I went busking. It was an absolute disaster
You know sometimes you have a really bad idea? Yeah, that.
Above is the video for my debut single, ‘Secret Asian’, from my debut album Better, which pretty much no one has heard. I wanted to change that, so I had an idea.
Picture the scene two weeks ago: I’m skint, on Universal Credit, desperate to become a pop star at the grand old age of 43. And I know my music’s good, I know if people only heard it I’d be able to build a fanbase. But I can’t afford to advertise it. So how do I get it out there?
Busking, of course, I think. I’ll take the music to the people. It’s ideal: I’ll make some much-needed money and I’ll promote my album.
A month earlier, I had played a song from the album out loud to a friend on the train, and got approached by a total stranger. I thought he was going to tell me off for sodcasting, but instead he wanted to know where he could hear more.
And surely there were more people like him who would enjoy the music?
I used to busk on the London Underground in my teens, when it was illegal.
These days, busking on TfL is regulated, but they’ve only held auditions twice in the past seven years, and I missed the second set in December.
But no matter: busking on the streets of London is perfectly legal, with the exceptions of the Borough of Camden and Uxbridge Town Centre. Why anyone would want to busk in the latter is baffling, but hey.
I decide to busk in the main square in Stratford. It’s surely the perfect place: tons of footfall, right in the middle of two shopping centres, in front of the station and bus station. Where could be better?
I tell all my friends, and they agree that this is a great idea. One of them very kindly buys me a £70 card reader. My ex offers to pay for my flyers. I buy a £350 busking amp, a £55 mic, an £11 card reader stand, a £35 flyer stand, a £5 belt for my phone. I get pissed off with my ex as he doesn’t treat me well, and buy myself £40 worth of A5 flyers I’ve designed. They say:
The eBay seller I buy the amp from in Fulham doesn’t let me turn it up high to test it, ‘because of the neighbours’. But when I get it home, I crank it up to 11 and it’s super-loud.
I start getting excited. I can’t wait for the album to come out, so I can busk it. I put it up for pre-order on Bandcamp, and make £411 of sales before fees, so around £350. Thank you, if you bought it.
Busking, back in the day
These days, as I say, busking on the Tube is legal and regulated with designated pitches, which kind of takes the frisson out of it and makes it seem less exciting and fun - at least, to me.
I first started busking on the Tube in sixth form, after leaving my summer job at McDonald’s, at the start of the term in which I’d eventually get kicked out of school. I had recently turned 16, and was small and scruffy and angry.
I decided to busk as I’d been forced under threat of violence to play the violin since I was four, enduring hundreds of lessons, taking my exams and reaching Grade 8. I absolutely hated the bloody instrument – it gave me no pleasure whatsoever to play – but as I now had the ability despite detesting the torturous piece of wood, I realised I might as well make some cash out of it.
So, one evening after school in early September 1996, I took my mum’s Travelcard from her black leather handbag when she came home from work, and travelled down on the Metropolitan Line from Pinner to Baker Street.
My mum was teaching Law at university at the time, and when she discovered I was taking her Travelcard each evening, she had a massive go at me: ‘Ariane, this is theft! Travelcards are for the use of one person only. You are depriving the London Underground of revenue. It’s illegal!’
It was all for show though – she wasn’t actually bothered, as she would leave the pale pink ticket sticking out of her bag each night so I could use it. (She wasn’t remotely interested in me though – she still isn’t – so she never asked about my busking.)
Sometimes, if she hadn’t got home from work yet and I wanted to go and busk, I would just use the back entrance to Pinner station, which was open between 7pm and 10pm each evening and had no ticket gate. I wouldn’t bother buying a ticket, because I wouldn’t be getting out at the other end – I would be staying within the Tube network.
I will never forget the first time I tried to busk. It was at Baker Street station, at the bottom of the escalator that leads down to the Jubilee and Bakerloo Line platforms. I nervously took my 3/4 size violin out of the case, put the sticky chalky rosin on my bow, and lifted the violin to my chin, bow poised to play Bach’s Concerto in A Minor.
At that exact moment, an exasperated female voice came over the tannoy: ‘Can the busker at the bottom of the Jubilee Line escalator please note that busking is not permitted on the London Underground!’
I packed up my violin frantically, and fled. I then took the Jubilee Line down to Bond Street, and busked properly for the first time. I played my heart out, playing all the classical pieces I knew, and the commuters responded by filling my violin case with coins. Many gave me curious looks, I guess because you didn’t often see 16-year-old buskers. On average, I would earn £11 an hour by playing the violin – three times what I’d earned at McDonald’s the previous summer.
An accident - and what I learned from busking
Then I accidentally left my violin on a train. I was both sad about my busking being curtailed, and very glad to see the back of the wretched instrument. Luckily, my mum owned an acoustic guitar which she never used. It was just gathering dust in the living room, and I thought, ‘If I can play the violin, surely I can learn the guitar?’
As it turned out, I was pretty crap at it, but I worked out all the necessary chords, and then started singing and playing pop songs when busking instead. This was much more my thing – at that time, I wanted to be a singer-songwriter. The general public didn’t think pop songs were worth as much as violin concertos though, probably because more people have the skills to do that – so my earnings dipped to around £7 an hour, though that was still far more than minimum wage.
The more I busked, the braver and shrewder I got, and the more I learned. I discovered the most generous people weren’t white men in suits – they rarely if ever gave you money. No: it was young mums, students and people of colour who were the biggest tippers, probably both because they had more compassion, and because they knew what it was like to not have much cash.
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