Another suggested location, this time from a friend of a friend. He recommended playing in a vacant lot on North Williams Avenue, which would put me in direct view of thousands of afternoon bike commuters. Intrigued, I decided to give it a try.

But when I got to the spot, the lot was not exactly vacant, as it was full of hot, sweat-inducing afternoon sunlight. This is certainly a hazard of playing outdoors, but after a week of daily shows, I was not keen on standing in the sun to play music yet again.

So I strolled up and down Williams a little bit, looking for a better spot, and noticed the real estate office on the corner was closing up. I poked my head in the door and asked if they were really closing (yes) and would they mind if I played in the alcove (go right ahead!). So that was a problem averted.

I set up and started playing when a second interesting aspect revealed itself: cyclists on their afternoon commute have little interest in stopping to hear some music on a random street corner. Ironically, it appeared to me, motorists in their rolling cages had more awareness of and curiosity about what I was doing than cyclists, who otherwise seem to enjoy a much more direct relationship to their surroundings. Or maybe they’re just focused on not getting hit by cars, who can really say?

Another largely disinterested group of people is pedestrians headed to the fancy wine shop next to the realtor. If you ever want to feel like you have cooties, be hot and sweaty and in the path of a would-be patron heading to a fancy wine shop.

But it wasn’t all disinterest. An adult and child (mother and son?) stopped and sat down for a little while. After a couple of songs, the woman stepped away, leaving me playing music to a young teenager. (She did come back eventually.)

I try to play more cheerful songs when possibly influencing the youth of today, but he told me his favorite band is Linkin Park, so…does that free me to get dark? I kind of did, but I also devoted some time to talking with him about musical instruments he played, etc.

Turns out he’s a multi-insturmentalist (several horns plus drums) and I wouldn’t be surprised to see him on a street corner of his own someday. Or maybe he’ll aim higher: a whole vacant lot to himself. (And hopefully in the shade.)

Incidentally, this is the first show where I had stickers to give away. If you see me out in the world playing music, ask for a sticker between songs. I will probably be glad to take a break and hand you one!

I asked some friends if they had ideas for new places to play, and one person suggested that I set up in the vicinity of the First Thursday art event in downtown Portland. These can be fun, so I loaded up the car and drove into the neighborhood.

One obstacle I anticipated was that there was virtually no free on-street parking available. I drove around and around, and as the appointed time arrived, I decided I’d have to pay to park in a garage if I wanted to get in any playing before dark. So I coughed up a ghastly $7 for a garage spot, and started carting my stuff the 5 or 6 blocks back to the appointed corner.

It would be too predictably ironic to mention the car departing a parking space right next to the spot I was going to play just as I walked by it, so I’ll skip it.

One obstacle I didn’t anticipate was the entire neighborhood was awash in thumping bass sounds from the EDM party in the TEDx pavilion on the other side of the park. But once I started playing, my own drums (right behind my ears, after all) drowned out all distracting noise.

I played for a few minutes to no one but a friend who lives nearby and who happily took a bench seat. I would say few pedestrians expressed even the slightest interest in what I was doing. I rarely felt like such a nuisance as I did then.

But then my feelings of “nuisanceness” redoubled as a guy walked a full circle around me before telling me to “get this corny ass shit out of here.” Having grown up on the east coast, I’m not unfamiliar with this kind of blunt, if not exactly constructive, criticism. Then again, I have every right to play in this public space, so I asked for some clarification. “You’re playing this corny ass shit and interfering with people’s enjoyment of God’s beautiful creation,” as he pointed toward the EDM party.

Okay, clear now: thumping digital music constructed on computers is a beautiful creation of God’s. My heartfelt original compositions played in real time? “From another dimension.” Apparently I managed to sneak into this dimension while God was rolling at a dance party.

Seriously, if I was exactly at this man’s destination, I’d have stopped. But I asked if he was heading somewhere, and he said yes, so I encouraged him to continue on his way. Which he did, though not until after also harassing my friend. I’ll take him at his word that he’s “brilliant” but in this case, maybe we can agree to disagree?

I continued playing a while. I don’t usually concern myself with money collected on the street, but tonight I kept my eye on that collection bucket. Some shows yield more money than others, often inexplicably, so it’s a cruel yardstick by which to judge yourself. But if I’m going to play a tense show wondering if some kook is going to come back to take his hostility to the next level, I damn well hope to make back that $7 for parking.

But as the park darkened at sundown, I decided to pack it in regardless. I counted the money in the bucket: $8! A slim victory, but I’ll take it!

This was the scene of a pretty successful outing about six weeks ago, so in my quest to play a show every day this week, it was a natural addition to the itinerary. I arrived just before 8pm and got set up and playing in short order. Maybe it’s from playing more shows this week, but I’m lately much faster at getting all the gear set up to play.

It’s an interesting corner to play on because a lot of people stop to check out the Lego models in the window of the light bulb store. Most people who linger aren’t paying much attention to me, because there’s a Star Wars space ship behind me.

But some linger to take in a song or two. Almost as soon as  I started, a friend happened by, and she was finally able to see me perform in real life instead of just watching videos online. But she soon left and I was on my own again.

A man at the bus stop across the street was kind of grooving and applauding between songs, and eventually came over to drop some small coins in the bucket. He apologized that it wasn’t more, but I told him truthfully, I was just happy he was enjoying it, and invited him to grab a bench. But no, he wanted to go back to the bus stop. Commuters!

Sometimes when playing on the street a special moment happens. A couple of people stop, then a couple more, and soon there’s a small crowd. I had just launched into a kind of epic song called “Entropy” as about 15 people watched. They were really with me, through all the stops, tempo changes, right to the conclusive final line. Much applause. A man impressed by the song asked me, “Which artist are you covering with that song?” I told him it was my own song–I am only playing my own songs–and he dropped a couple more dollars in the bucket.

But then the moment ended. I was taking too long to start the next song, what with catching my breath and trying to remember what I hadn’t played yet. The crowd took this lull as an opportunity to disperse, and I was all alone again.

A couple of other folks hung out to take in the last few songs, and I wrapped things up just before 9pm. (I don’t want to become a nuisance to the neighbors who have to go to work the next day.) I played my traditional final song “Used to It” and skedaddled.

I swore off Alberta for a while after the last show there and especially my last show at this spot. So I guess it’s been “a while” because I was back again tonight.

I realized as I was heading out that I wouldn’t have a lot of time to play, because I had someplace to be at 9pm*. I debated not going out at all, but a short show is better than no show…right? So I set up at the old familiar place just before 8pm, and set an alarm for 8:30pm on my phone.

At a recent private engagement I thought I played too fast and kind of ran out of gas a little early. So tonight I focused on songs that are harder to play, and tried to regulate my tempo. It felt like I did a better job keeping my stamina, although that may be due to the temperature’s being 20 degrees cooler than my last outing, rather than keeping my tempo in check.

I was never successful in getting anyone to sit down on the benches. Well, except one young lady who sat for a second and tried to encourage her friends to join her. However, her friends wanted to go get dinner and bring it back. “How long will you be here?” asked her friend. I told him half an hour, and he said, “Perfect.”

The thought crossed my mind that “Perfect” might mean “You’ll be gone before we get back.” And indeed, they never returned.

I left at the appointed time, just after playing a new song. I made it to the 9pm event with 10 minutes to spare.

* – A screening of my friend’s documentary at a nearby bar.

Some random circumstances put me in the neighborhood of Colonel Summers Park in the early evening of this fine Saturday and I decided I should try to play a show. And after a fairly successful outing at the park in Sellwood erased the memories of a prior less successful park outing, I was ready to push my luck at another park.

When I got to this spot, there was a couple canoodling on the bench you can see in the picture below, and I asked if they’d mind if I played some music. They were all for it, and so I had the pleasure of playing to an audience straight away.

But nothing lasts forever, and they bid farewell after maybe half an hour. In the meantime, a man took up a spot just to my right. He was really into the songs, and from the looks of it, he was also well into his cups.

His phone rang a couple of times while I played, and although I thought it would be polite to pause while he took a call, he urged me to play for his friends over the phone. I think he might even have been calling people for me to play to.

But I can’t complain, because each phone listener doubled my audience size. A one-man band can be a fine thing, I think, but a one-man audience? Get out your phone! (This actually gives me an idea of how to handle my next experience—for I know it’s coming—playing to no one.)

I was close enough to the sidewalk outside the park to see a lot of people walk by without pausing. A number of people walking through the park also just walked on by without stopping. So it was kind of flattering to see a woman interrupt her brisk walk through the park to listen to two songs and applaud after each of them. It’s even possible she was sober!

As I could feel things winding down, a rough looking guy some distance off shouted to me, “Can I play your guitar?” I shouted back, “No!” but decided I should leave before he decided not to take no for an answer.

From the start it didn’t seem like I’d picked a great spot to play, but my first impression was wrong. I never played to very many people at one time, but overall the people who lingered enjoyed the show very much. In the end, it was a rather gratifying experience, and I look forward to my next opportunity to play music in a park.

This one actually started out as a “private” show (albeit in a public park) for some visiting friends, and I wasn’t going to note anything here. But after I started playing, a half dozen youths from the park came over and sat on a log to listen for a while.

While they were situating themselves, a city parks employee drove up. I worried he was going to tell me to knock it off. He was only driving by, though, and he smiled as his head was bobbing along to the music. This was a nice contrast to the jogger who ran by with the “Who farted?” face.

But my very favorite moment was when one of the young men came over to tell me, “You’re doing great!” Yep, sounds like a show to me.

(Walk this way.)

My previous outing wasn’t the greatest, so I was looking to mix it up a bit. I loaded the gear into my car and drove to a nice little restaurant on Mississippi Ave. for a pre-show meal. I wasn’t sure where I’d end up, but there’s a spot on Alberta near the Radio Room that looks promising.

It was blazing hot, though, so I knew I’d have to wait until at least 8pm before trying to play music out on the street. As I was eating alone (not a pre-show ritual or anything, just Señora Demasiado was out of town) I finished a little early, about 7:45pm, so I just wandered around the neighborhood a little.

The sidewalks were pretty crowded, and I began to wonder about playing music right around here. It’s tough, though, because the sidewalk is pretty narrow on Mississippi; I couldn’t just set up any old place. Also, a lot of the ground floor businesses, although closed for the day, have tenants living upstairs, and I don’t want to bother anyone in their own residence.

Then I noticed the light bulb shop (Sunlan Lighting). It’s kind of famous for being cramped, the quippy woman behind the counter who rings up your purchase, and the Lego exhibits in the window. They were closed for the day, and it looks like the place upstairs is just their storage, i.e., no apartments. Perfect.

I set out my benches on the sidewalk, shaded from the setting sun by the clothing drop box, and got my kit together. A couple of songs in, a couple of friends I alerted actually showed up(!) and one even brought a third person. That’s already more audience than I’m used to (on average) so I was well ahead of the game when other people started to hang around.

A crowd of spectators kind of feeds on itself, and I generally had a half-dozen people at any time watching for the next hour. I think I was playing pretty well, and in spite of the heat I was putting on a good, sweaty show. My spot was obscured a little from Mississippi pedestrians until they were right on the corner, and I noticed a couple of times people expressing surprise that it was just one person making all this sound.

And suddenly all eyes were off me. A weird motorcycle-car collision happened, where a motorcycle apparently surged forward and crashed into a car. The motorcycle seemed to get the worst of it, though, and sparks flew. I refrained from playing while the rider’s condition was uncertain, but he got up and pushed his bike to the side of the street and a few minutes later I slowly resumed.

Some of my favorite moments of the evening: the man who made a U-turn on his bike and came back to listen; the number of people who were brave enough to sit on one of my benches–it’s oddly difficult getting people to sit down, hot weather or not; and an old friend indulgently tolerating my near butchering of one of his favorite songs, which I hardly play and really should have brushed up on before inflicting on an unsuspecting sidewalk.

But my absolute favorite moment was seeing a police car roll up, lights flashing. This may seem weird, especially after my previous encounter with Portland’s finest. But this time, the police were here to deal with the motorcycle-car crash aftermath. And as a long-time street musician often accused of “disturbing the peace,” I have to tell you, there’s not any much better feeling than seeing the police arrive to deal with someone else!

Well, I’m not one to push my luck. I played a few more songs as dusk settled in, and packed up. Then I had a beer with a couple of buddies, and headed home for the night. Mississippi…and Succeeding!

This was kind of a quick spur of the moment show. I’d had a pretty busy week, and was feeling a little tired–especially my legs–so I was curious if I had the stamina to put on a 30 minute show after all that.

I got to the old familiar spot around 8pm, and realized it had been nearly a month since my last show. This dawned on me when I realized I’d forgotten my old buddies, the benches, and suggested I’d either had a worse week than I thought, or I was just a bit out of practice with the whole street performing thing.

Well, I’ve played a lot of shows without benches, too, so this wasn’t going to stop me. I began playing and everything felt okay. On a warm Portland evening in the Alberta District, there were plenty of pedestrians passing by. It was a pretty typical mix of people: couples on dates walking by me on the far side of the sidewalk; small nuclear families letting Junior take a gander as they push his stroller past; groups of teens with a couple of people (sarcastically?) dancing as they go by; iPodders who already have their music, thank you very much; sly video-snappers who walk past without even making eye contact, as they stare at their phone making sure the shot is framed; and the poor unfortunates trying to eat vegan Mexican food at the restaurant across the street.

It’s easy to think you’re wasting your time playing music for strangers because you often get so little feedback. I don’t recall any kind of applause, but I did get a few encouraging smiles, as if to say, “Keep at it…maybe you’ll get better.” So I kept at it about 45 minutes, and called it a night.

I wasn’t in the greatest mood by the end. There’s this thing people do where they walk past, then stop to watch just out of the corner of my eye, while I’d much prefer someone to stand closer and be more like an audience, not so much like a spy sneaking a peek from behind a mailbox (it’s happened). There was also a bit of PWI (photography without interaction) which is a breach of etiquette between spectator and street performer; I’m not looking for money or even applause, but you can at least say something. (Like, maybe ask if it’s okay to photograph?)

I wasn’t in the greatest mood even after a musician (or at least a guy carrying a guitar) stopped for a minute and gave me a thumbs-up, although I did feel a little better. And a nice young man did actually stop during my last song, and he asked about my drum kit, and if I’d made it. I told him no, I didn’t and while this didn’t seem to bother him, I was feeling insecure, like he was re-evaluating what he’d watched and I was coming up short. So I added, “I didn’t make the guitar, either.” I was trying to refute a point he wasn’t even making, trying to prove that it’s not who built the drums, it’s who plays them that matters in the moment. It was awkward, and it made me feel worse than anything else that happened night.

So if you read this, kind young man: I’m sorry for my snippiness. To answer your question more properly, no, I did mot make my own drum kit. I bought it from a fine craftsman who makes folk instruments for a living. Please check out the Farmer Foot Drums website for more information. Or see my FAQ.

I’m going to cool it on Alberta and 21s for a while. Seems like we’re not too sweet on each other lately.