No BS Busking Tour day 3….
“Hey! Let’s go!” was the refrain of the morning. After what could not have been more than three hours of actual sleep, we peeled ourselves off of the floor and stumbled upstairs for some breakfast Josh’s apartment. For me it was peanut butter and bread with a swig of orange juice. The rest of the guys downed variations of the same. Although, at one point everyone said, “I’m ready to go when you guys are,” we didn’t’ leave the house for at least another hour. The single bathroom versus the hygiene needs of ten dudes probably had something to do with it.
By the time we finally got rolling, we each had a piece of Lance’s drum set in hand. The plan was to hop on the L train, hitting Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn and then head to a couple of spots in Manhattan. It was quite an adventure getting the drumset, all of our horns, the merch case and our mostly gigantic selves down the stairs, through the gate and into the subway car. Getting out was even more of a challenge, seeing as how climbing stairs is much more difficult than stumbling down them. Our rambling wreck emerged from the tunnels and spilled out onto Bedford avenue. We had printed out directions to the precise intersection that displayed a mural by Nick Kuszyk. One of Nick’s paintings was the inspiration for our Alive in Richmond album cover.
After a quick, ninja-like set up, we launched into our set and even the notoriously fast paced residents of New York City slowed down or stopped to listen. Nick actually shot this video of Iron Palm. I can think of no better place to unleash that particular tune’s frenetic energy. We played for an hour, uninterrupted, and then filed into the bagel shop on the corner for lunch. As with our previous busking sets, we made enough money for everyone to buy lunch. Once the hydration and replenishing of calories was complete we hit the bricks again for our epic schlep into Manhattan.
A few more stops on the subway and a brisk walk put us in the center of Union Square, where we could all feel the energy of the city. Thousands of people were taking in the sun, playing guitar, passing out flyers or just relaxing in the grass. Near to where we were setting up a group of guys were tossing around some willing but unfortunate and slight young woman. Clearly she could have broken herself on the concrete below but her trust in her friends obviously trumped that concern. Just as Lance was tightening down his hi-hat, a rather large police officer strode up us. He inferred from the horns and drums that we were a band and let us know that we couldn’t play in the park. He explained that the groups of people at tables handing out flyers about fifty yards in front of us had a secured a permit for that day and that he had already shut down some other musical groups. Everyone was bummed, including the officer, but he did direct us towards Washington Square, where he assured us we wouldn’t have a problem.
We picked up our gear and carried it the eight short blocks to Washington Square. We headed towards the giant central fountain, where people of all ages and body types splashed gleefully in the water. Along the way we passed a bass/drums/sax jazz group, some bucket percussionists and rather lithe guy compressing himself into a plexiglass box for a horde of cheering onlookers. We launched into Reggie Chapman’s Brass Scene Kids as the sun began to set over the New York skyline. Again we were surrounded by onlookers and again we watched people transform from bystanders to head-bobbers to dancing machines. I don’t think that will ever get old. After a few tunes another police officer eased up to the trombone side of the band and said he really enjoyed what we were doing but that we might want to keep the volume down a little. Apparently it’s not cool to use a megaphone out in public unless you are an authority of some kind. With our new parameters in mind, we continued to play until a souped-up golf cart carrying a parks and recreations official whizzed around the fountain and lurched to a halt in front of the trumpets. The guy was far more winded than he should be after a relaxing golf-cart ride when he said “You guys have GOT to keep it down. The parks director is here today and I could get in big trouble.” “Ok” we said, respectfully and continued about our set. This time even more quietly. I guess there’s only so softly you can play with three trombones, three trumpets a saxophone a tuba and a drumset complete with roto-toms. We finished off with our redition of Thriller, but not before being orbited several more times by the glaring parks official.
After the set we plopped down by the fountain and took a minute to relax after a hard days work. We also tried to forget that later that night we had a gig to play, a seven-hour drive back to Richmond, and two more gigs when we got there.
A lovely young German woman introduced herself to me after the set and wanted to know more about our gig at Uncle Mike’s. I gave her directions as best I could and she went on her way with a smile.
As we were relaxing, another show was about to begin. A couple of guys with backpacks began creating a wide circle out of masking tape in front of the fountain. One of the guys took a knee and bowed his head while the other paced around the circle muttering to himself, a giant Bible clutched in his left hand. We all knew what was coming.
“I AM A MISSIONARY,” he screamed. “I HAVE COME HERE TODAY TO SHARE THE WORD OF THE LORD! YOU ARE ALL SINNERS!”
Most of the people milling around the park paid him little attention and a few donned ironic smiles.
The members of No BS come from a wide variety of spiritual and religious backgrounds but we all agreed that this guy’s fire and brimstone, believe-this-or-you’re-going-to-hell, message wasn’t doing anybody any good. Rob actually handed the guy a No BS! sticker, which the missionary held between his left thumb and the Bible. After creating an impromptu percussion and singing jam session in attempts to drown out the messenger of doom we began the schlep to Uncle Mike’s, the site of that evening’s gig.
It’s been my experience that NYC bars book a ton of bands per night in hopes of turning the audience over for each set. This was also the case here. After a quick load in and dinner we returned to Uncle Mike’s and caught the last song of an enthusiastic, if not polished set by a local band. As soon as their drummer kaboomed the final chord of the tune, the bar emptied. All that remained in this dive-ish bar were the sequen-clad female bar tenders and a frantic sound man. To our surprise, the place began to fill up again and we saw many familiar faces from the crowds that gathered around us earlier in the day. The young German woman was there too.
We raced through a 40-minute set that was met with much cheering and dancing. To get a sense of the energy, here are videos of Brass Scene Kids and Boss Battle. After the gig, the lovely German woman and I exchanged information, but alas, I never saw her or heard from her again. The following events occurred in dizzying succession:
We grabbed all of our stuff and again piled into the subway, joined by some old friends of mine.
We hung out in Brooklyn’s ultra-hip bar, Matchless.
We piled our stuff back into the trailer.
We tried to leave NYC.
I made a series of navigational errors that cost us almost an hour.
We got back to Richmond at 11am after twenty-six hours of music making a traveling.
The tour wasn’t over yet, though.
