Far From Home

Gerry had spent his whole life busking.
Started out as a boy in the club districts
in Sydney. I met him at a seedy guest house
in Tokyo. When he heard I was a
musician, he quickly pulled me aside
to an empty room and said, "You
probably came here planning to keep
teaching English?" "Yes," I nodded.
"Well forget all about that. All these
sorry saps you see around us here,
bright people from all over the world,
well, they aren't musicians. They work
tough 10-hour days, slaving at jobs they
despise, and they barely earn as much
as I do in three hours doing what I
love most." That pretty much sold it
for me right there. After I'd gone out
and purchased the necessary gear
(including a wire coat hanger to act
as the best mic stand I've ever used),
Gerry and I went for a drink one night.
He turned to me and said, "You know,
lately, I feel really style, mate." "Style?"
I asked. "No. Style, like bad bread."
He could tell I still couldn't understand
him. "S-t-a-l-e," he said in frustration.
"Oh, stale!" "Right. I've been here too
long and I need to leave now. But I've
found the right man in you to take over
my spot." Now, offering a man in Tokyo
the best busking spot in the city is like
offering a gold mine. This spot he'd had
for a couple of years was in a pedestrian-
only part of the red-light district, open
all night, with rich businessmen walking
around at all hours, their concubines in tow;
not only that, it had a large, raised concrete
platform, a stage just aching for folks to
crowd around. And crowd around they
did, frequently more than 100 at a time.
"The trick is keeping them there once
they stop," Gerry explained later on the
night he officially handed the spot over
to me with the Yakuza, who own every
inch of every street in the city. "The way
to keep them is to do all requests." A
somewhat daunting goal, it seems at first,
but after a few nights, you'd learn the most
common requests and then fill in from
there. Mostly it was the Beatles, Simon and
Garfunkel, Bob Dylan and the like. No
better way I know to ruin great music than
to play the same songs 10 times a night, even
if you are earning more than $100 an hour.
One night, a very inebriated business man
walked up and stood three feet in front of
me and asked for Lennon's Imagine. He
stayed right there while I played it, said
"Thank you" when I was done, then threw
a hundred dollar bill in my case and walked
away. As I remember, that same night I also
found in my case: a nice watch, a joint,
sunglasses, and a CD of a Japanese punk
band. Good haul. Gerry and I had
learned never to show our earnings to
our fellow expats, lest they recoil in horror
that mere street musicians were leading
a lush life compared to their daily toil.
One night--I usually got to my spot at
about 1am on the weekends, played until
4 or 5, I got to my spot and there was
another fellow already there. I knew the
routine, so I quietly pulled my hand-truck,
piled with all my gear, to a dark corner
to wait for a moment or two after I was sure
the Yakuza on duty that night had seen me.
Right on time, the busker making money
in a spot I paid for weekly was approached
by two sketchy looking individuals, who
began quietly explaining to the poor sap
that he had to leave. Now. Apparently,
this fellow was a newbie and didn't quite
fathom that these two hoods actually meant
what they were telling him. In less than a
minute, he was manhandled away from
the scene, screaming, "My gear! My gear!"
Another hood quickly came and picked
up the remains of the non-paying guest
and turned to me and nodded. I set up
shop and everything was going just fine.
Eventually, the rejected busker came
back around. He stood and watched me
play for a minute. I was glad to see that
he looked intimidated but not harmed.
I finished playing Norwegian Wood, he
walked up to me and said, "You know,
that's not the way we do it in England."
I sincerely was amazed that a grown man
could appear to be such a complete fool.
All I could think to say in response was,
"Did you look at a map lately and happen
to recognize how far you are from home?"

(2006)