Friday Night, And, So This Is Christmas

I should just stay in..

I should just go up to A 206 with my guitar and jam out and drink and smoke weed and live off the all the food that is available here...

I had enough money to buy batteries for my amp with only enough left over to get a couple shots of brandy; so I made that trip on my bike.

The patches I put on the tubes are holding out amazingly. Before, I would have to put some air in every week or so, but now the tires are staying hard.

I got back to the apartment and laid myself down to listen to a Youtube thing about the history of Russia. I already knew so much about Peter the Great that, when it got to that part, I was able to supply the dialogue before the narrator "That would be Charles XII, whom his army lost to the first time, but then they returned and routed them..." type of thing...

But, then I fell asleep and only woke up at around 10:40 p.m.

My plan to arrive at the Lilly Pad at 9:45, just as in the old days, was once again thwarted by circumstance. I blamed it on the 2 shots of brandy, plus the weed that the guy in A 206 had smoked with me, after I had knocked on his door on my way out to get batteries..

I was hoping that he would get me drunk and stoned and I could then use the money for the best batteries for my amp, without compromising in order to spare me some drinking money.

That goes so counter to what life as a busker had taught me.

What I have learned is, even if you are a drinker and someone who feels like you need to smoke a joint to get into the music, you must spend all the money you have, including that earmarked for those intoxicants; on the best musical gear you can afford.

That means, getting the best batteries for the spotlight and the amp, and perhaps breaking the bank for the best strings for the guitar, and, in the days before I knew how to play more gently on a harmonica, that often meant spending all 30 dollars in my pocket on a nice Suzuki Folkmaster harp, instead of 10 bucks on a Hohner Ol' Standby and the rest on a sack of weed and a couple quarts of beer.

I got the alkaline batteries and then there was nothing left for me to do but to go into the Quarter, where I arrived at about 11:45.

There was a guy sitting on the stoop where I play, selling beads, yelling to everyone who passed by "I've got beads," and then adding something about "trying to get something to eat.."

He recognized me from almost 2 years ago when I was a fixture at that stoop. He was one of the ones who would try to get me to pay him to leave the stoop so I could play, but had relented after Lilly and her daughters walked up, whereupon the guy affected being so glad to see them, and started to tell them about how he was watching their place and making sure nobody pissed on the side of their house, type of stuff. And as soon as he heard Lilly ask me if I was going to play, he just abandoned his plans of exacting a few bucks from me in order to leave.

This time, he sat there for a few minutes after I started playing. 

I had arrived so late that I was ready to accept the consequences of that, one of which was that there was some guy directly across the street with an acoustic guitar who had managed to attract a small group around him, who were singing along with a few of the standards that people request.

I started playing "Another Brick In The Wall (part 2, or whatever they call it) and, shortly into it, I noticed one young lady out of the group waving me over, as if she wanted me to go across the street and join the guy with the acoustic in entertaining them.

I thought about it; thought that the group might give us each 20 bucks, or something, but it was the sloppy way I heard the guy playing "Sweet Home Alabama," that made me want to stay put. I didn't like the fact that his presence was presenting the tourists who came along with a choice between who to listen to; one that devolved into the chaos of each of us making the other sound like crap by playing over each other.

The guy came across the street at one point, carrying his guitar in one hand and a 12 pack of Heineken in the other. He gave one of the beers to bead man, who was still sitting there and said something about "no money," perhaps referring to the group of people giving him Heineken in lieu of money. 

And, soon the bead man was gone, after making a couple of false starts at it, as if he was considering standing his ground in a "I was here first" attitude; but he eventually walked off and so did the guy with the guitar across the street.

That was good because I just wasn't going to call Lilly so late. She might be itching for a fight less and less as she ages, or for whatever other reason. She used to seem to love to come out and lay down the law, telling other musicians that they were in a residential block and that they were technically breaking the law by playing there, and that she had consulted with all the people on the block an they had agreed to let me be the neighborhood busker, something that would be a constant.

When I had ridden by Tanya, she was being beset by "the clappers," who are a heavyset couple of black people who used to just clap and sing Jesus loves me, type of song "for the bible tells me so," type of thing. They used to do that with their little daughter by their side clapping right along; and I was always amazed that they were able to make a living, because their singing was so bad that they needed Jesus to save it; and the presence of the little girl must have endeared people to them. I often saw them coming out of Rouses Market and flagging a cab to take them home (I guess obese people have to rely upon the livery service) carrying bags full of their groceries, which were all off of the Little Debbie rack -chocolate cupcakes, Zebra Cakes, Oatmeal cookies (maybe for in the morning) along with huge bags of Doritos and other chips; and 2 liter bottles of soda. That seemed to be the diet of the clappers; junk food.

But now the girl is like of high school age, and sits there poking at a smartphone and the clappers no longer clap, but sing along with a karaoke type speaker that is cranked up, no longer playing Jesus loves me music, but more like Motown stuff. They still sing horrendously.

They were right across from Tanya with their speaker cranked so much that it was distorted.

I stopped and asked them if they were trying to run Tanya off.

"She's trying to run us off!" said the father.

I was ready to remind them that they used to sing gospel music "What happened to that?" and that they seemed to have been blessed by doing so, and why were they now trying to ruin Tanya's gig when they have to know that she is there in the same spot every night from Thursday through Sunday.

Maybe they, whom I can't really call the clappers anymore, maybe the Jesus sell-outs, had gotten to that corner before Tanya set up; maybe Tanya was late herself for some reason; but come on...

I didn't say much else, but just gave them a look that was intended to convey "You know better than this..." and then rode off towards my spot, where I thought it was a sign that something was just in the air that night when I saw the guy with the guitar across the street from me.

But, it all worked out and I think I played my best music ever. One young lady named Fawn, stopped and listened and cried over something I was playing; she tipped me all the money she had on her and said that she has been living In New Orleans for a while and works on Decatur Street.

I told her my history here and she was surprised that she hadn't come upon me playing anywhere before. I used to play on Decatur Street near MaryJane's Emporium, I told her.

"That's a chocolate place now," she said.

It was a great night, music-wise. I guess I thought that if I couldn't out-play the guy across the street than it would turn into no-man's land.

Getting there late and playing for 2 hours meant that, after getting cat food and a nicotine vape, I was short the amount for a 3 ounce bag of kratom.

I suppose that is all part of the grand scheme, though; going out tomorrow night as sober as can be, without even a couple shots of kratom to help me focus.

I was focused like hell tonight, though.

There are so many other minute by minute details, but it is already 5 in the morning and it will be time to go out and play again in a mere 12 hours or so. Weekends have to be like that; with the discipline to go straight to bed after work and then to get up well rested and start preparing to go out and play again.

Learning one new song every night has been a goal that has eluded me. Some consolation is that, I have dug up one song every night that I haven't played in a long time. I credit the list of songs that I add to every day and then stuff in my guitar case for that.

How else would I have remembered that I know "And So This Is Christmas," by John Lennon, and used to play it in Jacksonville, 15 years ago?