Return to Circo

Today, at a few minutes past 1 pm, I opened up my guitar case in a shaded corner of the Eureka Town Square and started to play...

Astonishingly, to me, this was the first time EVER that I've busked solo.

The prompt was the two tunes I played at Clüb Shampoo last week, where I knew the tunes solidly, my voice was warmed up, but I still was gripping the guitar like a lobster battling a crab. I also had lingering memories of playing "La Paloma" in the Zocalo of San Cristóbal last January, and Rudi telling me that I was still hiding...

So with a sunny Sunday and nothing honestly better to do, I went out and played through what passes for my current set list — about 18 tunes, the usual mix of Doc Watson, Gary Davis, Etta Baker... and a few old tunes my Grandma taught me. I was nervous but reminded myself that if I do what I've always done, I'll get what I've always gotten... and that I need to be onstage more, and to get to the point where, picking and singing, I can physically take over the space. Stop hiding. Let myself out.

Immediately, I could feel what Rudi was saying. A caved-in chest, vacant eyes, choked voice. No awareness of the space in front of me, the buildings across the street, the people around. And I was able to let it out, some — but not always keep it out. Concentration, staying in the groove. And allowing a groove to happen in the first place.... this is the ongoing struggle.

I started with a couple of flatpicking numbers, then switched to a finger rag by Etta Baker, "Never let your Deal go Down," and immediately attracted some listeners: a couple out window shopping. They really seemed to enjoy it. When I started "Deep River Blues" they walked into the bookstore across the street, but the young lady came back and put two dollars in my case... There really weren't a lot of people out today, and a lot of businesses were closed. Next time I'll go on Saturday....

I relaxed and got into a groove on "John Murray of Lochee," which brought a lady over — my age or a little older, latin or Indian, clearly been around the block a few times. I'd seen her wandering around the square earlier. She sat on the brink embankment of the bandstand then came over and stood in front of me, and we chatted a little between songs. We were both kind of shy. I think she was just out in Old Town because she had nothing to do at home; I made up a story for her of hard times, little work, loneliness. She flirted a little. I didn't want to sing any love songs. She lingered and clapped after a couple of tunes. She gave me a tightly wrinkled dollar from the pocket of her jeans.

Most of the street life seemed to be local working-class types, who stared at me a little, looked at how much money was in my case, sometimes smiled and nodded. One guy was making a lot of phone calls from the pay phone to my right. I made up the story that he was dealing drugs. He came over and offered the lady a cigarette at one point — a roll-up from a light-blue pouch — but she said she didn't smoke and made it clear she didn't want to talk. He went back to the phone. Three shaggy guys sat 10 meters behind me on a garden wall and hung out.

My fingertips started to hurt; I had burned through most of my set list, minus my originals and a couple love songs... and so I played "Bye Bye Blackbird" and said goodbye.

It was a satisfying experience. Yet more evidence that I just need to breathe from my feet and do what I know how to do. Next week I'll go back and just try to be even bigger...

I made three dollars. I just put my guitar in the case on top of them. I'll leave them there for luck.