Making music, just like that

Thursday, April 20, 2006

I spent much of Sunday afternoon busking downtown. For a while, I sang, played, and talked with this middle-aged black guy who is a cook at Miller’s Grill and Bar. He was wistful about the days when he was in a Motown band in Hawaii. (“I made 1000 bucks a week. Lived in Hawaii. Now I’m 52…. I was the best trumpet player around.”) Then, he said he got too hard into drugs and messed up his life. He hurt his hand in a fight, so he can’t play, but he still plays keyboard by looping one hand playing so he can have two hands going. He still sings, too. He bought me a lemonade and repeated all this stuff over and over. I had fun with him at first, but after awhile, I got tired of his talking and wanting to sing songs with me that I didn’t know and had to try to pick out. We sang "My Girl" a few times.... He'd give a toothy grin, turn his face to the sky, and belt out in a rich voice, "I've got sunshiiiiiiine..... No, no, no, the guitar goes DUM, da, dum, dum, da, dum! Yeah! You got it.... I've got sunshiiiiine.... No, you forgot that guitar part... yeah, that... on a cloudy day...."

I didn’t make any money while he was there. But, I also began to feel good. Well, after all, it was a compliment that another musician wanted to share music with me, and he was obviously talented, even as a lonely, middle-aged man. So, I sipped my lemonade and let him raise my spirits as I was raising his, singing back, "Talking 'bout my girl." "Yeah!" he encouraged, and his eyes sparkled. That's how music's made, anyhow, just like that.