I think I performed for about 15 minutes before I gave up.
I was standing in the big pitch in Brattle Square. I was there because my inclinations for research (or just hanging out, really - I love anthropology) beat out my desire to perform. But here I was, somehow performing anyway.
Not just performing.
I was trying to build an audience in an unusually large space.
Worse: I was trying to make something of the unusually large space with other performers looking on.
My back burned from what I imagined must have been torches shooting out of their eyes. I tried for some time, banging an old magic wand against the side of my table. I had gotten the wand at an auction for a dollar, and I thought if I used it to mimic the rhythmic cry of an auctioneer, people would stop.
At the very least, they'd complain about the noise I was making.
I hadn't planned to perform here. There's a nice corner about a block away where I'm a whole lot more comfortable, where there's plenty of pedestrian traffic and the pavement is both wide enough for an audience and narrow enough for little ol' me to disrupt their flow and easily build a crowd.
But I had decided to watch and learn from other street performers. Being at a pitch with other buskers (with all my gear on hand no less) and not performing? That wouldn't have made sense. So when it was my turn to go (because there was a line, and everyone else had already gone), I swallowed my fear and hopped right on.
"Try moving your table back a little bit," one of the buskers yelled out to me. I turned my head to look back over at them.
"What?"
"Back up a bit. Most of the traffic is going by behind you."
"Oh."
She was right. I dragged my table back a bit. It wasn't enough - there were still a lot of people going by behind me. The space was too big, I was too small. I didn't quite know which way to face. But whatever. Here I was, and as they say, the show must go on.
I caught a kid's attention, but the parents refused to come to my table.
I made a joke about them leaving their kid with me (cuz I'm scary-lookin' and all that).
They didn't budge, so I gave up on them.
In the end, I think I managed to stop 5 people.
I performed for them for about 15 minutes before I gave up.
At least I knew enough to hat them.
I turned to look over my shoulder at the other performers and shrugged, defeated. I tried, and it didn't work out.
"Sometimes, you have to fire your audience," one busker sympathetically said to me after.
As one of the other buskers moved his stuff onto the pitch that I had just walked away from, I got a quick lesson on audience building... both from his performance and from the two buskers who just watched.
"Do nothing," they told me.
Do nothing. I had started performing too early. Which, pretty much, is what the Chicago 10 Man had been telling me all along:
"99% of street performers are like the TV that’s already turned on when you’re walking past. The show is already going. Matter of fact, if you want to watch it for free, you can. And then walk off. My TV is off. You have to pay to turn my TV on, okay? If I’m moving, then my TV’s on – I’m giving out free shows. Nobody, nobody cares about my dance moves. Nobody cares! Nobody cares about how amazing I look. Nobody. The only thing that’s in their head is, 'Is he real?' Ok? 'If he isn’t real, then I gotta see.'"
In other words, it's not the delivery of the performance itself that makes a good show; it's the promise of something amazing. And the great performers - they can be absolutely entertaining doing absolutely nothing.
So next time (I was told), take a deep breath. Slow down.
And do nothing.
I was standing in the big pitch in Brattle Square. I was there because my inclinations for research (or just hanging out, really - I love anthropology) beat out my desire to perform. But here I was, somehow performing anyway.
Not just performing.
I was trying to build an audience in an unusually large space.
Worse: I was trying to make something of the unusually large space with other performers looking on.
 |
| The things that represent the buskers that own them. There I am, with my straight jacket and a bag with the initials FTL stitched into it. FTL, by the way, refers to Faster Than Light travel. Or something. [End BSG reference] |
My back burned from what I imagined must have been torches shooting out of their eyes. I tried for some time, banging an old magic wand against the side of my table. I had gotten the wand at an auction for a dollar, and I thought if I used it to mimic the rhythmic cry of an auctioneer, people would stop.
At the very least, they'd complain about the noise I was making.
I hadn't planned to perform here. There's a nice corner about a block away where I'm a whole lot more comfortable, where there's plenty of pedestrian traffic and the pavement is both wide enough for an audience and narrow enough for little ol' me to disrupt their flow and easily build a crowd.
But I had decided to watch and learn from other street performers. Being at a pitch with other buskers (with all my gear on hand no less) and not performing? That wouldn't have made sense. So when it was my turn to go (because there was a line, and everyone else had already gone), I swallowed my fear and hopped right on.
"Try moving your table back a little bit," one of the buskers yelled out to me. I turned my head to look back over at them.
"What?"
"Back up a bit. Most of the traffic is going by behind you."
"Oh."
She was right. I dragged my table back a bit. It wasn't enough - there were still a lot of people going by behind me. The space was too big, I was too small. I didn't quite know which way to face. But whatever. Here I was, and as they say, the show must go on.
I caught a kid's attention, but the parents refused to come to my table.
I made a joke about them leaving their kid with me (cuz I'm scary-lookin' and all that).
They didn't budge, so I gave up on them.
In the end, I think I managed to stop 5 people.
I performed for them for about 15 minutes before I gave up.
At least I knew enough to hat them.
I turned to look over my shoulder at the other performers and shrugged, defeated. I tried, and it didn't work out.
"Sometimes, you have to fire your audience," one busker sympathetically said to me after.
As one of the other buskers moved his stuff onto the pitch that I had just walked away from, I got a quick lesson on audience building... both from his performance and from the two buskers who just watched.
"Do nothing," they told me.
Do nothing. I had started performing too early. Which, pretty much, is what the Chicago 10 Man had been telling me all along:
"99% of street performers are like the TV that’s already turned on when you’re walking past. The show is already going. Matter of fact, if you want to watch it for free, you can. And then walk off. My TV is off. You have to pay to turn my TV on, okay? If I’m moving, then my TV’s on – I’m giving out free shows. Nobody, nobody cares about my dance moves. Nobody cares! Nobody cares about how amazing I look. Nobody. The only thing that’s in their head is, 'Is he real?' Ok? 'If he isn’t real, then I gotta see.'"
In other words, it's not the delivery of the performance itself that makes a good show; it's the promise of something amazing. And the great performers - they can be absolutely entertaining doing absolutely nothing.
So next time (I was told), take a deep breath. Slow down.
And do nothing.
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