CHAPTER 1
A Bitter Busker
Today I busked in Martin Place. For the longest time I was ignored by passersby. I was feeling depressed when a kindly woman remarked, "You sound really beautiful, even from down the street."
She did not even throw 5 cents into my basket. Usually I am fine with this. Not everyone is in a position to give money.
She was trying to be nice. I pointed at my basket, looked at her sadly, and said, "Nobody appreciates it though."
The woman looked uncomfortable. Instantly I regretted my words.
I put my bitter feelings into the next aria, Puccini's Vissi D'arte, which is about a woman who dedicated her life to the service of art and is begging God for her reward, and for rescue!
The coins started to flow into my busking basket. The audience does not want 90 per cent of you. They want your entire heart ripped out for art.
I am trying to evolve so I don't take bitter moments out on others.
After all, even a kind word is an act of generosity.
CHAPTER 2
Mayhem at Taylor Square
At Taylor Square in Oxford Street, I set up my amplifier and microphone outside the pub. There was a row of customers sitting on tables outside.
A man walked past, who had his back to the audience. He started unzipping his trousers, putting his hand inside his pants and fumbling with the contents.
I stopped singing and announced loudly, "Oh no, you are not going to start stripping in the middle of my song. No!"
The man smiled but continued his illicit behavior. He knew I was the only one who could see what was happening.
"Stop it. Just stop it!" I shouted over the microphone. Now that I had alerted everyone as to what was going on, the deviant departed.
Then, a shirtless man, with shorn hair and covered in tattoos, approached me. He only had about two teeth. His bottom lip was infected with a red, weeping abscess. He kept moving closer and closer. Soon he was only 50 centimeters away from me.
"Back off!" I told him in a raised voice, "You are making me really uncomfortable!"
The man stepped back to stand against the wall with the pub goers.
As I launched into my next song, the toothless, tattooed guy started singing along with gusto. Then, a grizzled elderly man outside the pub started to dance. It was a strangely joyful sight.
The other customers, well dressed and polite, smiled and applauded after a number of arias. Passersby were putting coins into my basket and everyone seemed to be having a good time.
A portly man came out of the pub. He offered me 20 dollars NOT to sing. I explained I had a busking license, and a right to sing here for an hour. I did not accept his bribe. He walked back into the pub.
Finally, a smiling man approached. He told me he lived in a nearby apartment building. He had heard me from up in the building and so had come down to give me some money.
In the end, I earned 57 dollars at that spot in Taylor Square where I was offered 20 dollars not to sing. I was glad those who enjoyed the performance outnumbered the "haters" but I won't be returning in a hurry.
CHAPTER 3
Blue Collar Angel
It was a Saturday morning. I had been busking in Belmore Park, not far from Central station. The foot traffic had been good that day, and I had done well. I was packing up at the end of my shift.
A young woman who was dressed in a pale blue uniform approached. She handed me some coins. The woman told me she had enjoyed listening to me while she worked for the last couple of hours.
"It's just a matter of time before you are famous," she gushed.
The compliments from her kept flowing.
"You are fantastic! I know sometimes it is very hard doing it this way, but you just have to keep going. Anyway, fame and money aren't all they are cracked up to be. Take it from me. The main thing is you are doing what you love. You have your arms and your legs, and of course, you have your voice. It's all good!"
I felt as if a benevolent angel had blessed me with the words I had most wanted to hear.
CHAPTER 4
Valentine's Day
Being a special occasion, I went busking at night in a pretty, scarlet dress instead of my usual jeans and t-shirt "combo." I styled my hair nicely, leaving my scruffy hat at home. I applied bright, red lipstick and heavy eye make-up. On this night I wanted to present as the glamorous diva.
I was delighted when a handsome young man threw a long-stemmed rose into my busking basket. Later, I got a "peck on the cheek" from a dapper gentleman, who was dressed in a black dinner suit.
I sang at my very own "theatre under the stars" in Pitt St Mall. In front of my "stage" are rows of outdoor seats. On this night, every seat in my "theatre" was full. Loved up couples beamed gooey smiles at each other, inspired by the passion of opera. I made three times my usual busking earnings that night!
There is a great acoustic in Pitt Street Mall, since the performer is far away from traffic. Here, you can catch me singing Mozart's The Queen of The Night's Vengeance Aria, Der Hölle Rache, from The Magic Flute, or Offenbach's The Doll's Song, Les Oiseaux dans la Charmille, from The Tales of Hoffmann. I like to hear my voice "ping" off the nearby shop awnings!
CHAPTER 5
Earning My Wings
As an experiment to increase my income, I decided to busk for one day dressed in a fantasy costume. I purchased face paint, large angel wings made of real feathers and donned a pale pink dress.
I did some Internet research on how to create an angel face. Putting those ingredients together, my painted angel face, wings and dress gave me the appearance of an angel.
I began the walk to a nearby bus stop. A car drove by, and a teenage boy yelled out, "Show us your tit!"
Apart from that being pretty disrespectful, did he really think an angel only had one?
I boarded the bus...
