The Littlest Prima Donna

Mortifying. Humiliating. Never again! Those words pumped through my mind almost as fast as my heart was beating, during my first attempt. Imagine how it would feel if you were forced to go into a crowded city mall and scream for a long time at the top of your lungs. That will give you some idea of how vulnerable I felt. I am a busker. Not your average, “garden variety” busker. I am a busking opera singer. I have a highly trained voice, honed over many years of singing lessons. For the first, entire year I went busking, I felt like an exhibitionist willingly stringing myself out to be humiliated. A concertgoer who pays for a ticket knows what kind of act to expect. That kind of audience already consists of potential fans that are easily won over. This is not the case with an audience on the street, when opera singing is taken out of its usual context and imposed on bystanders. As a busking opera singer, I had no guitar or drum kit to hide behind. Nor could I rely on grinding out some “hip-hop” dance moves to delight the crowd. Though I am petite and youthful looking for my age, there is no denying I am still middle-aged. I should have already “made it” by now. Nobody was going to encourage me for being a pretty, young ingénue who was “giving it a go”. My only way to win people over was through my voice. For a street singer, especially an opera singer, ego is the enemy. After years of toil on vocal technique and having spent many thousands of dollars on singing lessons, it is too easy to weigh your entire self-worth on the number of coins that end up in your busking basket. On my initial busking expeditions, I brought with me a tiny, portable CD player on which to play backing tracks. I might as well not have bothered. Against the sounds of people talking, sirens blaring and traffic noise, I could barely hear the backing music even when I held the CD player right up against my ear. To the public, it sounded as if I was singing A Capella. Since then, I’ve upgraded my equipment. I invested in a portable, rechargeable sound system that amplifies the musical backing tracks stored on my Smart Phone. Into this amplifier I can also plug in a microphone. My “orchestra in a phone” serves me well. The result is that I now do much better as a busker. Sometimes life forces you to stretch in a way you would never plan for yourself. Due to financial struggles, I was forced to busk as a way to supplement my income as an Accounts Payable contractor. When a “temp” job ended it was very handy to have this additional skill to call upon. Busking allowed me to survive between one office job ending, and the next one commencing. I could also work two jobs. For a long time, by day I worked in Accounts Payable. I was an ordinary office worker just like most of the “white collar” population. In my spare time, I lived a more colorful, bohemian life as an opera-singing street performer. Now, I am trying my hand as full time singer, earning my income mostly from busking. I hope not to go back to Accounts. My singing can be heard from inside skyscrapers. I get visitors who live in nearby buildings, who have heard me as high up as the 31st floor, or while working on rooftops. They take the trouble to make the trip downstairs to give me 5-dollar bills! There have been times I’ve hated having to busk. There is physical danger. You can be pummeled by the elements and hassled by shopkeepers, beggars and other buskers. Not to forget, there are always hecklers. Mostly, busking has been my salvation in so many ways. After years of being turned away for work at the top level of the classical music industry, through busking I learned I was actually “good enough” in the eyes of the ticket buying public. I found my audience. A general public made up of all age groups, diverse economic backgrounds and many different nationalities embraced me. My fans include paying concertgoers, professional musicians, people who have never even liked classical music before, and those who cannot ever afford to go to the opera. Through busking, I realized I hadn’t wasted my life crafting a specialist skill that nobody wanted to listen to. Busking has taught me so much about life and people that I never could have envisaged. It has opened my eyes as to the subcultures that exist out on our city streets. I’ve seen close up that generosity has nothing to do with how much wealth one has. One of the most profoundly moving gifts was when someone donated 50 cents to me, while apologizing he couldn’t give more because “I have to keep enough money for a phone call.” I regularly receive gifts from the homeless, including bread rolls, cigarettes (I don’t smoke), chocolate bars, feathers and stamps. One dear little Aussie “battler” even told me he is stockpiling tins of tuna on my behalf—so I will never starve! Sometimes destitute people dressed in rags, and frail elderly citizens carrying lots of bags, give me $10 bills. They insist I take their money even when I tell them they needn’t give what they cannot afford. On the downside, I’ve learned that earning money right under the eyes of desperately needy people can be very dangerous. I’ve been attacked and received serious threats. Busking should be entered into with caution. Beggars and criminals who inhabit the busker’s “work place” view the street performer as their direct competition for “coin”. Overall, I am very grateful that in Sydney, Australia, we as buskers are allowed to use this beautiful city as our stage. This book is based on actual events that have happened to me on the streets of Sydney while busking. These stories have been arranged in no particular order, to give the reader the most true to life experience of busking. In real life, anything can, and will happen. Busking is very “random” but never, ever boring! I could have the worst day ever and resolve never to busk again, when the next moment, something wonderful happens. I have come to love riding the roller coaster ride that is busking.