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The music itself solves the problems it creates. The butterflies in my stomach settle as our four part harmony drifts mellifluously across the square. The synergy of performing our own music lifts everyone’s spirits. Mid-melody I don’t care how much money we make or if anyone stops. I open my eyes, and we’re suddenly surrounded by a crowd. Some stop out of curiosity, but many stop because they like the music. Sometimes they settle down on the pavement and stay for the whole performance. Parents press coins into the hands of toddlers who waddle unsteadily up to the erhu case and slowly dispatch their parent’s appreciation.

The act of playing music justifies itself, with a crowd or no crowd. However, the most important part of street performance for FBR is meeting people. Now we’re in Europe. People no longer approach us of their own accord. With our bikes and white and black skin, we fit in, though a bit raggedly. Playing on the street demolishes communication barriers. We present ourselves for conversation and interaction in a way otherwise impossible.

We interact with the crowds we gather. Pete tells them about the trip, about how we’re trying to encourage biking. People we would never otherwise talk to smile and nod. It spreads our message, but also builds relationships. When the cops kicked us out in Bratislava, members of our audience argued with them for a long time. That night the cops got their way, but we certainly won the popularity contest.

Perhaps the best part of street performance is the individual folks we meet. Take Katerina and Theresa, Croation and Argentinian, respectively, whom we met on the streets of Belgrade. We inquired into what they did. Research, they said. Theatrical research. As they explained while we sat in a Belgrade park late at night, they’re part of an avant garde group of performers. They specifically sing African songs and try to determine what it is that makes these ancient songs powerful during ceremonies. They hope this will lead to a better understanding of how to achieve inner peace.

Here we are with a different Katerina we met in Belgrade.  She had us over to her apartment for a snack and a hookah, but wound up having us stay for the whole night.

Robert is perhaps our biggest fan. We met him in Budapest on our first day, and he and a Turkish girl, Ajam, accompanied us all the way back to where we were staying for the night. A chess champion, Robert brought his board over to our place when we ate dinner. He thrashed us and apologized for not giving us the fine wooden board as it was a gift from his grandmother. He met us later when we played in the streets again. He sat right next to us. It was a slow night and we played only for him. As we sang, his eyes glazed over, he entered a trance-like state as though our music was for him a sort of opiate. After each song his loud clapping echoed up the empty street.

We’ve met three or four people in Regensburg, and two of them are named Markus and all of them have been really great. The second Markus is an engineer who did his thesis on the acoustics of the didjeridu. An accomplished, uh…didjeriduer? himself, he invited us to his home after we finished playing on the street. We sampled some of his homemade honey mead, and then we jammed for a couple of hours. He brought out several didjeridus, most of which he had made himself. We accompanied his disco beat and he improvised to a couple of our songs. The didjeridu really made a great addition.

Playing on the streets is getting harder. We have to get permits or face fines, and often the best permits are only available months in advance. We’ve been playing in smaller cities lately, and that seems to help. Hopefully this great method of connecting with people (not to mention paying for our food) will remain a viable way of interacting with people through Paris and maybe even back in the U.S.

This entry was posted on Saturday, September 20th, 2008 at 12:50 am and is filed under Jim's Posts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.