A Mad Dash to the Faneuil Hall Restrooms

I got off early from work Friday afternoon and wandered over to Faneuil Hall. It was my third time there this year but my first time wandering through it alone.

My first thought?

I really needed to pee.

I had climbed up out of the Haymarket T stop with a practically unusable cell phone and an equally unreliable sense of direction. The red brick of the Freedom Trail led me through through the front entrance of Faneuil Hall, past a crowd that surrounded a group of break dancers that I had yet to watch.

I would have stopped, but I needed to pee, so I went into the first building. The stairs to the bathroom were blocked off. I went through that building into Faneuil Hall proper, walked all the way around the food court, and circled the entire area before going into the central building, only to find my pathway to the bathroom impeded by a line of tourists that came hand in hand with the start of Memorial Day weekend.

A few first impressions, as I essentially scoped out the area during a mad dash to find a toilet:

1. These weren't "my streets." I didn't get the same sense of comfort and familiarity that I have when I walk down the Mag Mile in Chicago.
2. It definitely had the same vibe. Mostly tourists wandering around, looking for something to do. No skyscrapers, no cars even. But it was still a city, made up of people who generally ignored each other. I was a stranger among strangers - people ignoring each other out of habit and necessity, but looking for a reason not to.
3. I saw some people who looked like they were street performers, but no actual street performances at the time. Did the recent "Pay to Play" controversy kill off one of the scenes that made Faneuil Hall so famous?
4. And I really really really needed to pee.

Eventually, I ended up near the front entrance to the food court, where the big street shows normally take place. There wasn't a performance going on, but a group of five people were gathered in a tight circle right in the middle of the performance area. One of them had a mic on and a bag of juggling clubs.

I sat down. Watched from afar. When it was clear that a show wasn't going to start anytime soon, I gathered up the courage to approach.

Their first thought? That I was with the Boston Globe, starting off "all friendly and everything" and then whipping out a pen and notebook to get quotes from them.

I laughed uncomfortably, then went on to explain my background in anthropology, as well as my experience as a magician and street performer. I didn't want to hide my research background - especially given how closed and guarded of the craft buskers tend to be.

Their second thought? That I was with "the feds."
Nope. I am not that either.

Then I sat back and watched some of the best street theater Boston has to offer - not as an anthropologist in the field but as an amateur busker learning from the greats of her time.

[Trying out tags for the first time. Not that I really understand them, so I'm not sure if I'm using them right.]
#Faneuil #busking #buskers

"You're only as good as your audience."

The street show (as I briefly and badly mentioned long ago) is the product of a street performer’s and her audience’s combined labor. The audience's role in street performance is just as important as the busker's in creating a distinctive urban "vibe."

How so? What happens when the audience fails to live up to their job as co-creators of a show - and "patrons" of street art? Some street performers will stop mid-show if they sense that their audiences are not appreciating their performance.

One particular show was cut short in just such a way. When a group of street acrobats asked their audience to “make as much noise as [they] possibly can!” and the response was lackluster, the acrobats immediately turned off the music and turned their backs to the audience.

Yes... street performers can fly.
Street performers = superheroes.
Yup.
Oh. And note the awesome audience.

When I asked one of the acrobats about this later, he explained their decision:

"I mean, it’s not easy what we do. Like, we can get hurt. Like right now, my knee is hurting. But I will do a show if the energy’s there. For me it’s not about the money all the time…. I was taught, you’re only as good as your audience. And if the audience is great, you’re gonna have a great show, you know? But, I mean, we did all of that building up this energy to grab the crowd and we were like, you wanna see the show? And they blahaaaaah. If we don’t get a good response in the beginning, it doesn’t make sense to do the show because that lets us know how the end will go. If they don’t give us enough energy, we’re not gonna do it because we could hurt ourselves and we’re exerting energy and they’re not giving it back to us. It doesn’t make sense to do the show."

The exchange of energy and the failure to exchange energy is, for these acrobats what makes or breaks a show. An audience that refuses to acknowledge the value that these buskers can give will, in effect, not be given a performance. By not acknowledging the value of a show, the audience lets the acrobats “know how the end will go.” Lackluster audience participation signifies the production of an eventual product that may just not be worth the labor.

While their decision to stop their performance mid-show has a jarring effect on their audience, they are not the only performers who manipulate the length of their show based on how likely they think their audiences will pay them. Jeremy, for example, does not start a full show unless a sizable audience has already gathered. If he manages to stop someone but is unable to build a good audience, he will do one trick, ask them for a tip, and move them along. Otherwise, he would waste his time and energy working for an audience that would not participate as much in the co-generation of an affective experience when, instead, he could be working to build another, better audience.

Tin Man also turns off his music and declares to his audiences, “I’m on break!” if his audiences have stopped paying him. He explained:

"That’s why I don’t dance all the time when people donate. I might get one or two donations, but if I don’t feel that appreciation from the crowd, there’s no reason to give my all into it because they’re not going to appreciate it. Not gonna appreciate it. I’ve been rejected so many times. [...] Those people are expecting you to do something for nothing. So he [another performer] dictates how long his show is – hell yeah. He says, ‘I’m cutting this one short.’ Ah, yeah. I hop off and say I’m on break. Yeah. Right in the middle of the song. I’m on break!"

These examples are all instances when street performers gauge how much “appreciation” their audiences will have for their show, prior to the moment when they have expended time and energy performing, and prior to the moment when they have actually requested money. In these instances, the street performer attempts to maintain control by manipulating who they want as members of their audiences.

An audience’s acknowledgement of the value of a show is thus indicative of the subsequent role they may play in generating additional value for the street performance. Their failures, as well as their triumphs, reveal just how closely linked they are to the affective labor of a street show. In the end, this link is what connects them with their fellow audience members.

In addition to the shared affective experience as members of the same audience, they also share in the work of nonalienated labor. By being co-laborers in the generation of an affective product that they, in turn, enjoy together, indifferent strangers develop the ‘intimacy’ of intimate strangerhood. Street performers, in effect, take indifferent passersby and turn them into intimate strangers.

"Pay to Play" - Worse than Working for "Exposure"

It's an interesting time to be a street performer in Boston.

Not too long ago, I was going to write about the hoops that you would need to jump through to get a spot busking at Faneuil Hall. You would need:

1. two references
2. video performances
3. a live audition

Now, it seems, the Faneuil Hall Marketplace management is requiring street performers to pay as much as $2,500 annually just to perform. Faneuil Hall isn't private land either - it is, according to this Boston Globe article, public land even though it is leased out by the city.

Not that it should matter. As someone who has looked into freelancing, I've learned that working for "exposure" isn't any different from working for free. Street performers can get around that because they can get paid directly by the people they are entertaining. Now, Faneuil Hall management is asking street performers to both entertain their visitors AND pay a fee to do so.

Check out the Boston Globe article here.

I hate performing for magicians.

I love performing for laypeople.

I'm standing on hard concrete, making a fool of myself. Person after person walks past. There's a millisecond when they spot me and immediately un-see me. Their eyes glaze over.

They're polite, so they smile while they pretend that I'm not there.

I'm performing for a room full of magicians.

It's in the basement of the church; that's where all the brothers of the brotherhood meet.

Someone asked: Who wants to perform? One, Two, Three, Four people volunteer.

I'm new. The only girl there that day, the only one in the old boys' club.

It's only in my head

I think

when I feel eyes creeping towards me.

Anyone else? he asks.

I hate performing for magicians.

I volunteered.

Someone stops.

What've you got?

Not much, I shrug.

I wave a card. It's a color change, a metamorphosis of a Joker to a King.

Eyes widen. The audience builds.

The audience is already there.

I'm Five, so I watch One, Two, Three, and Four.

One is hiding that there.

Two is doing that trick from that book.

Three is doing something that I sometimes do too.

Four's probably got that up his left sleeve.

I'm watching a magic show.

I hate being a magician watching a magic show.

It's a coin trick. One, two, three coins.

Except there's no trick, since I'm just counting.

And being funny

or trying to be.

Magic for magicians.

Here we go.

I curl up my toes in my shoes.

That's how I deal

when my nerves are screaming.

The audience laughs.

I do the trick.

The coins jump one, two, three.

That's all there is to it.

It's magic.

It's a display of knowledge -

I get a compliment on how well I did [So-and-so's] [secret move].

[That magician] does a great version of this.

Check out [Master Magician's] book.

I thank them for their input.

I put away my number two pencil and blue and white Scantron.

I think I passed.

*I don't really know what this is. I had three cups of coffee today - three times what I normally have on a normal Sunday afternoon. This is the result.