Posts Tagged ‘The Hukilau Song’

  1. September Busking

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    September 6, 2018 by admin

    It’s the first day of school in New York.  I haven’t been to the park in weeks.

     

    Those reliable begonias have started to droop and fade.  Michaelmas daisies have emerged to replace them.  A single dinner plate hibiscus, incongruously large, has popped up in the middle ground behind the benches.  “Run for Your Life,” sang the platoon guitarist at the Imagine Mosaic.  Along the path, the wood anemone has lost all its blossoms.  The combo by the lake plays “String of Pearls.”

     

    Uh oh.  There are tents and security personnel in chartreuse vests, a sure sign of fund-raising for the Central Park Conservancy.  More equipment is piled up at the fountain, and the arcade has been cordoned off.  “What a mess,” I said to the big bubble man.

     

    He wiped his brow.  “You gotta work for every dollar.”

     

    The CPC’s takeover ended at the steps from terrace to fountain.  Center stage was unoccupied.  “Let’s see what I can do.”

     

    “No, no, no,” said the big bubble man, whose name I once knew but forgot.  “The violin.”

     

    I looked where he pointed.  It wasn’t a violin, it was the erhu, and the erhu player, who only understood English when it suited him.

     

    It was cooler in the shade of the maple, but not much.  People walked by infrequently and no one wanted to hula in such heat.

     

    A couple danced some ballroom steps to “Fit as a Fiddle,” showing off what a few grand at Fred Astaire Studios can buy, and earning me a dollar.  Thirty minutes later, a well-dressed mother and daughter walked by, smiling at the lyrics to “I Wonder Where My Little Hula Girl Has Gone.”  They stopped about 20 yards away until the finale, “she’s no longer on the beach at Waikiki.”  Then mom returned with a dollar.

     

    A 30-something man tossed in 2 quarters.  By this time, I was wondering if I’d get to $2.70, my breakeven, equivalent to 2 senior subway fares.  Every time a woman reached into her purse, or a man patted for his wallet, I thought it was for me, only to have a map, a phone, or a tissue emerge.  With 10 minutes left in my set, a 9- or 10-year-old boy, walked by with a peppy, young care-giver.

     

    “Have you got time for a hula today?”

     

    “Sure we do, don’t we?” the care-giver said.

     

    The boy appeared to be autistic.  As I explained how to hula, she kept reminding him to look up at me.  While I played “The Hukilau Song,” he sometimes dropped his arms and lowered his head.  “Wake up,” she’d say, and he’d start to dance again.  After the dance, he wanted to know about my solar-powered hula girls.  When I’d answered all his questions, his care-giver gave me a dollar and led the boy away.

     

    “Aloha,” I called after him.

     

    “What does that mean?”

     

    “Hello, good-bye, love, peace.”

     

    “Those are all good things,” said the care-giver.

     

    “Aloha,” said the boy.

     


  2. If Only I’d Been There Yesterday

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    August 22, 2018 by admin

    “Great day,” I said to Randy as I walked through Strawberry Fields.

     

    “You should have been here yesterday.”

     

    The combo played “Blue Moon” near Daniel Webster.  “Not to be confused with Noah Webster of dictionary fame,” I overheard a buggy driver say with an Irish lilt.

     

    Colin said he’d play for another 15 minutes, so I decided to sit down and wait for him.  The temperature was in the mid-70s, with a cool breeze blowing off the water  “No,” Colin corrected himself, “make that another 45 minutes.”

     

    So I set up under the maple.  Pushing his double bass ahead of him, Vasili, formerly of the Ukrainian Symphony Orchestra, now with the John Boyd players in the arcade, threw his hands up in delight to see me.  He danced a hula-like jig and said, “You are always so happy, how are you, my friend?”  It had been more than a year since I’d seen him.

     

    “Beautiful day,” I said.

     

    “You should have been here yesterday.”

     

    A preteen girl from the UK was keen to hula.  Her parents tried to whisk her away, but she prevailed and did a credible hula to the “Hukilau Song.”  Her name was Olivia.  Her dad gave her a dollar for me.  As she walked away, she waved “Aloha.”

     

    A man peeled off from his guided tour and sprinkled 77 cents into my case.  Two local girls hula-ed amid shouts (“hukilau!”) and giggles.  Pushing his instrument back down the path, Vasili returned from the fountain, where there was no work for him, and joined the girls in the hula, then both Vasili and the girls walked away.

     

    Two 20-something women walked by; one of them gave me a dollar, but would not dance.

     

    At the end of my set, with $3.77 in my pocket, the big bubble man came by with his bucket and netting.  “It’s beautiful in the fountain, you could go there now,” he said.  “The guitar guy is packing up.”

     

    “He said he’d be done at 1, it’s almost 2.  He must have had a good day.”

     

    “I don’t know about that,” said the big bubble man.  “Tuesdays aren’t so great.  You should have been here yesterday.”


  3. In the Shade of the Maple

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    August 16, 2018 by admin

    With the temperature north of ninety degrees, I headed straight for the shade of the maple.  A cooling breeze blew off the water.  Not long after starting my set, a half dozen 4-5 year-olds, in bright orange tee shirts, walked by with two women who appeared to be more east side socialites than day camp counsellors.

     

    “Have you got time for a hula today?”

     

    “How about it, kids, have we got time?”  All but one kid was up for it.  I handed out leis, and draped a lei on the fence in case the one dissenter changed her mind.  For first time hula dancers the kids did great, although halfway through the second verse of “The Hukilau Song” their arms drooped and 2 of them barely moved at all.  Afterward, I collected the leis from the kids, and a fiver from one of the women.

     

    Two 20-somethings walked by, stopped, and returned to toss 2 singles in my case.

     

    Coming down the path from Bethesda Fountain was a crew of cameramen, sound technicians, 2 directors and a well-dressed woman with a clipboard.  In the center of this gaggle was a tall, bearded man in a sleeveless vest, carrying a guitar.  His name was Elias, I was told, a wrestler with the WWE.  Could I play a scene with him?  All I had to do was tell him that his music sucked, after which he would trash-talk me and tell the cameras where he was performing next.

     

    Elias and I ad libbed through 3 takes, after which the woman with the clipboard donned a lei and danced the hula.  A large crowd gathered to watch, and between takes the directors studied the contents of my case, without adding anything to it.

     

    After filming me, Elias and his entourage moved on to the rowboats and filmed on the lake.

     

    Toward the end of my set, one of 2 girls walking by put a buck in my case, and during my final number, “Little Grass Shack,” an elderly woman holding a preteen boy by the hand, stopped to ask me where was the pond where they sailed boats.  “I used to live in Maui,” she offered, after I gave her directions.  “You?”

     

    “No, although I’ve been there.”

     

    “I really like your music,” she said, and she pulled out $2 dollars and handed it to the boy to give to me.

     

    “Mahalo.”

     

    I counted out $10.  The shade under the maple notwithstanding, it was hot, and the forecast for tomorrow was hotter still.  I hoisted my uke onto my back and turned for home just as a man in a red MAGA hat walked by.  I wondered if he felt the heat yet.