the year before, as the guy who retired to play the ukulele in Central Park. His name was Neil, and he had set his retirement date at December 31. “After that,” he told me, “I’m coming out here to play the ukulele with you.”
The gusts of wind had become a constant blow. The dark clouds were piling up fast in the northwest. I called it quits 15 minutes early, hoping to beat the rain.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: The Hukilau Song
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Good Enough for Me
0September 23, 2016 by admin
The cowboy said he would sing 2 more songs, so I set up at center stage and listened to Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” and the Bee Gee’s “You Don’t Have to Show It.”
A plump, elderly Chinese woman seemed fascinated by my colorful paraphernalia. “Have you got time for a hula today?”
“Yes,” she said with a giggle.
I put the lei around her neck. “Do you know how to hula?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Ok, then, let’s go to the hukilau.” She continued to smile and nod in the affirmative. “So you know it?”
“Yes.”
“You must be from Hawaii.”
“Yes.”
When I started to play “The Hukilau Song,” however, it became clear that all she really knew was how to say “yes.” After a few bars, she gave up and, laughing, gave me back the lei, along with $2.
A group of Spanish girls danced next. After a ragged beginning, they soon fell into a rhythm and ended the dance in unison.
A 50-something man from Arizona handed me a tightly folded dollar bill. “I love New York,” he said.
Next came the Brazilians. First 2 women who fused the hula with a samba gave me $2, then an extended family, wearing white tee shirts that read “Klaus, 5 years, in New York,” gave me $3. Klaus was a handsome boy celebrating his 5th birthday.
A young woman from Utah wanted to hula. She called her sister over to join her. Soon after a mom and her 2 young daughters rode up on their bikes. Mom gave one of the girls a buck and sent her my way. “Thanks,” I said, picking up a lei and waving it at her. “Would you like to hula?”
“No,” she said, and she ran back to mom and the bikes.
An Englishman walked by. When he was right in front of me, I said, “Aloha.”
He immediately reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar. “I have a fondness for the ukulele,” he told me. “I play it myself.”
“Let’s hear what you can do,” I said, handing him my uke. He noodled around for a minute, getting the feel of the instrument, then strummed out the opening chords to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”
By the time I packed up, with 12 singles in my pocket, everyone seemed to have gone home. The benches were empty. The young Chinese woman, who had been making big bubbles by the water, decided to haul her stuff closer to the arcade, where whatever people there were huddled in the shade.
“This spot no good,” she told me as she walked by.
I said, “Good luck.” It had been good enough for me.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: The Hukilau Song, Thriller, What's Going On, You Don't Have to Show It
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Lost and Found
0September 22, 2016 by admin
On another warm September day, occupying center stage, with only the Boyd Family Singers in the arcade to compete with, I sang to the people as they walked by. For the first 15-20 minutes, nobody noticed me, then a boy of 9 or 10 came from behind me, where he’d been listening from the rim of the fountain, and threw some coins in my case. After my first break I counted it, 4 cents.
I prefer to think that he liked my music, that, having no money, he rolled up his sleeves and fished 4 pennies from the fountain to give to me. The alternative, however, that he had made a childish gesture of disrespect, if not outright contempt, by de minimis tipping, was probably closer to the truth. Over the years, grown men have tossed pennies in my case. One even gave me a dime, then said, “You suck.”
A Spanish man held a toddler by the hand. The little girl bounced to the rhythms of “I Saw Stars.” When I waved a lei at her, she came running, like a bull to the cape. I doubled the lei to make a tiara for her, then sang a verse of “The Hukilau Song.” Her dad gave me a dollar.
Three Danes, 2 women and a man in their early 20s, stopped to dance. After 2 verses of “The Hukilau Song,” I chatted with the women while the man took up my uke and noodled around with some proficiency. All of sudden, he looked up, noticed that the larger group they were with had left without them, alerted the women and hurried off, but not before tossing $3 in my case.
A photographer shot video while I sang “Honolulu Baby.” When he was done, he gave me a quarter.
A 40-something woman with a big hat gave me a dollar; she had no time for a hula.
A small group of Italians wandered separately around the plaza, then reunited near me. One of them, a woman in her mid-30s, kept looking at me. “Have you got time for a hula today?”
Another woman in the group, perhaps 10 years younger, said, “Si.” Two more women joined us. “Do you all want to hula?”
“Si, si.”
Each one put a dollar in my case before grabbing a lei. I positioned 4 dancers, all women, while the 3 men in the group stood nearby and commented loudly as they danced. They were from different places in Southern Italy, from Rome to Calabria.
I had to leave after an hour to meet Mrs. Ukulele at the dermatologist. When I got to his office, I discovered I’d lost my indoor glasses. All I had were my shades.
After my examination, with no medical concerns except the stripes of tan on my feet from my sandals, we retraced my steps. There, on the rim of the fountain, were my glasses, safe in their hard case. Crisis averted, we exited the park, past the profusely podded catalpa, the guitarist at the Imagine Mosaic, the button sellers and cold water men.
Just before stepping out onto Central Park West, Mrs. Ukulele identified the morning glory-like vine with small yellow flowers that grew on the fence behind the benches: thunbergia alata, or Black-eyed Susan vine.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Honolulu Baby, I Saw Stars, The Hukilau Song
