An Evening in the Life

I apologize.

I have been exceedingly lazy the past two weeks. (I might as well admit it. I have been called a "weekend warrior" by another street performer, so I figure that failing at my once-a-week blog post falls in the same general area).

Despite the silence, I haven't stopped performing. I did my first round of evenings shows in Harvard Square back on the first of August. I was ready to perform in the early afternoon, but it was too hot (I say as some of Chicago's hardest-working buskers glare at me through their screens).

I started at around 6/7pm (because, again, I was lazy - and the worst kind of the so-called "weekend warriors." One that pretends to do anthropology as an excuse for not performing). I was in Harvard Square much earlier (around 4), checking out the scene. 

Makoto (a street magician whom I shall write about in more detail in another post) was there, and he laughed (mocked? ridiculed?) me for not working. I was missing out, he told me as I biked past. He was "making bank."

Hi Makoto's back!

When I finally properly showed up with my rig ready to perform, all of the good spots were taken. I ended up sharing the pitch with Makoto (and in turn, I shared my amp and mic with him).

First show: Awesome audience. Great crowd, good opener, good middle, aaaaaaand for the second time ever - I failed on the delivery of my finale. (The first time in was in Chicago, when I couldn't get my arm out of the sleeve. After struggling for some time, I gave up). Instead of getting stuck IN the straight jacket, this time I had trouble getting strapped in. I can't quite explain it in text... but I ended up needing to ask the person to unbuckle me. I improvised and ended with a card effect.

Conclusion? Great audience, would have been a great hat if I had done my regular finale. But I failed and ended on a mediocre note. The core of my audience still tipped though, but not as well.

Second show: Audience wasn't that great. I did the show anyway (when another performer said I probably should have "fired them" at the beginning, since the core of my audience was a group of kids whose reactions were only aightz. I had a big crowd but, as Makoto said, I had "turned over three audiences" by the end of the show. I never really clicked with my audience.

Conclusion: Decent hat, but I wasn't that happy with the show. Good news: a friend stopped by, and I finally got some photos!

Third show: Great audience, great show. What did I do differently? I exhaled, was calmer, and was more confident this time around. I didn't force any jokes that I wasn't comfortable with (which was a good call, given the fact that most of the audience was composed of families, even though it was nearly 10pm on a Saturday night).

Conclusion: Biggest hat I ever had in one show. Not the best day, but definitely the best hat.

Lessons Learned: Slow down, take a deep breath, and consciously remind myself to relax with every show.

"Do nothing": It's all in the promise

I stopped 5 people.

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.

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.

Close Encounters of the Urban Kind: The Magician's Assistant

Anecdotes from... the Old Boy's Club?

The Magician's Assistant

First: A quick disclaimer. The majority of magicians I meet are very friendly, very supportive, and generally awesome people. That said, the world of magic is secretive, closely guarded, and primarily male. Every so often, little things happen that make me squirm - honest, genuine mistakes I think, but micro-aggressions nonetheless.

As another female solo street performer told me, people will automatically assume that she is in another person's act if she's standing next to another male street performer. The same would never be said of two male buskers standing next to one another.

Woohoo! This will be exciting. I get to meet other magicians!

Yup yup! This introduction is real.

Pleasure to meet ya!

Er... I am over here. Over here!

And, uh, yeah. I've got my own show.

MY OWN SHOW!

And and and... I know you didn't say that I'm the assistant.
But if we were two guys, you totally wouldn't assume that we perform together.
Or maybe you're assuming that we perform together cuz we're both Asian?
...That's not any better.

Words now. Verbalize those thoughts, Felice.

...

It is now... just awkward.
But YOU CAN STILL TALK TO ME! I am still here.
Not invisible.

*sigh*

Harvard Square in the 70s

"It's like the 70s out here," Cate Great observed as we sat in the corner of Brattle Square, watching another busker do his act.

When Faneuil Hall Management instituted a set of new regulations against its street performers (where they, among other things, could "dictate performers' schedules, deny them the right to cancellations, and ban 'hat lines' asking for tips"), street performers responded with a strike.

When that strike supposedly ended and the dispute had been settled, it was too late: their trust had been breached.

"I just don't feel like performing there anymore," one street performer had told me. And that distrust created - on that one Saturday afternoon at least - a migration of some of Faneuil Hall's best buskers into Harvard Square.

A satellite view of Brattle Square from Google Maps

There were five of us there that day, "sharing the pitch" (or taking turns performing in one spot). Though I saw four other buskers there, there were only at most two other performers waiting to perform at any one time.

The big red X on the above bird's eye view of the pitch is where the show happened. The little blue circle is where we hung out as we waited. And the vibe of the "70s" - what Cate Great had mentioned - had to do with both the sudden resurgence of variety acts in this spot (variety acts, as in juggling, magic, physical comedy, acrobatics, and the like) as well as the sense of community that comes out of sharing a pitch with other buskers.

One thing I learned?
Buskers love to analyze.

A bunch of stuff.
This is where buskers left their gear as they waited for their turn to perform.

And it's not just about reflecting and analyzing when a researcher asks specific questions. It's about analyzing each other, analyzing themselves, and working constantly to improve their art.

As I was sitting there watching one show, two other performers near me pointed out a couple. Those two were "critical," one said to another. If they stayed - even for a little - then the audience will come. If they left too early, the performer will have to work a lot harder to build his audience.

Sure enough, they stayed, and the audience materialized around them.

Another thing I learned:

There's a world of difference between a circle show and a sidewalk show.

For one: your audiences are much much much larger. The shows have to play bigger. And, because of that, you can do fewer shows.

I took a shot at working that space and failed miserably the first time around. The second time around, I did a little bit better - but not by much.

Working a smaller space where I'm much more comfortable (like at the little green square in the map above, where another magician frequently works) has more to do with my physical presence interrupting the flow of passersby. In these larger spaces, the idea is the same - but at a much larger scale.

Cate Great, making herself big.

The busker has to make herself even bigger, which is even harder in the larger space (and not only for someone of my height and stature).

And since it takes longer to build an audience that can fill the space, the busker has to manage the crowd in different ways - getting them to stick around those first five, ten, fifteen minutes of audience-building.

None of this is any different from what I learned from Chicago's performers; it's a different slant to what is ultimately the same basic principles, illustrated with different examples that can help me better understand what they've been showing me all along.

What does this mean? Weeks of more analysis, maybe. I'm not sure if I can do that in a blog post without doing it elsewhere first... but we shall see.

A Tale of Two Cities: The Power of Place

I was street performing sometime last weekend.

I neared the end of my show without quite getting to my finale... and I could feel myself faltering. I had a brand new opener. My mid-show routine was going smoothly.

But then I faltered. I didn't have confidence in my finale (my straight jacket routine), so I faltered.
And...

My audience stayed.
My audience STAYED.

I don't think I can over-emphasize how strange that was for me. I didn't have to rush through my transitions to keep them there. When I jokingly messed up a trick, I didn't have to quickly cut into my joke with a, "That was a joke. Don't leave!" (which in itself is a joke, I suppose).

And I didn't have to cut off any applause.
I had learned long ago that applause is bad. When it's not controlled and intentional clapping, then it's a signal to the audience that it's a good time to leave.

But my show needed an ending. And my audience didn't try to rush away like they usually did. I stared at them for a second, wondering why they were still there. When they didn't leave, I moved forward, ending with a finale that I'm still not particularly happy with - but at least it's a finale.

So what changed?

I don't think my performance has really had time to evolve all that much. Unless my new opener is powerful enough to alter the whole tone of my show (maybe it is, but I don't think so).

I think it's the city.

When I started asking about what the street performing scene is like in various international cities, one Boston-based busker told me that there's no such thing as good or bad cities for street performing.

If you're a good performer, he had said, you can stop a crowd anywhere.
That doesn't mean that some crowds aren't easier to stop than others though.

"Faneuil Hall is cheating," I was told - not long after I watched an audience practically materialize around a performer as soon as he turned his music on. And when a recent performer's strike at Faneuil brought these same performers out in search of other venues, they told me that they had to work much harder to build their audiences in places like Harvard Square.

They still managed to build them, of course.
That's because they're really really good.

Harvard Square is harder than Faneuil Hall. But compared to Chicago, Harvard Square is easy. I noted this observation to a busker, who complained, "Chicago is like New York. Everyone's in a hurry to go nowhere."

That's what it was. That's why I had two audience members (a father and his son) stick around for three shows. That's nearly an hour, watching me do the same thing over and over again. I kept on seeing the same faces walk back and forth on the sidewalk. Like the pedestrians on Chicago's Magnificent Mile, these pedestrians are mostly tourists - or, at the very least, people out and about enjoying the day.

But these tourists actually do look like they're looking for something to do. I don't know what the difference is just yet. There's something different about the very nature and "vibe" (whatever that means anymore) of the two cities.

In the meantime, if any Chicago buskers I know would be interested in trying out the scene in Cambridge, let me know if you're in town. I would love to drop a Chicago street performer into Harvard Square and a Boston street performer into Chicago, just to see what would happen.

That's... not exactly how this kind of social science works... but if it happens naturally, I would love to see what comes out of it.

2 Photos - 'Nuff Said

I failed at posting last week... and this week, there won't be much content either. Just some photos a spectator sent me that he took earlier this month.

That said - I was also out busking earlier today and finally figured out how to make my amp work properly! Having sound that people can hear does wonders.... Thank you Happie Amp!

Close Encounters of the Urban Kind: The Tea Shop

Anecdotes from the Street

The Tea Shop

So the other day when I was street performing in Harvard Square, two people walk past and describe something that I hadn't noticed upon setting up in my spot. This episode from my Stick Figure Cartoon Series tells the story of that encounter...