City Law and COVID Haven’t Silenced NYC Buskers Just Yet
Buskers are a big part of what makes New York a culturally vibrant city, but throughout the years their craft has been threatened by hostile law enforcement encounters and, more recently, the arrival of COVID. Their response? Keep on playing.
If you’ve ever found yourself perusing the seasonal fruits and vegetables at the Union Square Greenmarket, chances are you may have heard the grandiose voices of Lauren and Hannah Kidwell, 33 and 25, prancing through the produce around you.
The Kidwells began busking at Union Square in October of last year, after the onset of COVID-19 left them both unemployed. Prior to the pandemic, the sisters worked in the theater industry, where Lauren pursued acting and Hannah pursued opera. Industry shutdown encouraged the Kidwells to find new sources of revenue, so they took to the streets and — dressed in signature 1940s-inspired outfits and bright red lipstick — began performing jazz standards. Since their start, the duo has attracted significant crowds and received more than enough support to make busking their full-time job.
“I think that people were hungry for some hope, hungry for live music, hungry for the city to feel like the city again,” says Lauren. “We were able to provide a small snippet of that with not just the music that we provide, but just kind of nostalgia of the era that we sing as well.”
Listening in on the vibrant sounds of city busking on the commute to and from any destination is a classic New York experience — a cultural asset that has become part of the city’s spirited energy. Though the careful strumming of strings and playful jazz notes may now and then get lost underneath layers of honking and shouting and the usual NYC-esque clamor, they’re always there — they always have been.
Over the years, NYC buskers have trudged through countless challenges, including hostile law enforcement encounters posed by vague public performance laws and, more recently, the arrival of COVID — which has led to increased measures to crack down on city rowdiness. Still, buskers continue to dutifully fill city streets with their joyous tunes, establishing their craft as not only a resilient cultural phenomenon, but also a powerful source of unity.
The Kidwells are only one example of the much larger trend of socio-cultural connectedness that stems from busking. All around the world, street performers act as placemakers for their cities. They transform empty public spaces into cultural hubs and draw the attention of locals and tourists alike, all while providing high quality entertainment for their cities at little to no cost.
“Because it’s so engaging, street performers are actually just really good at getting business,” says Nick Broad, co-founder of Busk.co, a website based in the United Kingdom that helps buskers around the world get contracted for events and receive electronic payment. “There’s a lot of people who come up to street performers and [say], ‘You know, that was just amazing, I haven’t seen anything like it,’ or […] ‘Can I please take a selfie with you?’”
Despite their cultural contributions, concerns about noise level have made street performers the target of local authorities for quite some time now. At Washington Square Park — a historically popular busking site — clashes between buskers and authorities have always been the norm.
“Cops aren’t educated enough,” says Broad, explaining how officials are often unaware that, in NYC, licenses aren’t required to perform if no amplifier is in use. “Street performers who are busking entirely legally have been arrested [and] had their equipment confiscated, which obviously that’s just a deathblow to any artist’s career.”
The arrival of COVID only exacerbated the hostile conditions between officials and buskers, as the closure of concert venues and social distancing regulations brought more people out to the streets. Well after the reopening of the city, strict oversight and confusion about amplifier use remain.
“What we realized while researching was that the law was unclear about what sort of amp you can use or not,” says Ana Holschuh, co-founder of Street of Sound — a video documentary project featuring the stories and talents of NYC buskers — with her partner Matias Campa. “If the law is not clear, you can’t expect the people to behave how you want to.”
Holschuh and Campa became aware of these issues early in the pandemic. They feared that amidst the turmoil of unclear legislation and COVID, the livelihoods of the NYC buskers they had grown to love would become endangered. The couple hopes that by sharing the talents of street performers on their site, they’re able to further support their profession and help protect the city’s cultural vibrancy.
“If I like jazz, I will listen to jazz,” says Campa. “But if I’m in the city and I listen to something different, [I’m] exposing myself to different things. I think that’s part of the identity of New York, you know, diversity. How can you prohibit diversity?”
Regardless of challenges, NYC buskers haven’t let authorities get the best of them.
Violinist Alexander Lee has been busking in the city since 2016. Throughout the years he has consistently performed at Washington Square, West 4th Street, Central Park and various subway stations. At nearly every location, city officials have attempted to halt his performances.
“There have been so many times where I’ve gotten into severe arguments with cops, on the border of them arresting me,” says Lee, who has often had to defend his artistic presence by reciting rule 1050.6(c) of the MTA Code of Conduct to uninformed officials. “One time this cop said, ‘Look man, we’re just asking for respect.’ I said, ‘Well I’m asking you for respect as well. I have a right to be here. Why do I have to give you respect and you not me?’”
At the time the pandemic started, much of Lee’s livelihood stemmed from the donations he received while performing. This meant that — in addition to authoritative cop oversight — his concerns expanded to include dwindling audiences and limited savings. He quickly learned the locations of the nearest soup kitchens and, for a couple of months, had to borrow a friend’s violin.
Now, Lee works as a restaurant server to earn extra cash. While his new job often cuts down on his time to busk, neither COVID nor the law could ever silence Lee’s passion.
“There are maybe some people who go out busking and they’re hoping to be found, […] but I was never about trying to climb some sort of weird ladder like that,” says Lee. “I just refuse to put down the violin. […] It’s my way of connecting with people.”
