Street Minstrel

This year has been a big one for demonstrations in the UK: the doctor’s strike, calls for Cameron’s resignation, anti-austerity. It was certainly a winter of discontent.

Watching the protests, my mind goes back to 2008, when 32 people were arrested protesting about wages and working conditions at Disneyland. Nothing unusual about that – Disney is notorious for treating employees poorly. Why was this demonstration any different?

Many of the protestors were dressed as Disney characters.

The move was a stroke of genius: newspapers all over the world ran the story. Headlines such as ‘Snow White arrested’ and ‘Peter Pan feels the long arm of the law’ ran alongside pictures showing Mickey, Snow and Peter being frogmarched to police cars, hands cuffed, heads held high. The employees tapped into the cultural power of Disney and used it to draw attention to their cause. And attention they got: worldwide!

One thing I am very aware of as a street musician is the low status we have in the eyes of the public: the looks I get when playing (and the comments you read online) are proof enough of that. Additionally, I have had comments such as: “You’re a good musician, you shouldn’t be on the streets! You should be giving concerts!” While it’s meant as a compliment, my answer is, “Actually, the street is exactly where I want to be.”

Why?

Risk turns a concert into an adventure. You never know what is going to happen. The spontaneity, the vulnerability and the fact that the conditions are against you is exactly why I busk.

Because the conditions are against you. There are a hundred reasons why people should not give you money and only a handful of reasons why they should. Poor weather (a common problem in the UK), the authorities moving you on, complaints from the public, other street musicians, charity collectors, noise from traffic and workmen, lack of appropriate spaces to play – all these are reasons why people may not give you money or you may not be able to play period. That your music, or something else about you (your appearance, your expression and demeanour) may appeal to some people are the reasons people may give you money.

There are other factors: if the townspeople are used to buskers; if there is a culture of appreciating street music; the time of day you are playing. (If you need proof that time of day matters, Joshua Bell, a world-class violinist, played for 43 minutes in the Friday morning Washington D.C. rush hour, and made $32.)

So if against all the odds you manage to come home with some money (and some war stories), it feels all the greater an achievement. Concerts are great – but give me a good adventure any day of the week.

I have just finished reading Gossip from the Forest by Sara Maitland- an evocative account of how our culture is intertwined with woodland. No examples are more obvious than fairy tales: Snow White gets lost in the forest when running from the Queen’s huntsman, and finds helpful woodland creature allies; Sleeping Beauty is taken to be raised by the Three Good Fairies in a woodland cottage; Hansel and Gretel are lost in the forest, and find the witch’s gingerbread house. Woods are also integral to classic modern tales such as Tolkien’s The Hobbit (Mirkwood, with spiders and the Elvenking) and The Lord of the Rings (The Old Forest, dark and menacing; Fangorn, home to Treebeard and the Ents; the Golden Wood of Lorien, dwelling-place of Galadriel).

The author mulls over how, with woodland facing numerous challenges to its survival today (not least from greedy property developers and our government), and the situation worsening, how more woodland could be protected. With reading the book, it is obvious: we need to get more people into the woods.

People who are lucky enough to grow up near woods have many fond memories of them. We walk the dog there; go hunting for mushrooms in spring and autumn; go holly-picking in winter to make a wreath for the front door. As children we made dens there; our parents hid Easter eggs in Springtime, and draw chalk arrows on stones to make a trail; as teenagers we made campfires and drank cider in the larch glades in the summer (we took our litter with us and made sure the fire was out before we left).

In short, we have memories of woods. We are connected to them emotionally. Thus when woodland is threatened, we protect it: we sign petitions, go on protests, raise money. Because the woods matter to us.

But we were the lucky ones. We lived near the woods. We had that chance.

Why would woods (if you’ll excuse the pun) matter to somebody who grew up in a city? Even if they have read The Lord of the Rings, they will not have the same kind of emotional connection to the woods as a country-dweller.

So. If we want our woods to be loved and protected, we need to restore them to their rightful place in our cultural identity. The forests of oak, ash and thorn are as English as cups of tea, cardigans, rain, and politeness.

To do this, we need to get people into the woods.

But many people live several hours’ drive away, if not more, from a wood. That is too far to go for a casual afternoon’s walk.

We need something really good.
Really, really good.

We need concerts, plays, circuses. Festivals! Weekend retreats! It doesn’t matter. It just has to be good, and it has to be worth the two-hour drive to get there.

Obviously, not every wood is suitable for such events. Some are Sites of Special Scientific interest (SSSIs). Some are on steep mountainsides. Some are too dense, or too dark.

But there are some where this could work.

Take ‘Theatre in the Woods’, Grange Park Opera’s new project to build a new 700-seat theatre based on Milan’s La Scala. This opera theatre will be based in a woodland on a Surrey estate owned by former University Challenge host Bamber Gascoigne. This is a win-win situation: a great setting for the opera, more events all year-round, and (presumably) some money for Gascoigne.

This idea is not new. The Americans, with their summer camps and large National Parks have been doing this for decades. We need to do it too.

We need more projects like this, more theatre in the woods, if the woods are to survive.

As a street musician, there is no getting away from the elephant in the room: we are vulnerable.

We are sticking our heads above the cultural parapet, and we will inevitably annoy someone. And sometimes this has serious consequences: a busker was attacked with bleach outside Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. Well-known guitarist and street musician Marvin Naylor was assaulted in Winchester. Nice, middle class towns, and good musicians.

I have, in fairness, felt safe most of the time I have busked. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t. But the feeling of vulnerability has never entirely gone away. Where you are most vulnerable is when there are many people around. More people, more chance there will be someone with dark motives. However, this is also where you are the safest; if a nutter goes for you there will (hopefully) be people to help you.

This was thrown harshly into relief one memorable time when I was busking in my usual spot in Ilkley railway station. A man started applauding me. It wasn’t welcome, it was embarrassing; he was clapping and shouting loudly and causing a nuisance which I felt part of. He then sat next to me and proceeded to talk at me for some minutes. Had he not intimated he was waiting for a train I would have packed up straight away, but I thought, ‘He’ll be on his train soon enough, and then I can carry on.’

More minutes passed and the conversation (well, monologue) started to take a dark turn. He told me about people he had ‘done things to’ because they had crossed him. He seemed to take a pleasure in talking about violence. His breath stank of alcohol. He then started asking me to meet up for a drink. At this point a kind man walked over and asked if I would like him to fetch a policeman. I silently mimed: yes please. I surreptitiously sent a text to my boyfriend, saying ‘come quick’. I started to pack away my equipment: to hell with waiting for this guy to leave, I was going to leave first. I replied to the drunk (who was pressing me for an answer) by saying I didn’t think my boyfriend would like it if I went for a drink with him. He looked at me with anger in his eyes. I redoubled my efforts at packing my things. Fortunately the guy saw his quest was futile and left to catch his train. I ran into the nice man who helped me and a kind police officer outside the station. I thanked them both and explained that he had gone. The policeman waited with me until my boyfriend came (he was three miles away), and that was that.

It was a happy ending, but it taught me two things: trust your instincts (I should have got out of there way before when I did) and trouble can happen anywhere.

There are precautions street musicians can take of course; don’t play when there are a lot of drunks around, or if you do, be prepared for trouble. (Accordion and guitar are good instruments if you need to hot foot it!) Play where there are always people around, so if the worst happens someone can call the authorities.

But ultimately, you are vulnerable, because of the nature of what you do. That feeling will never, ever go away.