One of the books I've written; "The Subway Diaries" is an account of the amazing subculture of artists &
musicians that I have been graced to be a part of for the past 10 yrs underneath the streets of NYC (www.thesubwaydiaries.com)
I'll be sharing a few chapters / excerpts here on Steemit here & there / now & again - Enjoy!
Ignore the Steemit formatting - not sure why, but they doubled the first paragraph
What Ya Can’t Buy
Having had the magical yet fleeting “East Side Spell” at least temporarily broken by my last trip over there last month, I’ve been sticking to the west as of late. I’d been scurrying around all day searching for a wheelie-cart, or dolly, to help me transport what was feeling like an increasingly enormous guitar, around Manhattan. I finally purchased one, and by eight p.m., I entered the subways. I wasn’t quite sure what spots would be left at that point since I was late getting started.
I began to set up, excited to land my now most favorite spot on the first go: the Uptown ACE at Times Square. Excellent, it’s empty! I thought to myself as I unpacked. There seemed to be lots of people on the platform, and almost as much garbage surrounding them. The platform looked like the aftermath of a Manhattan street fair, but indoors. I kicked away some trash, cleared the spot, and began to sing. People were clapping and smiling, and the money was coming in left and right. To my astonishment, one group after another kept filing onto the platform and not really going anywhere, providing me with the most upbeat, party-happy, and joyful audience to date. The trains had long breaks between them and that left me a decent amount of time to get some serious singing in. It became an impromptu celebration of sorts, with people clapping, hooting, hollering, and dancing.
Soon after, a maintenance worker for the ACE came by. I chatted with her about the crowds and unusually large amount of trash. She finally clued me, “Yeah, girl, it’s the A train. The A train is runnin’ on the E track and the E is runnin’ on the A track. Been this way all evening. It’s a mess! Yeah, there’ve been folks waitin’ on this platform for over an hour. They’ll be standin’ there on the A track and have no idea their train was running right in back of them on the E track the whole time! That’s why all this trash.” She went back to her tiny broom and dustpan, trying to make at least a small dent in the piles upon piles of stray paper and other products littering the platform. I felt for her, one of those mini bulldozers would’ve been far more effective at this point.
I decided to help where I could with the confusion by, every now and again, making an announcement regarding the night’s mixed-up train patterns. I started to feel a bit like that Southern showman I’d seen after a while.
Then, speak of the devil, I noticed, across the tracks on the downtown side, the friendly face of the southern emcee, guitar in hand. He too was “directing traffic” amidst his “routine.” When there was a lull in the trains, I suppose due to some odd acoustic fluke, I could hear his banter clear as day, as if I were standing right next to him.
“Hey, ya’ll, what’s up today? Now, I’m here to do two things for ya’ll. My name is Ron. Yup it’s Ron, not Don, not John, but Ron with an “R-uh” and I’m here to entertaiiiiin you. Yes, you, you and you, pretty lady, aaaaaand to explain these messed up trains today. Well, as best I can. See, these trains. These trains, well they ain’t runnin’ like they should.” And then he strummed a chord on his guitar.
Man, I thought to myself, my lowly train banter can never compare to that show, and I continued to listen from across the tracks, as enthralled as anyone sitting two feet away.
“Yup,” Ron continued, “these trains…” And then the next line he sung his entertainment, his slight stutter disappearing completely, “The-heeeze tr-a-hey-hey-hey-hey hey-hey-hey-hey-nzzz, no, they sure ain’t runnin’ like they should, but if ya keep on list-en-in’ to me, yeah, I’m gonna tell ya’ll wha-ah-ah-t they could, yes I am.” Then the hum of an approaching express train drowned out the rest of the show; well, the long distance version at least. So I went back to my (now seemingly pedantic) singing and train directing, feeling completely overshadowed in the emcee category, but soon settled into my own musical rhythm.
“Just Another Monday”
Oh if was just another Monday
Runnin’ from the Sunday
Tryin’ just to do
What I should
Then the unexpected
Found me in the hustle bustle
And I turned the corner
And there you stood
I don’t know what happened
And I can’t explain
How you turned my life
Around and around
But ever since that one day
I’m diggin’ Mondays
‘Cause you’re beside me
And you take me down
As I sang, a group of teenage girls gathered around two columns to my left and started chatting: comparing hair, nails, clothes, purchases; going through each of their numerous bags one by one as they stood there at the edge of the platform. It was more than obvious they had been shopping, as they each had their respective purses hanging off one arm and a load of shopping bags dangling off the other. Each bag sported a different trendy label: Bloomingdales, Macys, Forever 21. Once I started to sing though, the girls stopped their chatting and primping. Their shopping bags slipped to their new home, at their feet, and they simply stood there. Their focus was now completely on the music. The girls stood there moving, tapping their feet, and clapping their hands on the sides of their legs. Once I was done, they clapped loudly and reached into their respective glittered purses to pull out tips.
Teenagers inspire me. I think their interest in live, acoustic music moves me more than any other age or sociological group. Today’s teenagers have an unreasonable number of very adult choices to make. They are bombarded by so much material and crazy unattainable visuals that for them to acknowledge something not spoon-fed to them by the conglomerates and corporations all after their dollars, makes me feel as if what I do serves a purpose. Even if it’s just for a minute that they listen, for that brief minute, they are not focusing on what they’ve purchased, or need to purchase, or want to purchase to be “in,” or feel accepted. For an instant, they are enjoying something relatively intangible, something non-material. For just one minute, the music takes over. I love that. I love that everything that was important to them a mere second ago, and will be important again once they are on their train with their friends, disappears. It melts away. Even if this switch lasts for only a few seconds, the priorities for that moment change, and art, music, and the conveying of pure human emotion take precedence over materialism.
Even as they reach in to their pinky-purple, glittery, “all-that-and-then-some” handbags to give me money—I know they have been touched by something they can’t buy.
