There was the train station - what they call the "T" in the Boston area.
The first guy you see working when you climb the stairs out of the station is the one selling artwork. Even though there's an actual painter just to the left, this first guy is the one you see because he's the one you hear. He's got music playing. Not booming, but it's there.
Between these two vendors is another, sitting between them with a sign. I don't quite remember what it is, and I didn't take notes that day. It was a religious message etched into cardboard. Right on the other side, if you turned right coming out of the station, a person wearing a toga was speaking into a microphone.
On the back side of the station, there was a singer strumming a guitar.
That was 4 performances. 4 performances already going on at 1:30pm that Saturday afternoon.
All this on the little island of pavement that held the entrance to Harvard Square's T.
1:30? Yeah. I could hear the Tin Man's cautionary advice echoing in my ear: You need to come out here earlier, he had said to me once upon a time. For him, it was about putting in the hours. Putting in the hours helps bring in the dough, but that particular day, starting earlier would have done more than that. Starting earlier would have gotten me a good spot. A good pitch, as they say in street performing.
I walked west on Brattle Street, following the flow of pedestrian traffic - west first, then northwest. When I reached the end of that block, I had a fleeting moment of panic. Every single open space was occupied by a street musician. I really really really should have woken up earlier.
I turned around. Walked back to the station. Panic aside, it was a nice day out, and it was exciting seeing buskers around. I was wondering if toga-guy was done. But nope. Now there were more of them. Turns out it was the Bard's birthday, and they were celebrating with some street theater.
The painter on the left - the guy with no music on - seemed nice. He had a hat. I approached him. We chatted. I asked him about good pitches in the area. He suggested a spot across the street. It was a little narrow, but it was a good spot as long as the people in the store didn't mind.
Why not? It wasn't like I had any other options.
And it turns out that I had the spot right in front of the entrance of the Harvard Coop. Being in front of a bookstore in Harvard Square pretty much guaranteed a constant flow of traffic.
So I set up my stuff.
Before I was done setting up, I heard a voice: "Are you doing magic?!" My audience had appeared, and I rushed into my first show of the season.
Check out last week's post to see how that went. (In short: not great, but it got better).
Maybe it was because it was one of the first warm Saturdays of the year. Maybe it was because of the influx of tourists that came with the upcoming Boston Marathon. Or maybe it was a mix of understanding how street shows work (thanks to the large number of performers here) and the rarity of circle shows in Cambridge. But I didn't really need to work hard to get people to stop.
People just kept coming, and I kept performing, adjusting my show as I learned and adopted.
At one point, in between shows, the Shakespeare performers suddenly appeared. They stood a few feet away from, acting out a scene from... something.... I'm ashamed to say that I couldn't identify what play they were drawing from, but I wasn't paying attention to their words at all. I was surprised - reeling slightly from the disruption. They pretty much plopped right in front of me and started performing.
There was no point in trying to draw a crowd while they were there. Fortunately, they only needed about ten minutes for the scene. Then back across the street they went.
By that time (around 4pm), I was ready to give up my spot. The sun had long ago moved too far away from me, and the Harvard Coop cast its shadow onto my entire stretch of pavement. It was a cold spring, and I was back to shivering between shows. When two passersby with cake told me about free birthday cake across the street (Happy Birthday, William!), they offered to watch my stuff while I grabbed a slice. I took the opportunity to dash into the sunlight... and decided immediately that, yes, I would try to find a new spot.
I picked up my stuff. Went back across the street. The Shakespeare guys were wrapping up, so I waited patiently for the spot where the cake was being served. There was cake on the ground! (Ew! Or... yum? Depends on your point of view?)
And then suddenly, the vendor who sold paintings increased the volume of his music. I blinked, looking up across at him. We were close, but the space between us and the space between him and the other painter were about the same. When he saw me staring at him, he lowered the volume of his music and spoke.
"There's gotta be at least 50 feet between each street performer."
I just nod. "All right." Packed up my stuff, sighed, and went back across the street into the long shadow of the Harvard Coop. Another round of performances. Ran into three people I knew - one whom knew I would be performing there and two who did not. Of the two who came up to me after a show and didn't expect to see me there, one was from undergrad and one was from grad school.
Small world, eh?
Next show.
I have a mic, so it helps a lot, but a random (seemingly homeless) person decided to make use of my audience. He started yelling out while I was speaking. I couldn't hear what he was saying (mainly because I was doing my best to push forward with my show). A more experienced performer might have shouted him down.
I ignored him.
He quieted down after a while, but he chimed in every so often, interrupting my train of thought.
Still. Ended well. It was 6pm. I was cold and hungry and don't quite have the work ethic of the street performers I've observed. I packed it in. A drummer with a bucket asked me, as I was packing, if I was done for the day. I nodded. That was very nice etiquette, I thought.
Four hours of busking.
Rusty and with less skill than I had when I was performing regularly, I still managed to make the same as I made my best day in Chicago.
No wonder there's so many buskers here.
Welcome to Cambridge.
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