A City Between the Lines 7

Busking on the streets of Melbourne, Australia

Today, it’s a stinker. First day to crack thirty in a while, though I was in Sydney for most of our cold snap and missed most of the ‘Melbourne Summer’. I set up outside the Telstra shop, as it’s typically renowned for being a busking hotspot. I’m not sure it’s all it’s cracked up to be and my apprehensions are confirmed by a tall figure in a green shirt who asks me to move along on account of the volume of my piano. Turns out he works there and apparently I’ve made it hard for them to hear themselves think.

I’m not inclined to argue, since I’m not in the mood for it, however a few sympathetic onlookers insist that I wasn’t that loud and shouldn’t move. Nonetheless, I do, since the foot traffic in the vicinity of the traffic lights is such that most people seem preoccupied with where they have to go, rather than inclined to stop and listen to my music.

I move further away from Swanston St and set up. Oh dear, here comes trouble. It’s a council officer I’ve had many meetings with before, for a variety of reasons. Though it’s irritating, he’s always been pretty good about it. My friend pulls out his decibel counter, so I know straight away it’s a noise complaint. Turns out asking me to move wasn’t enough for the Telstra turd and he decided to call the council. I’m fuming. If I gave him attitude or was even faintly passive aggressive, I would have expected it. Not only that, I complied with his request. I remind myself to spit on the ground before him if I cross paths with him. Nonetheless, the council officer can see that I’ve moved and have done what I’ve had to, with the decibel counter registering nothing that substantiates the complaint. The officer can see I’m aggrieved and I made little effort to prevent my facial expression betraying my contempt for the whole thing, so he’s quick to remind me that it’s not him who made the complaint. I reply that I’m aware of that, and having done as I was told makes it all the more frustrating as to why that turkey bothered complaining.

Though I don’t want to admit it, the whole thing has made me anxious. It’s only a small exchange with virtually no consequences, but it sets me in a mood that renders me prone to silly mistakes, rushed notes and mounting anxiety. Nonetheless, I have a small but appreciative audience. Suddenly, a middle-aged woman dressed in purple enters my frame of view inches away from my face.

“TOO LOUD”

She shouts with a tone that is not only loud itself, but booming in its resonance; a stark reminder of some of the teachers who hated dealing with me as much as I hated dealing with them throughout primary school. To describe her much as my six year old self would have, she was ‘big, loud and mean’. With the head of a bovine.

Her action prompts a disappointed groan from the audience, which has grown to a small crowd. Some people gave her a piece of their mind and repeated her rebuke. It was too difficult to ignore and I’ve had to stop briefly to re-orient where exactly I was up to in Mozart’s Sonata in C major. Though I would have much preferred to have thrown my piano stool at her, I instead blow her a kiss which is deflected by her considerably large posterior along with all the invective she has managed to attract.

People are really nice about everything. I don’t show that I’m angry about what just happened, but strangers come up to me to sympathise, offering as many words of encouragement as they do coins. The English tourists are particularly charming, with a distinct brogue that indicates their hometown is Birmingham.

So continues an afternoon of playing in the streets of Melbourne. It’s only as my stage fright subsides that I realise both of the incidents had a greater impact on me than what I was aware of. Though I may be able to consciously rationalise what happens and deal with it in the forefront of my mind, there is a subconscious effect that tends to be exhibited only in high pressure situations, like the coordination required for playing the flourish of notes that define the final movement of Chopin’s Second Sonata. Only when I remind myself that brain surgery is a bona fide ‘high pressure’ situation that I slowly inch back to a sense of general calm.

That is, until I get approached by my friend, the council officer. According to his stopwatch, I’ve been in the same position for two hours, which is the official limit for playing in any one space in Melbourne. Though he grants me another fifteen minutes, I’m genuinely peeved that it interrupted Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. However, softening the blow is the realisation I’ve done pretty well for two hours of playing and this quells the disappointment of having to finish earlier than I would have liked.

Packing up my equipment, I board the tram home and come unstuck when the tram terminates two stops early. At this particular stop, I’m not afforded the luxury of having a ramp to wheel my amp and piano off the tram. Bear in mind I’m carrying a piano, stand, trolley, backpack and amplifier. So it’s a matter of slowly taking my gear off the tram, piece by piece and then hoping there’s enough room on the next tram to do the same. Fortunately, there is. However, the tram driver speeds off before I can settle my gear on the tram and prevent it flying everywhere, which it does.

Thankfully, every single person in my vicinity helps me and stops my equipment from going everywhere, regardless of whether I was a nuisance. Though I’m frazzled by the heat and how conspicuous I’ve become, I’m genuinely grateful and make a point of thanking the entire carriage as I alight two stops down.

It felt like Melbourne was going out of its way to kick me down today, but I’m still smiling for the sheer fact that it was the people of Melbourne who repeatedly picked me up without expecting anything in return.

Though I doubt anyone from today is reading this, it would feel wrong not to type THANKS A LOT!