Tales From the Road

I've wrapped up the Italy leg of the tour and I'm off to Croatia!

This means that it's a good time to do some evaluation of how things are going so far. When I booked this tour I had five goals:

1. To find out how profitable Italy busking is in June
2. To spend a significant amount of time in my grandmother's region of Umbria
3. To find out how well Croatian busking goes after several years away
4. To make my first foray into Bosnia
5. To answer how well I can handle three months of touring as I enter middle age

It's obviously too soon to evaluate the Balkans, but Italy has been very educational. In the past my main touring season has been February-April, with limited exposure in January, May, and July. I've known better than to try August, when half of Italians go on vacation and the cities empty, and my July jaunt in 2009 taught me that the other half goes on vacation for that month and the cities likewise empty out, but June was an open question.

It is open no longer! I've been a little disappointed by my grosses for June, but far from troubled. Tips have been very good, but CD sales are significantly down from previous tours and from May. Also, the weekly schedule has changed, when Sundays go from being one of my best days to one of my worst. I have plans to adapt in the future, and the overall dynamic matches spring in Greece and summer in South America, but such a break from the familiar came as a bit of a shock.

My decision to focus on Umbria was delightfully successful. I had suspected that the lure of the beach might impact June busking elsewhere, so an inland region made sense. I also wanted to spend more time in Terni and Foligno, cities I'd briefly visited in years past, and to explore Orvieto for the first time. And, while CD sales have been down, I've had an amazing time in this incredibly beautiful area that was already ancient before the Romans showed up.

As for my endurance into my early forties, I've been pleased so far. While I have three more weeks to go and I've had a few signs of crispy burn out around the edges, I feel pretty solid. I'm not sure three-month tours should be a regular part of my schedule, as they also weren't in my thirties, but it's nice to think I've still got it in me!

Living on the road is very different than vacationing. This is true in general, but especially when I'm traveling abroad.

I typically eat out of grocery stores, for example, even if I'm not doing the sort of light cooking that I do in the States. Eating out every day is not only detrimental to the budget, but brutal for health. It was important to acquire, early in my travels, the skill to pick up affordable picnic basics and build a long-term diet from staples such as bread, fruit, and cheese.

And then there is my daily schedule. I tend to work for 4 hours a day on those days when I'm playing, with five hours or so between my first and second sets. This leaves me part of the morning, midday, and the early evening to myself. I take a lot of rambling walks as my main recreation, but often I'll hit a museum or other tourist attraction in the afternoon. However, because of my schedule, there's typically only room for one.

It's by routines such as these that I've built a life for myself on the road, where it doesn't matter how frequently the scenery changes because the basic elements of my day rarely do.

A lot has changed as I've grown older, and my driving habits are a fascinating example.

When I was 24 I spent six weeks commuting between Cincinnati and Tampa, fourteen hours each way. I was in grad school, taking classes Tuesdays and Thursdays, performing at the Bay Area Renaissance Festival Saturdays and Sundays, and driving Mondays and Fridays. It was brutal, and the next year gas prices and creative problem solving encouraged me to switch to airplanes.

As my body has aged I've noticed that my capabilities for such drives aren't what they once were. More importantly, I no longer have the will to force myself to undertake such misery. I'm at a fortunate place where I can afford a few $50 hotel rooms throughout the year, and I schedule around that.

I rarely drive more than nine hours in a day, and never more than eleven. I'm more willing to take breaks than I was in my twenties, enjoying a stroll around a rest area and maybe indulging in a handstand for blood flow to wake me up. And I'm liberal with allowing myself the aforementioned hotel rooms.

Oddly, however, I noticed today that some of these changes don't seem to be one way. I only started drinking coffee in my early thirties, and recent bouts of TMJ-related jaw issues have caused me to quit caffeine entirely once again; apparently my thirties were the buzzing decade. Today I drove over eight hours and I reverted to form, with only a single gas/lunch/bathroom stop at midday. It seems there was a different variable at work.

Now I'm questioning other assumptions about my aging process. This could be fun!

After a few weeks of research and the examples of several dear friends, I'm putting together a Patreon crowdfunding campaign. I'm shooting video this week and hope to take it live next week. Thank you all so much for all of your support over the years, and for keeping independant art alive!

I always had a weakness for VH1 Behind the Music: almost all bands have similar beginnings, and I've always been fascinated to see myself in the early lives of legends. I'm happy with my career and have no desire for fame, but it's a thrill to see my story reflected in the origins of bands that I love; I've found this also extends to music written about the music business.

The best of the lot is Creeque Alley, also arguably the best thing ever done by The Mamas and the Papas (my father and I agree on this point, a rare occasion when it comes to culture). I can see my friends and I in its lyrics, and I want to let you know what I hear in this song.

"John and Mitchy were gettin' kind of itchy / Just to leave the folk music behind"

Almost every band hits this point eventually, whether it's a folk band who wants to expand or a cover band that wants to write original music.

"Zol and Denny workin' for a penny / Tryin' to get a fish on the line"

I'm very fortunate in my career that I've moved beyond this point, but I remember well the days of making 50 cold calls to try and get a "maybe".

"In a coffee house Sebastian sat / And after every number they'd pass the hat"

This is a bit of an inside reference to anyone who hasn't performed for tips. Frequent hat passing will maximize giving, but at the expense of audience goodwill. People will give more but resent you for it, and is usually a sign that you're hurting for money.

"Zolly said 'Denny, you know there aren't many / Who can sing a song the way that you do, let's go south' / Denny said 'Zolly, golly, don't you think that I wish / I could play guitar like you'"

This is common in show business, and is one reason performers are famously insecure. We wouldn't be on stage if we didn't seek external validation, and it's easy to get intimidated by the strengths of our friends and colleagues.

"When Denny met Cass he gave her love bumps"

This is everywhere: show business is a very incestuous little dating pool. People tend to crush on people they work with, in general, and there's even a word for it: "showmance"

"Make up, break up, everything is shake up
Guess it had to be that way"

I've lived this: when a bandmate calls and says "we have to talk" it's just as scary and portentous as when a lover says it.

"Broke, busted, disgusted, agents can't be trusted"

There's an entire genre of breakup songs written about agents, from Queen's Death On Two Legs to Sara Bareilles' Love Song.

"Duffy's good vibrations and our imaginations
Can't go on indefinitely
And California dreamin' is becomin' a reality"

And there's always a point near the end of a project when it seems simultaneously that there's nothing more to give at the same time that it's surreal to have made it to the final push.

I'm a lucky guy.

I certainly won't discount the fact that I've put in my 10,000 hours of practice, but I don't feel I can take credit for being the type of person who enjoys practicing. My career has been a series of "right place, right time, right preparation", but I know a lot of people who've worked as hard who never got nearly as far.

But this post isn't about me, it's about my dad. The man whose favorite word is "fortuitous" and who often quotes Lefty Gomez "I'd rather be lucky than good".

My career is full of lucky breaks, but my dad's ought to be legendary. Lorain, Ohio was an industrial hub when he moved there in 1969, with the steel mill, shipyard, GM, and Ford plants. My dad hired in at Ford, which was the only one of the four still in business when he retired 35 years later. Even more interesting, he transferred to Avon Lake just a few years before the closing of the Lorain plant, in a multifaceted back story that comes down to another lucky break.

His worst luck coincides with his best: his first day at Ford was a Tuesday, and on Thursday his draft number was called. After getting back from Vietnam he was in a much better position than many of his compatriots, with a job waiting and two years of union seniority he'd accrued in the meantime.

And then, of course, his luck only improved when I turned up :D

It happens. I may have gotten complacent because it hadn't happened in awhile, but it happens.

I got shifted. "Shifted" is a delightful busker colloquialism I picked up in Sicily from a banjo-playing Englishman, his way of describing the process of being told by the authorities to move along (or, in my case, to get a permit).

It started as it usually does, although with friendlier cops than normal. I'd been passed by several flavors of law enforcement to no effect (each one with strictly non-overlapping jurisdictions) so I'd assumed I was golden, but the right two came along just as I was starting up yesterday morning. They directed me to the office for a permit, and I went even though my history suggests it would be pointless.

That history now has another data point in its favor.

I wouldn't have bothered if my evening sets in Sardinia hadn't been so lackluster, but I wasn't sure that a ticket to play another city would be a good investment. So I stuck around and waited in line and was told to come back at 4 to speak with the lieutenant.

And I did. We had a jocular debate, where he said there was no law to support busking and I argued that there was therefore no law to prohibit it. He insisted I go through regular channels for an "occupation of public space" license, which would take at least until Monday (the day I leave town).

It's easier just to commute for a few days.

There are bright sides to the story. My argument with the Lieutenant showed a surprising fluency on my part, and I was surprised at my persuasiveness in my second tongue (albeit ineffectual). The cops who got the ball rolling were really cool and curious about the instrument. And Oristano is likely the best city to be a commuting busker, centrally located with excellent transit links to other cities.

Still, the situation triggered all sorts of anxieties. Iglesias went well, but now I'm paranoid about my chances in Sassari, my next city. I'm also nervous about my budget, which was already fairly tenuous and which is taking the hit of a Thursday completely lost with possible weekend weather.

It's a game of averages, and I've already made up some of the difference by finding some amazing housing deals for the last leg of the tour in cities I know well. The risk was not unexpected: Sardinia was always intended to be the experimental center between a familiar beginning in Genoa and hopes for a strong finish in Romagna. My career involves taking successive leaps of faith, but sometimes it's a hard faith to maintain.

And the adventures continue.

I have no idea what went wrong today.

It's a Friday, which is typically a pretty good day for me, and the weather was quite nice. Sunny, if a little chilly by local standards, but nothing worse than the last few weeks. Still, my four hours of playing netted me about half of what yesterday did. It's a little frustrating, but encouraging to realize that it's mainly foot traffic rather than something wrong with me or my playing. As a performer much of my self-esteem is tied up in what I do, so there's a lot of comfort in that. There just hasn't been as many people out today, for whatever reason.

Looking over my grosses for the last few days, however, I'm not far from my weekly goal. I have high hopes going into the weekend!

The Best of 2014 lists are coming out and sometimes it gets depressing to notice so little progress in my own life, so I thought I'd name the things I accomplished this year.

I street performed in South America for the first time. I haven't made a profit yet, and I have future plans and ideas to try, but I've broken the ice.

I learned my third Bach tune, Allemande in Em. Similarly, I've expanded my early baroque repertoire with five 17th century Italian tunes. I also continue to grow as a Renaissance performer, with three new tunes learned.

I played my first busking tour of the American southwest, focusing on San Diego. I expanded my Minneapolis busking to include the farmers market, which was a big addition to my schedule.

I successfully weathered some big changes in my personal life. I try to keep that offline, but if you see me I'll be happy to chat over a beer. Even better, I didn't let the change get out of control and demolish the good along with the bad.

To sum up, it hasn't been an easy year but neither was it a bad one, and it held its share of triumphs. I think I'm in a pretty good position for the new year, and excited for what I can see taking shape!

This is the time of year when I make a number of purchases and financial decisions that are going to slowly happen over the next few months. I need to get it all done now, however, because this coming weekend represents my last scheduled work for awhile.

I've been having a very productive year and I'm feeling fairly well off, but as soon as the festival closes on Sunday my financial anxieties will kick in. Every day is a leap of faith, but January is a particularly difficult month for leaping.

This sort of thing is why I'm considering a tattoo that reads "know yourself" in ancient Greek.