The Word On The Street

HAVING ENDURED a day as a busker for the purposes of first person journalism in the last issue of Hot Press, I felt it was only fair to let the real buskers have their say. For every scurvy hack such as myself who takes to the street for a bit of colour and diversion, there are many others for whom busking is not just a regular pastime, but an important source of additional income.
So it is that I head for the epicentre of the Dublin scene Grafton St on a Saturday afternoon on this occasion happy to be armed with a tape recorder and notebook rather than guitar and harmonica.
Almost immediately I spot Dermot Byrne, one of the city s best-known buskers, easily drawing a crowd to hear his versions of blues standards. As he plays a typically accomplished version of C. C. Rider , a steady stream of coins is coming his way, particularly from tourists.
Byrne has released one album last year s Raw Whiskey Blues and regularly plays gigs with his band, The Dermot Byrne Blues Combo.
I started off just listening to old records at home, mainly blues, and then I started getting a few gigs on my own about ten years ago, he explains. I formed a blues band called The Dukes which only lasted a year or so, and then I formed my own band. We re doing the Dublin Blues Festival here in a couple of weeks.
But about six years ago, I was walking down here with a friend of mine. We each had our guitars and we just sat down and started playing blues together. That s how I got into busking. I got more money in the half-hour of busking than I did from the gigs I was doing [laughs].
My major problem is that I can only do two songs or maybe three, because I tend to get a crowd around very quickly. You have to watch it. If you played for half an hour, you d have a huge crowd there. But, number one, you wouldn t make that much money, and, number two, you d block the street, and the police don t like that, which I can understand.
In a lot of ways though, it s easier than pub gigs. It s in and out, you ve no middle men, you ve no shifting gear or any of that. The disadvantages are fairly obvious as well: it s hard to get people to listen; it can be very, very tiring after an hour or so if the atmosphere isn t there. If you get the atmosphere, though, it can be great and I really enjoy it.
The band is going great, but the thing is that I m married with two kids, so I d be mad not to keep the busking. I do well with it. I mean, there s no point just sitting on your bum . . .
Indeed. So, leaving Dermot to his pitch and moving further up Grafton St. I soon encounter Ooom Pah Pah Clown (aka David Stinson) who is entertaining children by singing while dressed in full clown regalia. He also occasionally breaks off to construct animal shapes from balloons. He proceeds to tell me his story at breakneck speed:
My name is Ooom Pah Pah Clown and I have a twin brother called Uncle Jump, but he couldn t work today. Uncle Jump has got a television show and a couple of radio shows back in Australia and he s been doing all kinds of things for the BBC in England.
Anyway, we ve been here for about a week, and we re basically looking for all the people who play that wonderful Irish music, so we can bring them back to Australia for the people who don t have real Irish music.
I m originally from America, but now I live in Western Australia in a little town called Northhampton, about 500km north of Perth. So we spent about six months there and six months on the road. This time we spent about a month in New Zealand doing school shows. After this we re going to Europe and then to South Africa. At one stage I lived in Hawaii for a long time, and I also did children s shows on the Amtrak trains.
Uncle Jump is an Australian musician. Out here today I m stealing some of his songs. For some reason nobody ever sees the two of us together . . . I have three albums on the market and 427 original songs so far. I produced one album myself in Hawaii, and two of them were released by a label in Western Australia. I also got to play the Sydney Opera House and do a national tour. But for now I m just twisting balloons.
After this rather surreal encounter, I decide that a touch of seriousness is in order. Richard Osborne and his fellow-members of English band Seize The Day are just setting up in preparation for a late afternoon busking session:
We re from England, three of the band are from Glastonbury, and two of us are from near Brighton. We re over here for about ten days, Richard explains.
I ve been playing for years, and I met all these people through environmental campaigning in England. I came into it as an organiser, but then it was through that I realised what a huge part of the whole thing could be played by music that s why I m in this band now.
We were very involved in the anti-road-building campaign, including Newbury, and now we are also very involved in the anti-genetic modification of food. That movement is also quite strong here in Ireland as well. The reception s been brilliant here in Dublin: we like to get people dancing and involved. That s what we do.
Further complementing the eclectic mix of music this afternoon is Daniel Wei. From China via Australia, Daniel plays a strange instrument which, he explains, is an Erhu, an Oriental derivative of the violin. It has a rich, beautiful sound, which may well explain Daniel s significant takings, and the regular sales of his self-financed CDs which he sells on the street.
This is really my holiday, he explains. I went to London and then came here. I like to think I am both travelling and learning. I like to share my music, and I knew that Dublin was popular for busking. Everybody plays something nice, and the people are also very nice.
The instrument has a very long history. It came from the Sung Dynasty in China. It dates back over 2,000 years, and it has been used by many musicians and composers. I first learnt the ordinary violin for three years, beginning when I was seven, but then I felt that this instrument was more interesting.
This is the first time I have been to Ireland. I feel that the Irish people are very musical and I particularly love Irish traditional music. But music is a universal language, so they can understand Chinese music. Most of the time I stay in Sydney teaching people, but I will continue travelling when I leave here in a few weeks. I hope to go to Holland and Germany.
It s time to return to the local attractions. Twelve-year-old Keith Moran and his friend Shane Hyland, one year his junior, are playing proudly, Shane on guitar and Keith keeping rhythm with empty coke bottles (vocals are shared). There is an undeniably cute aspect to it all, but for the boys, this is serious business:
Keith: We ve only started off here. We ve been busking for about a month. We make a good few bob about #35 a day. We get out the odd day when we are stuck for money or when we re off school.
Shane: We go to Temple Bar and all over the place. We play Karma Chameleon , The Night We Met , Wonderwall . . .
Keith: . . . Living next Door To Alice . People seem to like what we do.
Shane: We want to form a band so if we did it would be kinda like Oasis or The Drugs Don t Work . That s a good song. We re learning that. We learn the songs from listening to the radio.
Keith: We re going to busk until about six o clock and then go home. We get a taxi home. n
During an afternoon interviewing those who make their living on the streets, an attempt was also made to interview one of the city s several mime artists. Below we print a transcript of the exchange:

So, how did you begin doing this for a living?
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Really. So it obviously has very profound resonances with you?
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Right, I see. And how did you develop your act?
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So you must have put in a great deal of work, then?
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How much would you expect to earn in an average day?
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Wow, that much, eh? And have you ever had any embarrassing or nasty moments?
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Oh, that must have been painful.
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Mmm, I can imagine. And tell me, finally how would you define the significance of mime in the development of a civilised society?
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Thank you very much. I just hope my tape recorder was working.n