Subterranean Drumstick Blues

I was listening to the Robert Plant/Alison Krauss album for the umpteenth time, dreamily sauntering through a steamy southern landscape when -- Ay Carrumba! -- the Mariachis arrived. Still playing Feliz Navidad, 3 months after Christmas. I heaved a big, dramatic, audible sigh. Before we'd reached 42nd St. on the 2 train, they'd be passing the sombrero. Then on to the next car and La Bamba.

Despite these daily interruptions of my musical reverie, I almost always give. I kind of think anyone who's trying to make an honest buck, especially with music, deserves it. But funny, I am often the only one who does, which sort of embarrasses me. Like all the other straphangers are thinking, "What a chump!"

This is not to say that I don't find a lot of these subtertainers annoying, though they are perhaps less so than the street level chuggers (charity muggers) who accost you in the same spot every day, looking for you to sign away your debit card to marginal, if worthy, causes. Gamely manned by aspiring actors - no doubt not from these parts - it assumes you can get a rush hour New Yorker to break pace, put the Blackberry down, and listen to a spiel. Do these guys get extra pay for working Manhattan, like the telemarketers who work the New York beat (who, it is said, get time and half, though that is perhaps an urban myth perpetuated by New Yorkers.)

I wonder what the musicians fundraising strategy is. Do they switch trains every day? I swear I've seen the doo-wop, "Why Do Fools Fall in Love" guys 20 times. They're actually pretty good. But they should learn a new song.

Do they have better luck on the West Side lines (a more charitable bunch?), or on the 4 and 5, Upper East Siders on their way to Wall St.? Do they switch trains at the end of Manhattan, or do they work the boroughs too? Maybe just on their way home, like every NYC taxi who won't pick you up at their 4pm shift change unless you're going to the JFK.

Then there are the spoken-word supplicants. Anyone who says something funny gets my vote and my money. I am less inclined towards the woe-is-me monologue if it's from a career beggar, instantly recognizable by the monotonous drone of the delivery, a sad story recited more times than the Stones have played Brown Sugar. Them, I don't give to. Unless they're Vets (have they been doing this since '67?!).

But sometimes you see someone who is just so filled with humility (and perhaps humiliation), and who seems to have truly fallen on hard times, that the giving fatigue lifts and gratitude enters. While we all encounter challenges in life, it is likely that those in the position to beg have either had greater ones than I have or were less able to bear them, and have had fewer advantages than me as well. The cynics don't understand that some people are just not able to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, try as they might.

Out on the platform, a Chinese man is playing dissonant music using a scale unknown to western ears on what appears to be a made-up, made-at-home instrument. The South American pipe players would still rather be a hammer than a nail, yes they would, if they only could. The break dancers (isn't that passé yet?) are still between the N/R and 1-2-3 at 42nd St. There must be turf wars for these prime spots, expensive real estate, the transit cop as booking agent.

On my way home from Penn Station, I encounter my sonic nemesis, the Plastic Tub Drummer (reader warning: platform 2/3). I'll assume he's not reading this blog. As my mother would say, "He's no Gene Krupa". He offers a toneless, rhythmless, relentless bashing on industrial size tubs which until recently housed coleslaw and kosher pickles.

I nearly jump on the downtown train just to get away.

Comments

[hudsonriver1]

This is one of the best examples of the "Pearls Before Swine" phenomenon I've ever seen. There is an ancient tradition of musicians playing in public spaces, from traveling troubadours and harpists to English buskers. New York City is lucky enough to be host to some of the world's best musicians, representing many of the world's musical traditions. Unfortunately, some people (like the author) only prefer pre-recorded, safe music which doesn't challenge, enlighten or educate, and which is always the same. Live music is dangerous, uncomfortable and potentially life-enriching (assuming openness and the ability to hear with open ears).
The drummer mentioned is one such--he plays on plastic drums, so he can't be any good. In fact, he has played in Lincoln Center at the "Bang-on-a-Can" Festival (and may well have inspired its name and design). As a drummer/pe­rcussionis­t myself, I can tell you that he is an extremely talented musician, who has inspired many others (I suspect he also inspired the folks who produced "Stomp").
Music has become "professionalized" and taken out of the hands of talented amateurs throughout America. As a native New Yorker who remembers spontaneous music of all kinds erupting throughout the city in the 1960's (and misses it!), at least a remnant remains in the bowels of the city's subways. Instead of complaining, we should be celebrating (and emulating!).

[valbrownuk]

You are absolutely right that Ne w York offers an incredible array of street music and I certainly value the tradition of traveling troubadours and buskers...­.and if you read my blog, I said I think it's great that anyone is trying to make an honest buck through music. I do not require safe, unchallening music (you made that assumption from my mention of one album...th­at apparently you don't like?) but I will admit to getting sick of hearing the same songs over and over again (La Bamba and I'd Rather Be a Hammer than a Nail are not my favorites). Mea culpa on the drummer, he may indeed be Gene Krupa. And I loved Stomp, haha. But I guess sometimes I don't appreciate anything mega decibel at rush hour after a 3 hour ride from Washington when I just want to get home.

So...apolo­gies if I offended you.....mu­sic is indeed a very important part of my life and if you notice I said I always give to these street musicians.­...perhaps I was just a bit cranky and need some earplugs with my music these days....bu­t also...som­e of what I wrote was irony...pe­rhaps you were a little cranky too.

Cheers!

[hudsonriver1]

Sorry if I over-reacted; it's clear from your post that you are a caring and generous person, unlike many of your fellow subway-riders. I have a long-standing issue with the replacement of live, spontaneous music with pre-recorded, mass-marketed tunes, and with the isolation of people from one another within their earphones, when they can share a live musical experience, interacting with a live musician. Yes, the stress and noise of the subways can leave your nerves raw, and endless repetitions of any song can lead to madness--just part of the fun of the big city.
Your post was a valuable slice-of-life view of New York, and I just wanted to present an alternate (or enlarged) vision of the Apple. Enjoy your life--

[jhNY]

I look on guys like the Why Do Fools singers as a kind of vaudeville act, each moment so practiced and familiar that they never falter in performance, even if the lights go out or the train lurches wildly. I've seen them about a zillion times myself on the 1 train, enough to report that occasionally they will also perform 'My Girl'...

Did you ever see the Black sax man of the 80's who would come onto the train blowing free-form and wild and then ask riders for change so he could get back to Mars? A crowd favorite, if deafening. I've seen entire orchestras of traditional Chinese musicians, a Hungarian duo playing clarinet and cymbalum, and maybe a dozen Malian singing harpists, the best of whom are wonderful and captivating, at least till your train comes along. But my favorite was Jay Bailey, who I haven't seen in at least 5 years, who used to play a washtub bass and sing jazz-- and he played the changes in tune and on time. What a talent!

And yep, I give money almost always, even to the La Bamba guys, even if they're playing Feliz Navidad months after Christmas, because I'm a West-sider and an easy touch. Add yep, they tend to stick to the West side trains, as the East-siders are known amongst the players to be unapprecia­tive...