#mbtoura

[travelswithbrindle]

MBTourA: Hoisted by my own petard at Downtown Crossing

Within a few hours of announcing #GivingWithBrindle, I headed to the inbound side of Downtown Crossing on the Red Line. I got there at the start of rush hour with visions in my head of the donation I would make to BAGLY. An hour later, I only made three dollars and headed home chastened. 

I arrived at the station at ten past five and located what I believed to be the pitch--a small area tucked away between pillars, with an awning/station sign wrapped in plastic under a chipped ceiling. While this part of the platform didn’t have many of the problems I associate with acoustics on the T--like the ceiling fans--the low ceiling and close proximity to the train dampened my sound a bit. Undeterred, I started playing my instrumental version of “Silent Night”. 

The first part of my Christmas set went well, musically and--to a lesser extent--financially. I played through the first four songs with no mistakes, and a man in a porkpie hat left a dollar in my hat and smiled at me as he retreated into the crowd. Unfortunately, I hit a snag at “Do They Know It’s Christmas”, a song I’d taught myself the day prior--I blanked on the lyrics and the chords and had to start again. As I began playing the Sesame Street theme (the first song that popped into my head, no less), a few girls kicked over my hat by accident; one girl shrugged and gave me a singsong “SORRY” before leaving. 

The station layout at Downtown Crossing doesn’t allow for much lingering over buskers, and people tended to walk past me without so much as an acknowledgement. My playing is pretty standard, and since I don’t have a visual hook to draw in new audiences, no one really stopped and listened. Additionally, the air quality in the tunnel left me feeling lightheaded, and I left the pitch less than an hour after I started. 

I’m trying not to feel too disappointed. I got in some rehearsal time for my gig on Thursday at the Medicine Wheel, after all. I just wish I’d done a better job. 

[travelswithbrindle]

Poptimism in the time of crisis

After the bad news of 8 November, I decided to change up my busking set a bit. I had a strong craving to play songs by 80s punk bands like The Clash and the Talking Heads, and performing the pop hits that were my bread and butter seemed wrong when we’re so close to the end of the world. The more I thought about this, though, the more I wanted to push back against it.

If you’re reading this, you don’t need me to tell you about how punk used surrealism and Marshall stacks to rebel against the totalitarian forces ruling England in the ‘70s and the States in the ‘80s. You probably don’t need me to draw parallels between the actor who served as President at the time punk was in its ascendancy and the Orange Nightmare who’s about to take over the White House. On a personal level, punk and new wave scored my childhood and coming-of-age. My parents listened to WBCN--the radio station the broke both the Clash and the Talking Heads--in the morning before school and in the car. I was dimly aware of nuclear annihilation and the unrest going on throughout the country, and as I got older and started to understand what was happening in the world those albums put the bad times of the ‘80s into greater perspective. As a teenager, I found solace in the music of Husker Du and the Minutemen while I looked for my people and dealt with an unstable home situation. I associate punk with revolution on a personal and political level, is the tl;dr of it.

I had a hard time playing some of the songs in my set after 11/8 because they were so closely associated with the election, like “Roar” and “Fight Song”. A few of the others, like the Taylor Swift medley I had been playing, just felt too happy for our moment in history. As I excised songs from my set, though, I realized that I was replacing many of my tunes with deep-and-meaningful Political Songs by White Men with electric guitars, and I started to wonder if I had lost something by taking out so many songs by women.

I believe that pop music can be a force for political good, but many of the pop albums I’ve loved this year are by Black women. “Hold Up” and “Cranes in the Sky” are better appreciated from a distance than performed by a middle-aged woman with a complexion the color of skim milk. On the other hand, can making someone happy and helping them escape from a painful reality--if only temporarily--also be a political act? I keep thinking of the last lines from Sullivan’s Travels: "There's a lot to be said for making people laugh. Did you know that that's all some people have? It isn't much, but it's better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan.”

I’m trying to find a balance within all this. I know I’m overthinking it, and I want to balance what’s right for me as an arteest with what my audience would enjoy.

[travelswithbrindle]

MBTourA: Out of Practice at Harvard Square

The past few weeks have found me in the weeds. I landed a long-term temp job as an editorial assistant at a local university; I made a pair of short ukulele videos, one of which has gone viral (and the other is uploading tonight); I’ve been rehearsing for a show with a band in Somerville; and I’ve been canvassing for Hillary on the weekends. Something had to give, and in this case the “something” was my busking goals. The streets had been calling me, and I put my kit bag together and headed out to Harvard Square this morning. 

Of the stops on the Red Line, Harvard was the only one I hadn’t played that was close to my current office. I initially hoped to play Harvard on the day of the Harvard/Yale game, since the station sees more foot traffic then, but I reasoned with myself that I’d played at other stations multiple times without falling off-track, and nothing said I couldn’t play at Harvard twice. After my experience today, though, I’ll need to play at Harvard again and do justice to the pitch. 

I got to Harvard a few minutes before 7am, a little nervous because of the popularity of the pitch and the bus driver screwing up the route. My first few songs went well, if only because I’ve played them so many times that I could probably play them in my sleep. However, since I’ve been rearranging my set to incorporate some new songs (”Fight Song”, “Closer”, “Fearless”, “U Turn”, and “Hotline Bling” are the big ones), I tried playing some of the material I’d just learned. I completely blanked on the chords for “Fearless”, but forged ahead with the other songs I knew. When I got to “U Turn”--a song I played upwards of fifty times in a video shoot this weekend--I blanked on the lyrics to the second verse, so I skipped it and headed into “Hotline Bling”. The lyrics for the second verse popped into my head, so I went with it, but when it came time to sing the first verse, I blanked. 

Forgetting lyrics wasn’t my only problem. The long sleeves of my fall jacket slipped against the smooth surface of my uke, which meant that I spent a lot of time grabbing her by the bottom and hoisting her upwards. The effort took me out of the groove and made me lose my place in the songs. I also had a sticky throat since I didn’t have much to drink this morning, and the damp feeling in my vocal chords interfered with my ability to hit the high notes. The sound in Harvard Station is surprisingly good--the fans aren’t directly over the pitch and it’s far enough away from the train that buskers can play well without amplification. 

The crowd was mostly indifferent--lot of people headed to work in the early morning. Two teenage boys in BC shirts chortled over something on their phones, and when an Ashmont train pulled out of the station, a woman who was sitting next to me slid to the end of the bench. I felt like I was doing something wrong. 

In the end, I made $3 for less than an hour’s work--$2 from an old man in a tweed coat and a matching hat and $1 from a woman in a suit and running shoes who licked the bill before putting it in the hat. (Don’t do this, people.) I know I can do better, and I hope I will have other opportunities to play at Harvard. Maybe I’ll see you for the Yale game, even. 

[travelswithbrindle]

MBTourA: that old devil entitlement at State and Chinatown

I packed my granny cart and prepared myself to busk today, setting my sights on the southbound State Street platform. I'd only seen one busker play there, and with the tourist season coming to a close, that seemed like a great place to busk. Unfortunately, when I got to the general pitch area, I heard someone beatboxing. A few benches down from me, a guy was beatboxing and spitting the lyrics to "Beat It". I looked for a lanyard with an MBTA busking license, but he wasn't wearing it; nor did he have it in his hat, the way some buskers do. Frustration rose like bile in my throat. The MBTA runs a pretty tight busking program--performers must pay $25, submit paperwork and references, and sign off on a background check. I jumped through all their hoops, and I felt resentful towards this dude for ignoring the rules. When I looked at the crowd, I thought about the microphone I would be buying on Saturday. I was short $5 and I could make the money I needed and then some if I could just play my set here. I recognized the feelings for the entitlement they were and did my best to swallow them. I had the money and the resources for an MBTA performing license. I also had--for now, anyway--a full-time job and the skills and connections to get another when this one ended. Instead, I boarded the next train and got out at Chinatown, a station I was planning on playing next week. I wish I could say that Chinatown became one of my favorite pitches, that I met lots of wonderful people and made the money I needed for a mic stand. I only made $3 for my mic-in-waiting, and the station itself is squalid even by MBTA standards. The pitch they indicated on their website was down a short, sticky-floored corridor that smells so heavily of urine I could practically taste it coating the back of my throat. When I asked a T cop who was hanging out if I could set up on the platform, he was all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ The cement ceilings were low and a fan over the platform muted any natural reverb I may have had. I saw maybe two dozen passengers in my hour on the platform--a lot of hipsters and staggeringly beautiful women mixed in with elderly women pushing granny carts full of vegetables. About ten minutes into my set, a woman in a green jersey dress left a single in my hat; two songs later, another woman with a spiky hairdo and a green polo shirt left me $2. An hour later I'm still salty about not being able to play at State. I've done everything I'm supposed to do as a busker, in terms of getting a license and abiding by the T's rules; I've also practiced and learned a bunch of songs (none of which, might I add, were written by pederasts). To have one guy come in and prevent me from my pitch by ignoring the rules is mean. I know I'm probably more well-off than he is; I know that I will play at State Street and will make the money I need for a mic. I'm not proud that I have these feelings, but there they are.

[travelswithbrindle]

MBTourA: Rounding out the Blue Line.

I played all the stations on one MBTA line! I wish this felt like a bigger victory. Only three Blue Line trains have pitches, which means that I will feel more victorious when I finish the Green or Orange Lines.

I worked an earlier shift at my office so I could leave early and make it to the pitch. When I got to State Street, I saw that the pitch was blocking a stairway and was under a tangle of pipes. I felt unsafe playing there, and since there was no attendant on duty, I opted to play a few feet from the designated pitch, out of the line of traffic and in a safer place.

The station’s low ceilings were mitigated by the fans and the loud train noise, which cancelled out the otherwise decent acoustics. I was facing the crowd and got a lot of friendly feedback–one boy threw up devil horns and mock-headbanged when I started playing “Royals”, and another smiled and gave me the thumbs up. What little money I got mostly came as change. One man dumped out his pocket, looked me in the eye, and said “this is all I got.”

Towards the end of the set I had a flashback to West Side Lee when a little dude in a Vince Wilfork jersey stood in front of me and put his hand to his ear. I started playing a little louder, and he danced in a curve around me, tugging at his shoulders and yelling “We in PATS COUNTRY!” before leaving a dollar in my hat, dap-tapping me, and disappearing into the crowd.

I didn’t sound terrible, but I didn’t sound great. I had a hard time hearing myself over the fans and the trains, but what I could hear sounded okay. The humidity made me feel like I was operating on a three-second delay.

The ride home was the worst part of the shift. The trains were crowded, I was suffering in the heat, and I had some things I needed to bring home from work. When a seat opened up, I went to take it…and a very spry older woman elbowed me in the chest and told me I was “stealing” a seat from a “little old lady”. I usually keep to myself, but I took great pleasure calling her a “nasty old bitch” as I got off the train.

[travelswithbrindle]

What becomes a pitch most?

This weekend has been hot and humid and I am dealing with some minor health issues. Not being able to go out and busk has gotten me thinking about what makes a pitch good. I write a lot in here about weirdly placed pitches on the MBTA, but why do I like some pitches more than others? The first thing that appeals to me about a pitch is the placement. Pitches that follow the traffic flow of a station and allow me to face the ridership are the most successful pitches for me. When I can see my audience, I get a feel for how well my set is connecting, and I can find ways to alter the order of a set for the straphangers who get to hear me. Alewife, Quincy Adams, Sullivan, and Forest Hills have better visibility and allow me to better engage with my audience. Even if people can't leave a tip in my hat, seeing them smile and wave gives me a sense of confidence and helps my set go better. (Because of this, timing doesn't matter as much as you might think. Obviously some times of day are better than others, but if you're at a station like Arlington or Green with unidirectional traffic flow, playing an earlier set might fare better than playing during the evening rush. Weird, right?) I'm still working without an amp (I need a mic and a mic stand now!), so I rely on the station acoustics to help me carry the sound. High ceilings are best for this (like the ones at Quincy Adams and Sullivan), because the natural echo allows sound to travel through the station in a non-intrusive way. A minimum of atmospheric sound helps, too--I struggled for the ten minutes I lasted at Park due to the noise of the trains, the fans, and the chatter from the crowds. Air flow plays a huge role for me in helping me get through the set. Humidity triggers my migraines, and being stuck in a station where the air doesn't move can cause health problems for me. Kendall and Sullivan both have large fans and good ventilation, and those help me perform better. Obviously, no performance is truly complete without an audience. My initial instinct here was to write about how I tend to fare better in white-collar communities where passengers have access to college radio or other alternative media: most of my repertoire is '80s and '90s college rock like TMBG and The Replacements, and the CHR selections that make it into my playlists skew White as well. I've taken West Side Lee's advice to heart, I'm afraid, and I'm worried that I'm not going to connect as well with an urban audience due to the cultural disconnect and issues of appropriation. As I think about this, though, I consider how successful my set at Sullivan was, and how the predominantly Latinx/Brazillian Portuguese listeners seemed to enjoy my English-language set. Maybe there's not a huge cultural gulf between us...or maybe I was just lucky that day.

[travelswithbrindle]

MBTourA: like a greenhouse at Forest Hills

Ah, Forest Hills. I didn't know what to expect from you. On the one hand, the conflicts in Roxbury and Dorchester happened during my lifetime; on the other, this station borders Dedham and Milton, two middle-class bedroom communities. A lot of subway enthusiasts love this station for its architecture and its close proximity to local attractions, so I had a feeling busking here could be an interesting experience. The station does look nice, and--more importantly--it has good air flow. The high, peaked glass ceilings had me fearing the worst, but the open doors on both sides allowed for a nice breeze. I opened with my usual opening songs, "Let's Go" and "Sesame Street". The traffic went out the door opposite where I had my pitch, and I assumed my session here was going to be another open rehearsal. Midway through "Colors", however, I looked up and saw a slender man with blue mirrored shades who was bobbing his head to the music. After the song was over, I smiled at him and said hello. "What a great song that is! Did you write it?" I got a friendly feeling from him and told him the story I always tell about Halsey: that her dad was a classmate of Gentleman Caller's and that watching her rise to fame was surreal and cool. We talked about music for a few minutes, and he asked me to play another song. I went into "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea", a favorite of mine and a crowd-pleaser. He asked me for my FB information and told me "You have a great voice! I missed my train for you!" as he left a few singles in my case. James's encouragement was infectious, and I hope I see him again. From there, the singles kept pouring in. I serenaded a toddler in paint-splattered overalls with "I Love Trash" and got one single in my hat; a nurse with a flawless yellow mani dropped two singles after that, followed by two teenage boys in baseball caps and thick glasses. A Pokemon player high-fived me as he dribbled some coins into my hat, and a man with an elderly cocker spaniel named Captain dropped a silver dollar in the hat as he passed through the station. I don't know when I'll be back to Forest Hills, but this visit was delightful and I hope to see you guys again.

[travelswithbrindle]

MBTourA: Hello Quincy, are you ready to uke?

No one tells you when you start busking about the physical toll it takes. You might know in the abstract to wear sensible shoes and to hydrate, but you might not expect minor (but annoying) back strain or how sometimes your throat feels like it's full of grime. Or that the heat and the noncirculating air in underground subway stations will make you feel lightheaded, no matter how many swigs of water you swallow. I'm not complaining. I signed up for this, and even the things I didn't know when I started seem intuitive. In my rush to knock out as many stops as I could on my day off, I think I overdid it. My wrists are a little sore and my head voice has taken leave. I got to Quincy at the height of rush hour and found the pitch occupied by a big fan. I appreciated the air flow, hated the dust it blew back at me, and got momentarily excited by the crowd it attracted...only to realize that they were blocking my view of the other passengers, and none of them left so much as a quarter in my hat. One woman in a chevron miniskirt looked askance at her friend--who stared at my ukulele and then left--and threw a crumpled-up dollar bill in my hat. Quincy is known for its strong Chinese community, and a small part of me wished I'd made an effort to learn some Cantonese pop before I hit this pitch. The passengers were more like the working- and lower middle class White people I expected to see at Sullivan this morning. Few of them paid any attention to me, and I made maybe 20% of what I made at Sullivan this morning. Instead of bemoaning my lack of cash, I treated this like an open rehearsal, running through a few Tom Lehrer songs and practicing the first three tunes in my October Surprise set. I'm getting better at the second of the three October Surprise tunes, even though the rhythm is still throwing me off a bit. Even though tonight was a wash, I'm looking forward to attempting to busk on the Red Line tomorrow. They're running shuttle buses, so I'm hoping it won't be too much of a clusterfuck.