busker

The origin of this word comes from Medieval England, where travelling performers wore a certain kind of boot, made out of buck skin. This kind of boot was good for long overland journeys by foot.

They were called "buckskinners" for this reason, and the name was evenually shortened to "Buskers."

Incidentally, "buskar" means "stop" in Sanskrit.

Dear Jerome,

when you stopped me in a tunnel at the Barton Underground, I wasn't sure what to expect. I'd seen you before, or more often heard you, your harmonica jangling out over the streets as I walked home from the city centre. People walk past you a lot. I always smile. It's simple: your music, your crazy flailing of legs and arms, cheers me up and makes me smile. Any day when I see you is a good day.

But you'd never stopped me before. This time, you stopped me, and said, I'm a drone. I'm a drone. I'm Jerome. I was captivated. Then you played me a tune on your harmonica.

People walked past, of course, some of them smiling to see this young girl being serenaded by a busker in a ragged straw hat with huge, uneven yellow teeth. Some of them weren't smiling but frowning, out of disapproval or envy, I guess. When you were done we smiled properly at each other, like we were old friends, and then I turned to go- just in time I looked back, and told you my name.

Charlotte. Charlotte. Like a song, you said. And then you sang my name like it was a love song.

I haven't really seen you since.

There once was a musician who wanted to express himself. So, he bought himself a book of chords, and he played every chord in the book until he found one which he believed to suit his mood, and the chord was G#. And so, he wrote a song based entirely on the chord G#, and he loved it and played it to all his friends, and they came to recognize the song as his own. And the musician loved it so much, that he wrote many more songs, all based around the chord G#; and all of his friends loved his songs.

But then, one day, he came across a busker playing guitar, and he played the busker his song based on G#. The busker was amused by the song, and asked the musician to him play something else. And so, the musician complied, and he played a song for the busker, though it was still based on G#. And the busker said to him,

'That was good, but it was much like your last song, could you play something a little different?'

And so the musician complied once again, but it was still based on the same G# chord.

And so the busker asked the musician again to play him a song different from the ones he was playing, and the musician played yet another song, still based on G#. This happened many times, until finally, the busker was fed up of the musician"s G#, and he said to the musician,

'Why can"t you play anything besides G#?'

And the musician replied, 'This is G#, the chord which defines my very personality. It so perfectly suits me; I can't imagine why any other chord would need to be played!'

And so, the busker played for the musician a melody based on a D chord, and he arranged it with folksy arpeggios and with the spirit of a mariachi band. The musician commended the busker, and he asked the busker to tell him what the chord was, but the busker denied his request. Then, the busker played for the musician the same melody but based on an A chord, and he played it with the same folksy arpeggios and mariachi spirit. The musician once again selflessly praised the busker"s musical ability, and begged him to tell him what chords he was playing.

When the busker told the musician that he had been playing A and D, the musician accused him of lying, proclaiming, 'that is impossible! A and D are composed of the most vile tones of all the chords!'

And the busker told him, 'Now, I have played for you a multitude of different chords, in the exact same structures. You have failed to learn, in your monotonic melodies, that it is not the structure alone which sculpts a song. Beauty can not be found in one single chord, but must be searched for in all the chords" individual notes'.

'A musician need not memorize all the modes and all the scales in all the keys, and you can not play with your brain so that everything fits together in perfect harmony in the same chord; that would make you a purist. Instead, you must only experiment with different chords, even if you do not like the way they sound, and learn to find placidity in their ringing harmonies. In this, you will find that any song can be beautiful, no matter what chords it is played with.'