Just before you get on Hawthorne bridge, there’s an older gentleman sitting at the corner of a fairly busy section of the road. He’s a pan handler, but in many ways, he’s not. He always has his trumpet with him, and he’s always playing. Or he has one of those balls that extends outward when you pull from each side. Something.
The thing is, you always see him smiling. This is his job, he doesn’t seem to consider the lucrative and possibly even more profitable aspects of holding up a sign or playing on the sympathies of others. This man, regardless if he lives on the street or in a nice apartment, has chosen to make thousands upon thousands of people smile each and every day.
I may not have money on me every time I see him, but I do give him some if I have the chance. He’s always smiling, and even as you drive past, he doesn’t seem phased. He just seems to be the opitomy of optimism and hope, and I love that you can find individuals like that in this city. They may not be the majority, but they exist.
In a world of frowns and scowls, smirks, crooked smiles, and cynicism, it’s an interesting and much needed departure from the norm.
Yesterday I stood and listened to a man play the violin on the street corner for about fifteen minutes. It didn’t matter to me that I would have to take a later bus. There’s always another bus, somewhere. That man and his music may not be around the next time I round that corner.
He played Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor, and I wonder if he realizes the significance of that particular piece of music. In fact, I have no doubt that he probably does. If you’re unaware, you should look it up. It’s a great bit of history, but I’ll give you the cliff notes.
Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor was reportedly written based on a fragment from a Sonata in G minor by Tomaso Albinoni. It was found amongst the ruins of the Saxon State Library in Dresden after it was decimated and firebombed by the allies during the Second World War.
Even more significantly, this particular piece of music was played on the streets of Sarajevo for 22 days by Vedran Smailovic in 1992, in honor of 22 people that died of mortar fire while they stood in line waiting for bread. That, to me, speaks of true courage. To play for the memory of perfect strangers, braving sniper fire and constant bombings, if only for your principles. I wish there were more people like Smailovic.
Anyway, back to the violin player.
I spoke with him for a few minutes, threw a few dollars in his violin case, and gave him a copy of my band’s CD. I told him to listen for the cello in a few of our songs, and see what he thought.
As it turns out, he’d been playing violin for 43 years, longer than a great number of the most famous and revered violinists in the world. This man was playing incredible music, and not a single person stopped to listen. He played beautifully, fluidly, like he was one with the instrument; and nobody stopped to hear him. Nobody understood the passion that was contained in each and every note that he played, and I was sad to think that I might be one of very few to see it.
I remember reading a news story not to long ago about a social experiment pretty close to my experience yesterday. A classically trained violin player, one of the best in the world, went down to the subway in San Francisco and played for two hours. Very few people stopped to listen, or recognized who he was.
The ironic thing was, that particular violin player had been playing to sold out crowds in San Francisco and people were paying something like $100 a ticket. Maybe even more. But because he was a street performer in the eyes of everyone that saw him, nobody gave him much notice. Nobody seemed to recognize his amazing skill.
I guess I just don’t understand how people can go on in their lives and not stop to appreciate something so basic as music. And not just music, but amazingly beautiful music. Music that makes you ache and cry deep down in the depths of your soul. Music that makes you wish you were a better person.
I suppose beauty and music is subjective, but we certainly put a face on it. If the performer doesn’t look the part, then he can’t sound the part. Had the man in the subway been dressed in a tuxedo, the commuters might have stopped. But because he was in jeans and because he didn’t seem to look the part of a famous violinist, he was ignored.
Similarly, when I’m on stage, I generally have black fingernail polish and eyeliner on. I usually have all black clothes on, maybe even a suit jack, hemp necklace, and anything else that might strike my fancy. I really “look” the part of a band member.
And to be honest, it’s not that I don’t like dressing up and looking good or anything like that. It’s just sad that, if I didn’t, it’s very possible that nobody would give the band a second look or listen to the music that we’re playing. If we don’t look the part, they won’t buy in to it.