It was a nice sunny summer Saturday, and lots of people and their kids were out. I must have played "Let It Go" a dozen or fifteen times. Frequently, someone would hear the music and come down, and check the list, and, of course, ask for "Let It Go". I'd get a laugh from the already-there parents by saying, "Sure, it's been ten minutes since the last time..."
For the middle hour or two, it got into this strange mode where a lot of people were hanging around and listening, but they were being all quiet and, it seemed like, (overly) respectful. I couldn't get anyone to come up and even look at the list, much less pick a song. They were acting like they didn't want to interfere with the show, even when I begged them to. It felt really weird to be so much in charge that no one was willing to even talk to me. Never had that before...
Fortunately, that wore off and I had lots of friendly people and lots of requests, so I ended up playing until 11:30. It's a shame that the last hour or two are the best part -- it's both quieter and the late night mood suits my material better. Not to mention that I'd finally figured out why the sound was so muffled all night -- I'd closed and moved the sun umbrella that they brought out for me so it was right between me and the speaker that I get most of my "monitor" sound from. Once I moved it out of the way, the sound was clear and bright again. What an idiot I am sometimes.
But even better was that my voice was so warmed up that I could hit all the high notes that I usually strain for, clear and easy, so I feel like I can sing anything, and I do. It was my big chance to sing "Bridge Over Troubled Water" and not hurt myself...
When we got to The Corner at 6:00, there were some kids there with instruments, waiting for the rest of their "Vinnie and the Hooligans" bandmates to show up. They're a rowdy five-piece neo-bluegrass/folk band, and quite good, and a lot of fun. We decided to move down to the alcove in front of the Laguna art college gallery/shop. We set up out at the curb, facing into the alcove which has some benches for people to sit on.
But it was mainly futile. The kids on the corner were way more fun than we are, and most of the foot traffic is on PCH, across the corner, not up Forest Ave where we were. We had a few people come by and eat their ice cream on the benches, and they mostly seemed appreciative, but it was slim pickin's.
Finally about 9:30, the Hooligans packed up so we moved down to our proper place on The Corner. Btu lying right in the middle of the corner area was a black and white dog, surrounded by kneeling people petting him. Seemed odd, but we set up our stuff anyway, figuring they'd move on pretty soon. When they didn't, I asked one of the lingering Hooligans what the deal was, and he told me that the dog was due to be put down tomorrow.
Ouch. I get that the owner wanted to bring the dog out for one last night with people, but that's quite a mood killer. No wonder the Hooligans gave up.
So I stalled for a while, but finally decided that most of the people milling around were not there to have their evening clouded by grief, and the Hooligan said, "Go ahead and play -- the dog likes music." So I started up, quietly, with my usual "Hotel California", which seemed neutral enough -- not too happy, not too sad. The dog's owner smiled at me, so I guess it was OK with him, too.
So I was stuck with trying to find songs that wouldn't offend the dog-mourners, but pretty soon a tiny oriental lady and her husband who were sitting on the far-away bench moved up to be right in front of us. She was apparently unaware of the dog-drama, and just wanted to hear some music. Once she started picking the songs, the onus wasn't on me anymore, but I guess I was worrying too much 'cuz nobody seemed to mind whatever song I played.
She stayed for quite a while, picking songs, clapping, and smiling her huge smile. And finally the guy took the dog home, freeing me to feel OK about whatever song she wanted to hear. She eventually came up to buy a CD, and was flabbergasted that they were only five bucks. It was great to have such a sweet appreciative fan come by just in time to assuage my bruised ego from how much better the Hooligans had been doing than I was...
It also helped that a lot of people started coming by and hanging out. We had a pretty great last hour, and ended up staying until 11:00. That's pretty late, considering I had spent most of the night thinking, "This ain't happening -- after this song, I'm done." "OK, one more, then I'm outta here." Never quite worked out, though.
It was Memorial Day weekend, but instead of the usual hot and sunny day, it was gloomy with occasional sprinkles. But we went down anyway, and when I saw how hard it was to find a parking space, I realized that the crowds had shown up, too.
When we got there, a guy who usually plays his mahogany acoustic in the natural-reverb corridor down the street was set up, because someone else had taken "his spot". He had some specific monetary goal in mind, and was still six bucks short. Rather than wait around until he managed to scare that up, I just contributed it myself. He sang one more song and left The Corner to us. I'm pretty sure I earned that six bucks back faster than he would have.
So we started out with the three girls that had been listening to him, and kept up a great consistent crowd all night -- lots of "Let It Go" sing-alongs, lots of friendly grownups. We started about 6:15 and ended up playing until 11:45 when we had a slew of requests for kids' Disney songs from a batch of Asian college students. I suppose "college kids" still qualifies as a "Kids' Party"...
I have a sign up that says that the CDs are five bucks, but nobody seems to read it, 'cuz they keep standing a foot away from it and asking me, "How much are the CDs?" So I revised the sign to make the CD price much bigger. It seems to be working, 'cuz I usually sell one or none of them, and this time I sold five.
We came up just three dollars short of the all-time tips record. Warren took off, and as I was just about to leave, a party swept through and a guy asked me if I could sing Happy Birthday to "Esmeralda". I did, and he slipped me, you guessed it, three bucks.
Sanchez is always there on Friday nights, but for some reason he always sets up on the Fingerhut Gallery corner, even though the ladies in there hate him. While the gallery is open he plays quietly, so I tried to play equally quietly so that he wouldn't feel like he had to turn up to compete.
But even though we were both playing quietly, after a while a cop came walking up, talked to Sanchez, went inside to talk to the gallery ladies, and then to Sanchez again. I was sweating, and started playing my quietest songs, as quietly as possible, but after he had given Sanchez the warning, he walked across the street, and right on by without saying a word. Whew.
Two moms came by with three little kids, and gave each of them a dollar to put in the jar. Since hardly anyone else was there, even though I was mid-Hotel California, I managed to tell the little girl that she could pick a song from the list. It was hardly surprising that she chose "Let It Go", but although the moms were actually getting ready to go, I had basically shanghaied their kids and kept them there for a half hour or so with Disney songs, then dance songs, and fingerlights. And having those kids there brought in some other kids and their families, and we had quite a party going on for a while there. Sometimes you gotta do whatever it takes.
But later in the evening, the gallery closed so Sanchez cranked it up. A lot. I was forced to play only my noisier "rock" songs, which, for me, a few is plenty. And to make it even harder, a homeless guy called "Digger" came by. He plays guitar and sings on the streets for money too, and has a huge loud voice. He proceeded to sing along to all my songs, and can bellow as loud as I'm singing, even without an amplifier.
So about 9:30 I decided that it wasn't fun anymore, and decided to save some finger strength for Saturday.
As we were packing up, a guy came up and told me how "beautiful and pure" my voice is. He said that he writes movies for movies, mostly documentaries. He said that it was mostly instrumental music, but he wanted to buy a CD and take my card, just in case, someday. It'll never happen, of course, but it was flattering anyway.
Found myself with nothing to do on Sunday afternoon, so at about 2:00 I thought I'd go down and see if there was anybody to play to in Laguna.
But the iPad music book is really hard to see in bright sunlight, so I figured I'd print a copy of the most common songs. A couple of hours of editing later, looking for a binder to put them in, I discovered that I already had this bright idea last year, and only really needed to print a dozen or so new songs to add to it. Which I did, but all this screwing around got me down there *much* later than I'd hoped. So late that it wasn't all that sunny anymore and I didn't need the paper book. Oh, well -- I'll have it for next time.
So I got there *much* later than I'd hoped. The Tommies were on the gallery corner, but the ice cream corner was free so I set right up. There were lots of people and tourists out, and I did pretty well. Found a strange coin in the tip jar that turned out to be from Iran, and worth almost four cents.
Toward the evening a possibly tipsy guy came up. He apparently had heard me play "Landslide" by Stevie Nicks before, because he started gushing about my version of it, ostentatiously pulled out a twenty dollar bill, put it in the jar, and asked me to play "some Stevie". I did, and he stood back and told everyone trying to go by that I was playing "his song". When it was over, he came up and told me that he was a studio musician and he used to play with Stevie. Could be true, I suppose.
Then he gushed some more about how great I am, and how I gotta "keep doing what you're doing". That was basically my plan anyway, but thanks for the encouragement. And the twenty.
When we got there at 4:00 the day before it was too hot for anyone to sit on the bench and listen, so this time we showed up at 6:00. The weather was certainly better, but there was already someone on the corner -- two "travelers" playing original, profanity-laced, protest songs. Some of it was actually moderately clever, but none of the passers-by slowed down enough to catch any of it. Their appearance, profanity, and anger weren't really bringing the people in...
Warren had talked to them and they'd said that they'd only be another hour or so, so we just waited them out. Starting at 7:00 made for a much shorter gig, with a lot less "nobody there yet" time. We had lots of people the whole time -- lots of kids and lots of "Let It Go" parties.
We had a big Indian family reunion, and a crazy guy from "the USSR". Once, as I was finishing up singing "Twinkle, Twinkle", a heavily-accented lady by said, "But can you sing it in French?" as she breezed by.
A really great night, overall. Lots of tips, despite the shorter playing time, lots of friendly people making requests, three CDs sold, and lots of happy kids singing "Let It Go", and shaking my little tambourine sticks, if not "along with", at least "at the same time as", the fast songs. It's gonna be a great summer.
Before they shut down the Mission Viejo Farmer's Market, they tried to enliven it with the addition of an "Artisan's Row". It didn't work, obviously, but they've started a new Artisan's Fair -- all art, no vegetables -- and asked me to play. I told her I'd be happy to, but only for two hours (not the entire four) since I'd need to have some stamina left to play at Laguna that same Saturday evening.
They set me up under an Easy-Up way over in a corner, to provide access to the nearest building's electrical power, but it was still too far, so I just played by battery. The worst of both worlds! Using up battery life that I'd need for the evening, and far away from any possible listeners.
But, despite there being almost no patrons, the artists were friendly and/or grateful, and clapped after every song. So it wasn't too bad.
I was hoping some kids would come, so I could play "Let It Go". Finally I spotted a dad with his two kids were way over there, so I started it up, watching the little girl recognize it, and excitedly tell her dad. Lots of kids have watched the DVD of the movie a million times, and know, not just the song, but the exact movements of Elsa as she sings it. This little girl was obviously singing along, because I could see her doing the whole routine -- magical snowball creation here, grand gesture there, etc.
A few people braved the long walk to come over and talk to me, and two even bought CDs. One lady asked for "Blackbird" and "Amie". Another lady came over with her grandson in a shopping cart, and pulled him out so they could dance together on "You've Got a Friend in Me" from "Toy Story".
And almost at the end, a lady and her crazy-dressed teen-aged daughter came over. The daughter asked for "Let It Go", and the mom asked for "Amie". I guess that song is more popular than I think it is.
The trickiest part is that I basically had the same audience for the whole two hours. Usually I have a (high) turnover rate, and could get away with five songs over and over. But I felt like I had to play all different songs the whole time, so after my usual 15 or 20 songs, I still had an hour left to fill. That's not actually a problem, since there are 280 songs in the book these days, but it was unusual.
We arrived at 4:30 to be sure to get The Corner, but that turned out to be completely unnecessary -- especially considering that it was way too hot for anyone to sit on the bench anyway, so it was probably an hour and a half before the sun went behind the buildings and it was cool enough for anyone to stop and listen. Noted for next time...
Pretty early on some people were on the bench so I tried to give them a song list, but they said, "We don't know these songs". I asked them where they were from, and they said "Europe". We thought that seemed a bit vague, and Warren asked "Where in Europe?", to which they replied, "Budapest". Did they really think that we had never heard of Budapest?
By around 7:00 we had were a bunch of families there for a round of "Let It Go", bubbles, etc. That party had mostly faded out when a police car came around the corner and stopped. He rolled down his window and yelled "Sir..." at me, so I stopped the song and went over there so he could lie to me that "Technically, you can't have amplification", and ask me to shut it down or at least turn it "way down". I told him I'd do that.
I finished the song, and the last of the listeners left, and I decided that we might as well quit. But as we were packing up, it occurred to me that we have never been cop-hassled when Sanchez wasn't on the other corner. I had to wonder if the cop was called to talk to "the guy playing guitar on the corner" and I'm a lot easier to see, with my top hat, while Sanchez is mostly hidden from the street by a big bush.
So, since we were quitting so early, the Fingerhut Gallery was still open, so I decided that this was our big chance to go talk to the ladies in there and see what was what.
They told us that, no, they like our music and they'd never called the cops on us, it was "that guy", meaning Sanchez, still hammering away outside. I agreed with them that his stuff is pretty annoying, and they laughed when I suggested that "it might not be so bad if he'd learn another song". (All his stuff is modal, droning, and in the same key. I suspect there are at least three or four "songs" there, but they all sound alike.)
I asked them, then, when they call the cops, could they try to be a bit more specific about who they mean, so the cops will hassle the right guy. They agreed with that idea going forward, but said that they hadn't called the cops this time. Which left us with a mystery, 'cuz the Ice Cream store guy loves us, and Chico's and the new massage place above it were closed. (I hate to think it, but could it have been Sanchez himself?) Unfortunately, the cops will never tell us who called, which seems to me to violate some kind of "know your accuser" statute, but who wants to argue with a cop? But at least we know that the Fingerhut ladies didn't, and won't, call -- so next time I'll try to have the courage to ask the cop if he's sure the call was about us, or "that guy".
Anyway, the New Song Of The Week was "I'm Into Something Good" by Herman's Hermits, though it was written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King. I thought it might be a nice jolly tune to play, possibly along the lines of "Mrs. Robinson", which is a big crowd pleaser these days. I played through it, but there was hardly anyone around, so it's hard to tell if it's going to work out or not yet.
Perfect weather, and we're starting to get a noticeable influx of tourists. Of the ones I asked, we had a group from New York, one from London, and three ladies from Spain. One of those came up and was all excited by the music, and when she read through my list, she was thrilled to find "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum. I was equally surprised that a lady from Spain knew American country songs...
We had some homeless guys monopolizing the bench right at first, but they got bored after a while. But worse, "Spider" is back in town. He plays music himself, but when he comes by, he just wants to disrupt what I'm doing. He loudly requests "funny" songs, and at the end of a song, he'll either loudly proclaim "Excellent rendition, gentlemen!" as if we're auditioning for him, or he'll boo. This makes the regular people very uncomfortable...
Anyway, we had lots of families come by, and I played "Twinkle Twinkle" for the tiny ones, and, of course, "Let It Go" for the bigger ones. Only found one group that was brave enough to come up and sing along, though.
I've spent some of my newly-unemployed hours working up new songs. "Margaritaville" seems to work quite well. I played it late in the evening when nobody was around, and several people came out of nowhere to listen and smile. It's *such* a cliché, but I guess in this context, it works. "Blue Bayou" sounds good, but may be too dull. "Cowgirl in the Sand" sounds pretty good too, but is really only for use when a Neil Young fan shows up.
I'm usually a stickler for accurate (as much as possible) arrangements of songs, but I worked up a version of "Pretty Woman", transposed down to where I can sing it. The new key makes it impossible to play the signature riffs, though, so I'm just, not. I expected it to sound weird without them, but it doesn't bother me as much as I expected it to. Warren, on the other hand, seemed unconvinced that this wasn't blasphemy (and lame). I guess I'll have to try it out a few times when he's not there and see what the audience thinks.
A very nice older lady came over to tell me that she'd been listening while she was shopping at Chico's. It's a bit worrisome that I'm loud enough to be heard inside a store across the street, but it was nice of her to say so, and she was impressed enough to sit a while and listen to some more songs, and then bought a CD.
Late in the evening, a lady came by and asked me to play "Bridge Over Troubled Water", which is in my book, but not on the list, so she must have caught me playing it before sometime. I don't do it much because the high notes sound really strained unless I'm *really* warmed up, but I was, and my range has been moving upwards a bit, so I did it -- and probably the best I ever have.
More nice weather, which brought out lots of people and lots of kids -- especially for a Friday.
I was a little disoriented after not playing so long on my vacation, but my hands remembered how to play the songs, and I got into the swing of it pretty quickly. I had people to play for the whole time, which is always nice.
And of course, lots of "Let It Go" sing-along parties. I don't know when the backlash will start to be visible, but it's not yet. I play it a lot, but it's so well-received that I doesn't bother me a bit. I do draw the line at playing it twice in a row, however, no matter how hard they plead.
As I was setting up, a dad and his little three-year-old boy walked by my guitar case, with its "starter money" and the little blinking-light "lantern" that I put in it so people will (a) notice it, and (b) not trip on it.
The little boy pointed at the blinking lights and said, "Daddy, look!" and the dad said, "Don't touch it! I think it's an alarm."
