Love and Other Mythic Beasts

For nearly six months I've been writing, mostly subconsciously, nothing but songs that in some way reference myths, cryptids, Atlantis, ghosts, and general humbug. I'm not announcing this with any sense of dread or regret exactly....I guess I'm just saying it. But it's surprising how much my life -- or at least the way I look at things -- is streamed through this lens and how it actually kinda works. Invariably, I'm more interested in the mysteries of life than the answerable banalities.

Anyway, so yeah....I went busking tonight. In desperation. Yes, it's that time again, that wonderful time in which I have to scramble to make as much money as I can before I go home for two weeks where I can't make money. That sort of thing doesn't happen in Hendersonville, NC. But what does happen is fun, and that's not to be missed.

Someone told me tonight that I should make a CD. Thanks! I think it'd be a good idea as well. So hold tight. In addition to scrambling for dirty pennies, I'm also scrambling to record EVERYTHING I'VE WRITTEN EVER before I leave for home on Wednesday. I've only got a few things left, but I'd like to finish it all in honor of the coming new year.

I debuted a new song tonight about an aforementioned mystery, written for someone recently. Too quiet, though.

Just 'cos I'm a little obsessed right now, here's a great Keats snippet for anyone in the mood:

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -
To thy high requiem become a sod.

-- Ode to a Nightingale, 1819

Nobody Said It Was Easy

Due to auditions this week, I'm slapping the 'ole lock on my guitar case and resting vocal chords for a while. But I let myself go out for one last hurrah tonight, which was well worth it, despite a bit of running around that occurred. The aforementioned Asian fiddle player was occupying 23rd St around 5:00 (I think he's doing this intentionally to make me desperate), so I hopped a train to the next available station: 59th Street. My old stompin' grounds! I played at 59th throughout....well, pretty much throughout this entire year until fall.

I'm not sure what it was....maybe there's a certain type of performance energy that 59th St patrons respond to better, one that I once knew how to harness. But that didn't happen tonight. I had forgotten just how freaking loud that station is, too. Another guitar player was waiting for me to give up the pitch, so I let him have it and figured I'd try 23rd St again, where, sure enough, the fiddler had retired and I was able to do pretty well.

Except for some guy telling me to play Coldplay. What?! What?! What do I look like? It even says on my sign "FOLK troubadour." I mean granted, it's kind of a joke and an excuse for me to use a fun word, and it's not like I only play folk....but COLDPLAY? This guy didn't even look like he would have enjoyed "The Scientist" or any other overrated selection. I think he was name-dropping Coldplay as much as I was word-dropping troubadour when I made my sign. But the difference is I didn't bark at somebody mid-song to mention the word "troubadour." I'm sure his girlfriend was very impressed that her sweetiekins could read band names off of music videos and repeat them in public.

Some other guy requested a Donovan song, but politely waited until I had finished the song I was playing. I did that. So there. See what happens when you ask nicely?

Addendum: Just so we're clear on this, I don't hate Coldplay. I've had my fair share of enjoyment from their music. I just don't fancy myself someone who covers that sort of thing (especially when I wasn't asking for requests), and I guarantee you all that the bloke in question thought that Coldplay meant snowball fight when he first heard of them in 2002.