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We have a relaxing late lunch cooked by Dobrinka as the sun sets. Just when we want to do nothing other than stretch out and a take a nap, we have to go to work. We have to unwedge the bikes, drag out the guitars, snap together the trailer. We lug it all downstairs, pack it, and bike into Belgrade with full stomachs.

Once we arrive at a suitable location (no cars, lots of foot traffic), uncertainty teases our nerves. Will there be enough people? Will we annoy anyone? Will the cops harass us? In Bratislava they stormed through our crowd in the middle of a song, clapping authoritatively. “Do you have a permit for this spectacle?” spat one of the officers. For the fourth time that day, we repacked the trailer.

In Budapest a woman yelled at us for making to much noise. When we tried to set up in the square, we incurred the wrath of a violinist eager to guard her turf. The cops kicked us out of our spot next to Burger King. In Belgrade we arranged a disadvantageous sharing agreement with break dancers after they set up next to us. Street musicianship is the closest I’ve ever come to gang warfare.

Playing music has become more complicated as of late.  In Wienna I spent several hours being sent from one bureaucratic office to the next, only to be told in the end that permits for playing music on the street didn’t come available until October.

Once at a spot, we sit on the ground. Drew folds his legs Indian style for hours at a time. I switch the position of my legs between songs, but they still go to sleep. The physical and psychological pressure shortens tempers. We snappily disagree about the set list. Large gaps punctuate our performance. Passersby lose interest and walk off.

Give me a day job!

This entry was posted on Saturday, September 20th, 2008 at 12:53 am and is filed under Jim's Posts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.