“Why didn’t I think of this sooner?!”
The thought hit me like a brick in the face. “Why don’t I busk in Dunedin?”
For 5 months, I had been wrestling with my financial instability, struggling to make the best use of my time, and falling deeper into a chaotic lifestyle. When my plan of earning an income from busking 3 hours away in Queenstown failed me, I seemed to cast out busking entirely. But why couldn’t I just do it in Dunedin? What was stopping me?
It was some kind of revelation. We were all lounging about in the Pit, eating Tommy’s pizza, when it struck me. Our friend Thomas was up in the loft, picking out the next record. Johnny, our new drummer in SHEEP was also up in the loft, smoking a cigarette and puffing out the window. Tommy and Laith - another fellow in the gang - sat around watching a movie on the tiny TV screen that had a stacks of old video tapes for hair. And then there was me, bolting up from my seat on the rat-chewed couch. “I gotta go busking! Of course” And without even a response from the others, I rushed through the door and out of the Pit.
I didn’t have time to wait for the morrow. I needed to ride this thought and go busking that same night. But where? That’s why I found myself half-stumbling down the narrow staircase - on a whim, I was heading out to the streets to scout for a nook that I could set up and play some music. When I burst out into the street, I was shocked by what I saw. People. So many people! Families, friend groups - entire flocks of them - drifted by like billows of smoke from a bonfire. I began wading through, seeking the epicentre. What is this all about? No matter if I saw over a persons shoulder, or at his back: it was all hustle and bustle, right up to George street. That’s where the people had parted, making way for some kind of procession of fancy lights and extravagant costumes.
I had seen all that I needed to. And so I was rushing back to the alley; back to the Pit. On the same night that I am graced with the (overdue) thought to go busking in Dunedin, it turns out that every mother and her three sons are in town. Just my luck! Bursting into my room, I scrambled about and prepared my busking set up. Amp. Casio Px5s. Leads. Sustain pedal. Chair. Stand. Batteries… Not on the shelf. “Batteries!” Of course, they were on charge, where I left them. I hastily transferred them to the Casio, then zipped up the bag. Hoisting it all to my body, I was out of there! The challenge of getting all my gear out of the Pit and down the narrow staircase would have bothered me if I wasn’t so fixated on getting out there before the crowds dispersed.
When I reached the street, I just kept going. Step by step, the keyboard grew heavier. The amp was pulling ever harder on my arm; the chair, slipping from my shoulder. Never mind the struggle; I surged forward, a heaving mass of determination, swerving through people, dodging the pedestrians. Steps became plods, and I could no longer take it, collapsing against the nearest parking meter. I was barely half-way to where I wanted to be. I doubled over, hands on knees, but only for a moment. A few deep breaths later, I resumed my determination. “Lets do this”. Hoisting it all up again, I marched.
Pain began setting into my shoulder. Exhaustion squeezed my chest. But it didn’t matter. I had made it to the nook, and set down my equipment. I glanced up the way; the crowds were still there, but down in this part of the street there were only the tails of the masses. There in the little alcove I began setting up my keyboard, and opened my case for coins. With the keyboard plugged into my amp, I took my seat, and played my first note. It bounced between the buildings; rang against the night. Too loud, I thought, and turned it down on the amp. Then I launched into my first song. It was the first the Dunedin streets had ever heard Joshua St Clair, really.
People strolled by, nodding with approving looks on their faces. A few smiles. It was going well. A bearded man gave my the first coin, and I thanked him. I was beginning to relax and enjoy myself… Until I glanced up the road.
The people were coming. The swarm… It was COMING! Did the show finish? Oh no…The huge mass of people rolled down the slight decline in the road, a river of bobbing heads and swaggering bodies. All those people - there must of been hundreds of them - were moving ever closer to my bubble of music. I didn’t even have a chance to pick my song.
Just as the first people swooshed by, I dropped my head and lowered my eyes, looking only at the keys I was playing. Shoes and legs and children all wavered in my peripheral vision, blurry above my keyboard. The squabble of hundreds of people, chattering about the parade, mingled with the song I was playing. Coins came flying out of the rabble; seemingly out of thin air. They sparkled in the street-light within the gasp of a second before tumbling into the case. I focussed on playing the song well, and made a quick glance up; the crowd still hadn’t thinned. More coins were flung. Chching. I felt the thrill of the moment suddenly jolt me, as if I only just realised that I was performing to hundreds of people. HUNDREDS. I don’t think I’d ever played for more people. I hope… My finger slipped, and I quickly recovered. I hope they like it. I stole another quick glance up. A little girl in a pink flower dress was smiling up me, trying to stay and watch, but was hustled on by her mother.
When the storm had passed, I counted my coins. $40! I actually managed to make some money for once. Victory! But once I was all packed up again, I realised I had to carry all of it back…
— — —
The following day…
I stalked down George Street, searching.
It was called Albion Place. I had definitely seen it before, and I had a picture in my mind of where the lane was, tucked in between some shops, quaint. I was told that Albion Place was the best spot for busking in Dunedin, and so I was heading to investigate the scene.
I found it half way down George Street: Albion Place, decorated with a guitar player right at its entrance. I watched him for a moment - he was a tall fellow, and strummed with vigour, a song by Ed Sheeran. A cap lay upside-down with a couple of coins inside, barely enough to weigh it down if a wind swept by. I checked my wallet; luckily I had a dollar, and tossed it in with a nod to the guy. Then I began my stroll. I drifted down the alley alongside the guitar music, with an eye equipped for inspection. It was a sweet lane, with light green arch-ways above, a florist displaying bouquets, a corner cafe, and people meandering through. Pleasant indeed: the perfect place for some piano music. A smug smile rolled across my face. My own little busking spot. The smile quickly faded when I realised my fundamental problem. I needed a carpark that didn’t pay. There was no way I was going to carry my gear all this way from the flat…
I scouted the area, and much to my disappointment, all the carparks were pay and display, and not to mention all taken. It was about lunch time on a gorgeous Wednesday. Of course all the carparks would be taken, by Dunedin folk doing their town business and getting food. I frowned, unsure of what to do. And that’s when I noticed the Four Square. Making hurried steps across the road, I checked out the Four Square carpark. It was no more than a couple of yards from Albion Place. I can park here, I thought. So long as I don’t get caught.
I hurried up town to the Emerald Wagon, and drove back down to Four Square. Just as I turned in, a car reversed from the closest possible carpark to Albion place. It was just my luck. I claimed it as soon as the car vacated, and just as I was about to leap out and head on my business, a bright-orange vest caught my eye from the rear-view mirror. I whipped my head around: it was the parking warden! She wore dark shades over her eyes, and wielded a small rod with a chalk at the end of it. I emerged from my Wagon as she investigated the car next to mine, and pretended to forget something, opening the door again and leaning into the back seat. I peered over the backseat head-rest, and watched silently as she moved on to the next car, marking its wheel. Phew.
When she bent over a wheel 3 cars down, I hurriedly pulled the boot open, grabbed all my gear, hoisted it to my shoulder, shut the boot, and sped off the Albion Place. On the other side of the road, I did a quick glance back. The warden was still heading the other direction. I made it unseen.
And so, I spent the next hour playing my piano music in Albion Place, watching the Dunedin folk bustle about their business. It was a most wonderful session, and even though the coins weren’t flowing like they did back in Queenstown during the summer, I was happy to provide ambience and atmosphere for Albion Place. My music was being heard by people! Involuntarily, perhaps… But heard nonetheless. I counted $25 worth of coins when I had finished - it was a win.
Thankfully, there was no ticket on my car windscreen. I had beaten the warden at her own game, and didn’t even shop at 4 Square. I went to Countdown instead, for my bar of well-earned chocolate.
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