World's Most Introverted Busker Retires

Yes, sad but true, and after only two attempts. Why? Well, I've discovered that busking requires a skill set above and beyond the ability to sing and play. Read on.

A couple of weeks ago on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, I set up shop at the corner of two streets which shall remain nameless. About six songs into my set, this guy runs up and starts screaming in my face. Apparently I've taken what he considers his prime panhandling spot, and if he ever sees me here again he's going to beat me senseless. As he continues the expletive-filled rant, I keep playing but I'm terrified. My eyes follow as he stomps away until I can no longer see him. Shaken, I struggle through a few more songs, then pack up and speed off on my bike.

So: the skill set I'm referring to involves (a) asserting one's territorial rights on the street and (b) deescalating potentially dangerous situations with beggars and panhandlers. Since I can't do either and have no interest in learning, that concludes my busking career. How I biked home that day and didn't up in Toronto East General with 15 broken ribs, I've no idea. This guy was angry enough to inflict major damage.

On the bright side, I don't think busking is for me anyway. Even before the incident occurred, I was more enduring it than enjoying it. I will leave busking for the extroverts, the thick-skinned, those who can confidently assert their territorial rights and deal with raging crazies and God knows what else. I'm not risking my life for $3.10 (that day's windfall). Instead, I'll seek out more genteel venues for my music.

Unfortunately, this also puts the kibosh on the Buskman's Holiday. I have no reason to believe that the raging crazies of Guelph, London, Kingston or what have you substantially differ from this guy and don't intend to find out.

I'm Ready Ready Teddy to Folk 'n' Roll

If the weather holds out I'm aiming to make my busking debut tomorrow. I've rehearsed three sets, cut about ten songs I adore but simply aren't up to snuff, and am doing a final run-through this evening. The cuts still leave me with 33 songs: a mix of originals, covers and a few Benvereens chestnuts too.

The goal was to find something representative of every decade from the 1950s to the 2000s. Why those boundaries? Well, on the front end, Sour Landslide used to have a ten-year rule for covers: if it's under ten years old, it's too recent. Old habits die hard and besides, I know few songs from the 2010s and almost none by contemporary artists. As for the back end, I've always been a rocker through and through, so anything pre-1955 is out. I don't do standards, swing, torch songs, country, blues, ragtime, or what have you. It's all prehistoric to these ears and of no interest. And truthfully, finding even one song from the '50s was tough. For me, the excitement starts with Dylan and The Beatles. Anything before that gets lumped in with the fossils.

It's funny. My parents were '50s children, and hey, hep cats, they loved that old-time rock 'n' roll—so much so that they force-fed me generous helpings when I was a boy. I couldn't stand it. You name it: Bill Haley, Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Buddy Holly, The Platters, Fats Domino ... heard 'em all, hated 'em all. I mean, I was five years old and this music still struck me as infantile. "But what about the greats?" I hear the Dave Marshes of the world scream. "Come on! Sun Records: Elvis. Jerry Lee. Carl Perkins. Johnny Cash, for Pete's sake." No, nope, negatory, and I'm one of the six people in the world who's not into The Man in Black. The best I can do for the '50s is give a lukewarm "meh" to the Everly Brothers.

In desperation I checked online lists ("Top 100 Songs of the 1950s," that sort of thing) only to uncover all the dross I loathed as a kid. Finally I turned to my younger brother—who, ironically, took a shine to much of the parents' music—for advice. One song was all I needed. I thought I had my one, but "Hello Mary Lou," which Captain Seventies only knew from the CCR cover on Mardi Gras, turns out to be from 1961.

With help from the bro, I found it: Buddy Holly's "Every Day." Even I had to admit that here was a pretty melody anchored by cool chord changes, clever wordplay for the time, and the song actually had two distinct parts. (Much of my beef with '50s music comes from verses and choruses sounding identical, insipid lyrics, and God forbid there be a bridge—what do you think this is, jazz?)

Of course, "Every Day" is still the '50s, so the song needed a cosmetic facelift or three to render it playable by yours truly. First of all, who decided to prominently feature a glockenspiel, and worse, to make it the solo instrument? Me, I'm firing that producer. Next to go was the wispy, oh-so-subdued arrangement. I've rocked it up and upped the tempo. The final improvement was to ditch the "a-hey-heys" that were Buddy's trademark. Everyone in the '50s thought they needed a gimmick (or their producers/overlords did; not sure which). The hiccup-y thing was Holly's, Chuck Berry had the duck walk, Little Richard the nonsense syllables, Elvis the "wella-hella-hella" rockabilly vocal tics. Again: why?

So, Mom and Dad, when I play "Every Day" I'll fondly remember you and hope I'm doing you proud. After which I'll get the heck out of the '50s and serve me up some Byrds or Small Faces with a side of Moby Grape.

Do You Know the Way to San Obscure?

I do, I do! See, I'd hoped to include in my busking set more popular songs that are actually popular, but none of that material felt right; it all got tossed. In its stead I've come up with a set of utter obscurities. Nary a "Hotel California" in the bunch. It may change before I unveil it in April or May, but as it stands now, here 'tis:

1. It's a Beautiful Day Today (Moby Grape)
2. Spanish Harlem Incident (Bob Dylan)
3. Hello Mary Lou (Creedence Clearwater Revival)
4. That's Entertainment (The Jam)
5. One Tin Soldier (The Original Caste)
6. Skyway (The Replacements)
7. Wasn't Born to Follow (The Byrds)
8. The Hills of Greenmore (Traditional)
9. Spanish Is the Loving Tongue (Traditional)
10. You're a Better Man Than I (The Yardbirds)
11. Girls of Wild Strawberries (Guided by Voices)
12. My Mind's Eye (The Small Faces)
13. Bike (Pink Floyd)
14. The French Girl (Ian & Sylvia)
15. Boxcars (R.E.M.)

I ran through it today to time it and in its wilfully bent way, it rocks. I'm hoping that part of my charm as the World's Most Introverted Busker (TM) is the exuberance I bring to these little-known gems. If I love to play them you'll love to hear them, so the thinking goes. Tweaking the arrangements and putting my own stamp on them has been a blast in and of itself.

Buskman's Holiday

Over the years I've amassed a nice stash of Via Rail gift cards, courtesy my beloved brother and sister-in-law. They know I love to travel, but for a variety of reasons I've grown weary of venturing to nearby small towns and wandering. It's lately felt more like a brood-fest than a day trip. This Christmas when the latest installment arrived, though, I had a brainstorm: what if some summer Sunday I brought my guitar along, staked out a good spot on Main Street, Smalltown Ontario, and busked?

Though I've performed hundreds of times, solo and with bands, I've yet to try busking. I figure a small town might be a good, low-pressure locale in which to get started. I have at least a few months to prepare repertoire, figure out where I'll go and check local bylaws to ensure my free-spirited warbling doesn't net me a fine or citation. Both Via and GO (our intercity bus/rail provider) accept guitars as carry-on baggage, so it's logistically possible on public transport.

I've already begun scoping out locales and have narrowed it to 30 cities and towns, all within three hours or so of Toronto. The funny thing: I don't even know if I'll like busking. Guess I'll find out. It's occurred to me too that I ought to bring some recognizable covers into the mix, as my tastes tend toward the obscure. ("Exactly What We Don't Want to Hear" by Game Theory, anyone?) My wading through the Billboard charts of yesteryear is ongoing.

Locally, I've discovered that street performers in Toronto need a licence and I'm considering applying for one. There are a few bureaucratic hoops to navigate, but it looks doable and not terribly expensive ($41 a year).

Anyway, the adventure starts in May and I plan to write about what happens here, so stay tuned. All aboard for the Buskman's Holiday!