12 April 2009 My New Gig, or Combining the Secular and the Sacred
So last week I took my shakuhachi and started playing on streetcorners for change. This was a big deal for me and I was pretty nervous at first, but I soon got used to it and now enjoy it immensely.
I’ve played on the street before, but just practicing and never “performing,” and certainly not for money. In fact, I’ve never played shakuhachi for money before at all. It’s kind of a sticking point with me, since my teacher, Yoshinobu Taniguchi, who has spent incredibly much time and effort teaching me not to suck, has never taken a yen from me (nor anybody else, as far as I know). When I play in hospitals and old-age homes it’s strictly on a volunteer basis (although they do give me “train money” that far exceeds any conceivable train fare, and one place in Oita payed me with a sack of sweet potatos and rice that I couldn’t possibly turn down). I’ve always figured that I’m in the lucky position not to have to make money from shakuhachi, so I will keep it, the largest extent possible, free of financial compensation.
So why play for change on the street? Well, for one thing, I don’t feel like I’m “charging” because it’s obviously strictly donations only. And, since the economy has killed my translation business, it does feel good to make a little money, even if the contribution I make to the family coffers happens largely in 10 and 100 yen coins. (How much do I make? It’s highly variable, but somewhere between pharmaceutical translation and waiting tables.)
It’s also, as I’ve found out, just more fun that way. When you are clearly busking (playing for change), then it invites interaction with passers-by. I’ve met and talked with lots of people doing this in the past few days, and that never happens when I just stand there and play. So far I’ve received a good-luck token for my wife (given to me by an elderly lady who had asked me all about my family here), a little toy frog (given to me by a guy who sat there and listened for a long time), and a used haori, or traditional Japanese shirt (given to me by the owners of the used kimono store near where I play).
In the past week that I’ve been doing this, I’ve learned a few things:
1. When you perform a little half-bow to someone who puts money in your hat (or shakuhachi case, for me), be sure to know where you are in the song, or you end up looking less-than-suave having to go back to the beginning of the phrase.
2. Donations come in waves. You can get nothing for an hour, then a whole bunch in the space of five minutes.
3. It’s better to play popular songs people are familiar with rather than classics, especially seasonally appropriate songs. Since it’s cherry blossom season, songs with that theme are a big hit. Luckily, there are no shortage of those.
4. You just can’t tell who is going to appreciate your playing, either in terms of sticking around to listen or donations. Sometimes the most appreciative people are the ladies in kimono you would expect, but often these types will walk by without turning their head while someone you would cross the street to avoid at night if Japan weren’t such a safe country will sit there and listen for a long time before dropping you a fat tip.
5. It feels really good when someone puts paper money in the hat (1,000 yen, or about 10 dollars). In the future return the kindness to other street performers you see.
Of course, it’s cherry blossom season, which means that Kyoto is full of tourists. I’ve never been really big on the “shakuhachi as quintessential expression of traditional Japanese culture” schlock that is pretty common both here and in the west (after all, does the piano have cultural baggage about Germany?), but I have to admit that playing under the cherry trees is picturesque as hell. And playing in veritable snow-storms of falling cherry blossoms is just a huge kick any way you look at it.
Under the cherry trees, by the stream at Kiyamachi south of Sanjo
“Err…How did that phrase go again?”
One look of about oh….10,000 that I received
