Super Bowl, Mardi Gras; Super Bowl, Mardi Gras...

Last evening, I played and made very close to 10 dollars, on a night when people were only throwing money in regards to whether or not they thought the musician stood a chance to make his way through the upcoming onslaught of activity which will be the Super Bowl, and then the Mardi Gras.

It felt like an audition.
There was money to be made along the parade route on Canal Street.

Just plop yourself down somewhere behind the lines of people; in front of some business but not right in front; and collect money from people who can see what you are doing and reward you for it; and for others who actually lean over so that their ears are less than two feet from your instrument and who also might reward you.

I stood by a guy who was doing just that and saw him get at least one 10 dollar bill from a guy who stood in front of him and listened to him for about 12 seconds.

So, I could have done that; but instead I went to do business with a certain Jamaican guy and then made haste to Decatur Street, where I played at a brand new, well lit spot on a corner where the corner has been cut so that the front door faces diagonally across the street.

I always considered that spot better for visually intensive acts; even gutter punks who want to display their dogs better. But, there I was visually demonstrating Grateful Dead music.

It will be hard for the Mardi Gras to seem like the biggest thing ever, after the Super Bowl, but that will be an observation which will be lost on a person coming into town for just those two events.

It will be like fishing, for us buskers.

Worms For Sale!

It will be like deep sea fishing.

The busker might as well dub himself "Ishmael" and just perch himself on some spot; preferably after thanking God in advance for leading him to it; and then just play your darndest; and wait for the big fish to come along.

He's the guy who is lubricated enough and in the very mood to astound another human being with a demonstration of his wealth.

Particularly his wealth as seen through the eyes of a guy whose face lights up and who utters a prayer of thanks (probably too late, by the way; almost like saying "thank you" after someone has prompted it; by asking "What do you say???"

But, I digress.

The big fish wants his companions to see just how drastic the lure of money is; and; "Watch this; I'm gonna get this guy to play 'Imagine' by John Lennon ten friggin' times; you watch me....

Every time he plays it; I drop a 20 in his hat; and then we keep saying "Again. One more time!"

...You see; now that guy might have more talent than I do; I can't play a guitar; but here he is; like a puppet; like a court musician whom the king can put into motion with a clap of his hands...*clap* Music!!!....

And I toss him a few crumbs, you know,  20 dollar bills -not enough to even park your car, hear me? and he starts picking away like Peter friggin' Frampton, huh?!?...stick with me; and I'll show you the ropes, fellas.  

And, so you hook the big fish and, after he starts to walk away; he stops and returns to you and hands you 100 more dollars, saying: "I'm gonna give you another hundred; because a hundred aint' much in this world; I wipe my ass with them....."

And so, that is why there is a guy with a musical instrument on his back for every 37 people that are out walking the Quarter.

...Did you guys see how he hopped to it and played that song over and over? That's the power of money, gentleman......

And, as I sit here on this Sunday; having decided to keep blogging; and maybe just change the focus; it will soon become incumbent upon me to go out and take out the guitar and play music. Somewhere. Anywhere (almost).

Howard Looking Haggard

Howard looked very pale and frail and shaking and sickly and pretty much disoriented this morning.
He is still reading 1,000 page books at the rate of a day or two; but it seems that his reading just allows him to totally dissociate with the external world.
He just read a book about F.D.R, who was the president (for 12 years!) back around the time of WW2.
Howard devoured (rhyme intended) that 1,000 page historical novel in a little over a day.
I asked him this morning: "So what do you know about Franklin Delanor Roosevelt, now?"
His initial response was: "Nothing."
Then, he caught himself, and seeming to suddenly recall the book that he just read almost non-stop during the previous day, quickly added: "Well, I understand why a lot of people thought he was just an amazing guy. He was amazing; dealing with Germany and all that...."
So, now I have to keep an eye on Howard. ..."keep him on a short leash"...

It made me briefly consider the possibility that Howard may be in decline from some kind of degenerate disease like Alzheimer's Disease or any number of them that they have; and that, at some point, I might have to alert Emergency Response personnel of him being in a state of mind which poses a danger to himself.
I suppose I will at least wait until he is found swimming in the Mississippi River and offers the explanation that he was trying to get to McDonalds, and save myself the phone call....
So, that would apparently be it, for now. Things are still shaky financially and I will have to put in a good solid nights work in the joyful hope that I will touch one soul; who has money.

A Couple of Parades Tonight

I played last night on Bourbon and Decatur Streets.
At first, I was headed for the ferry and was going to call it a night; eat and sleep and wake up broke; drink coffee and start fresh in the morning.

But, it was relatively early and I hit Bourbon Street and played until I had a couple bucks; to go with the 12 cents that I started with.

Off to the Unique Boutique, which was a walk all the way across the quarter; during which I got to see a lot of other performers; one of which I overheard to say: "I wish I had a cigarette" and none of them seemed to have had made much of anything.

There are some very good musicians here; and bands playing in the street that sound like they have been playing together for years. "Hillbilly" music is prevalent up and down Royal Street; with washboards and tub basses and the usual banjo; guitar; mandolin; fiddle being noticeable.

A lot of musicians are trying to hold onto spots for the upcoming feeding frenzy; which might start within the week; and are occupying them all day for very little in the way of tips; so that they will have established themselves "Hey, man; we've been on this spot all week" by the time that the 100 dollar bills start coming down like confetti; in a week or so.

After chugging down two beers, I found myself on Decatur Street, where about 7 bucks somehow found their way into my case. I was just trying to play as well as I could; but decided that it would be "Grateful Dead night" before I even sat down (in a recessed storefront; so as not to obstruct any passageways).

I figured the only way to go about busking in between the countless others was to distinguish myself by playing what few others were.

Tonight will be Friday night and I should probably consider the very same spot.

I sure hope that the coming season brings enough money so that I can hook up my other laptop; get a USB cable for the Obama phone; so that I can use the photos on this blog; and then maybe enough to travel.

I am tired of seeing nice oak wood laying around in places and not having a nice campsite to enjoy cooking on it and sitting next to the embers of.

And I kind of miss Sue, the Colombian Lady.

Everyone Is At The Parade

It is Friday afternoon,
and the library will be closing at 4 p.m., because of Mardi Gras parades.

People pay to hear his style of music...

Yesterday, I left here around that time.
People were already migrating towards the eventual parade route.
There were musicians along Royal Street, every 100 feet or so, and all of them seemed to have around 20 bucks in their cases at that point in time, except for a guy playing a very loud clarinet, accompanied by a boom box playing music that was very polished...using the same kind of polish that Kenny G. uses to shine his horn...
That guy had about 100 bucks at that point in time.
I went along with my normal schedule, played on Decatur Street for about 2 hours and only made about 4 bucks, which can be rationalised away with "Everyone is at the parade."

At 2 Dollars each, they are slightly
above my "means," but I can always
cut back on things like basic hygeine,
and the like....

Leaving there, I went and played on Bourbon Street and made about another 15 bucks, took a break to have one of my new favorite brews, a Ruthless Rye Ale, and then returned to make about another 15 bucks.
Somebody threw me a ten, which made me think that I was sounding pretty good, at the time they walked past, at least.
I jumped between "Heart of Gold," "Chinacat Sunflower/I Know You Rider," and anything else I could think of to employ the new notes that I have learned to bend to and from on the harmonica. (I'm getting a B flat now, opening up the key of C minor in the "cross harp" position, and songs like "All Along The Watchtower" and "Things We Said Today," by The Beatles, and of course the extended jam in "Shakedown Street," by The Grateful Dead, when it jumps into C minor for a spell).
I should leave here soon and start to play earlier than usual, and stay a little later than usual.
I almost had decided not to play that last set last night, but got a second wind once I started and became about 16 bucks richer in an hour. Not bad, in this land of broken dreams and shattered hopes and general futility.

Conversations Kill

I woke up with $1.95

The Perils Of Society
I got out yesterday, and after updating this blog, got to the Visitor's Center spot, to see a fair amount of people. It was about 4pm. There were a couple of vendors, one weaving things out of palm fronds, the other selling jewelery. I had to go to the King Street Pawn Shop to replace a string which I had blown out the night before, playing Santana.
Talk Of Destruction
I was on my guard against being drawn into a long conversation with the pawn shop guy, as, on other occasions, we had talked for an hour's length. He's on the clock, I'm procrastinating. We had talked about vynyl records vs. CDs and the comparitive sound qualities. He specialises in vynal records, and has the place packed with them. I always joke to him "Any Donny Osmond come in on vynyl?" Not a huge collectable, the Osmond discography. He does have a copy of "Going Coconuts" in "the warehouse," if anyone is interested. "Played only once, and not even all the way through, eh?" I joked. I can arrange to have it shipped anywhere worldwide, just e-mail me...
Well, there was a documentary on a TV that someone had pawned and abandoned, and for the next hour (d'oh!) we talked about suitcase nuclear bombs and the Germans who were captured right here on Ponte Vedra Beach, foiling their attempts to sabotage the shipyards of Jacksonville, back in 1944, or so.
Reeled In
Then, I needed a beer, since any second there could occur a blast which would vaporize me, along with the Oldest Wooden Schoolhouse, and it was potentially my last beer. I decided to drink it down by the waterfront. There were a couple of guys fishing. One of them asked for a cigarette. I told him that I would trade one for a fish. Along with wishing that they had a cigarette, they were at that point, wishing that they had a fish. The conversation turned to music. I mentioned The Grateful Dead, and one of them begged me to play some. For the next hour (d' oh!) I played and he did also. He had an interesting style, but he hasn't had a guitar for the past year, and it showed.
"Band, Not Van."
Another guy came along on a bike, to caution the fishermen about the illegality of using "stone crabs" ("that's what we call 'em") as bait.
He told me that I should go to Savannah, Georgia to play on the riverwalk. He said that the original song that I played was just the kind of thing that was needed up there. "People who can write." "Your pretty good, too."
He then said what I thought was "Somebody will probably come along and put you in a van."
That kind of puzzled me, so I asked him if the police rounded up musicians that way.
"I said 'band,' not 'van.'
The Anti Carlos
Then, it was getting late, dark and cold. The Visitor's Center was barren. I went to the flute players spot, where Karrie was milling around, anticipating me and panhandling up a bottle of rum. Then Carlos, a spanish guy who I know from Jacksonville, showed up. He greeted me as an old friend, and then amused (mostly Karrie) and I for about (d' oh!) an hour. He had a radio tuned to Country music. We sipped rum and listened, as tourists walked by with their wallets safely tucked away. Then, determined to make something, I went to Eustus's spot, only to find Eustus on his spot. The place looked dead, and I inwardly wished that he wouldn't make anything, because I had frittered away my opportunities, choosing society over productivity, and had had my first "zero day" in a while...