A couple years ago during Christmas time, Lisa and I did not play Christmas carols. We were of the mindset that everyone gets sick of Christmas carols around Christmas time since they hear them everywhere every year for their whole lives. Boy were we wrong. So we're doing our usual assortment of covers and originals and this guy dressed like Santa Claus comes up to us reeking of vodka.
"Why don't you play Christmas songs?" he asked.
"People get sick of Christmas songs," we replied. Lisa asked a woman standing near us if she wanted to hear Christmas songs.
"Yes!" she said enthusiastically.
Assuming that this must be some kind of mistake, we tried asking some more people. Lisa asked a guy standing near us, and he was like "I love Christmas songs!" We asked a few more people and pretty much got the same response. The drunk Santa was so adamant about us singing Christmas songs that he stole one of the microphones and was saying "Ho! Ho! Ho!" very loudly into it, whispering to us that he was doing this to protest us not doing Christmas songs.
There were two problems in us doing Christmas songs. #1 we had a general idea of a lot of the songs, but did not really know almost any of the words. #2 We did not know the guitar for any of the songs. So we made a decision right then and there to delve into uncharted territory.
I started singing Wild Horses by the Rolling Stones but changed the lyrics to fit the Christmas spirit- and thus "Wild Reindeer" was born, an epic about a reindeer strike before Christmas and other complications (like Blitzen's drinking) that made Santa nervous he could not get ready in time. You can hear the song at http://www.daveandlisamusic.com/WILDREINDEER People seemed to be loving it and we made good tips. Santa sang along while intermittently taking swigs from his listerine bottle. We were the fab three. We started getting more confident and made new hits like "Friend of Santa" a Grateful Dead parody, and even did Felice Navidad (Lisa knew the Spanish parts), and Santa Clause is coming to town. We did Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah and people even thought that was a Christmas song. In the Subway, you can make a lot of noise with just a few songs.
Drunken Santa started going around the platform shaking everyone's hands, wishing them a Merry Christmas and giving them gifts from a bag he had (that appeared to be samples from the nearby Filene's Basement and Macy's). We were getting along great. For 2 hours we were on cloud nine or as they say in Christmas lingo at the North Pole. Drunken Santa even gave me an extra Santa hat and made me an honorary Christmas helper.
Part II: The Three Stages of Drunkeness
It has seemed to me over the years that there are three stages of drunkeness:
#1 There's the phase where your inhibitions start to go away, and you start feeling happy.
#2 There is a feeling of elation, like you are on top of the world (think Leo DiCaprio in Titanic: "I'm king of the world!"; on second thought maybe don't think that), the world is your party.
#3 Complete anger, rage, and madness!
We watched our Santa friend go through all of these stages and even some new uncharted frontiers as he continued to take swigs from the Listerine bottles. We at first got comfortable and chummy together like we were the Scooby Doo gang: he could have been Shaggy and I was Scooby and Lisa was Daphne or something like that. But as time progressed, Santa's (or Shaggy's- I think I'm losing the analogy here) inhibitions had him saying some not so nice things to Daphne. He yelled at her when she tried to play an original song, and said that when she sang he just did not feel it. It was like being at a party and everyone's digging their favorite song and then someone tampers with the record and there is this giant scratching noise.
Part III: The Escape Artist
One of the requirements of being a subway musician is the ability to get out of a situation, no matter how difficult. We are social escape artists, if you will. We had a problem here. Daphne was not happy because Shaggy had eaten too many Scooby snacks and had to go. But how do you tell a jolly, Listerine drinking Santa who is starting to get agressive that it's time to go? The way I chose was an analogy.
"Remember when the Beatles and the Rolling Stones did a Christmas concert together in the 60's? They did that show, and it was great, but after the show they went back to their own thing and did their own shows. I'm sorry man, we've had a great show, but I feel that we are holding you back, and you could have a great show at a different spot."
"You mean I'm holding you back!" he said.
My analogy was not working that well (maybe we are not quite social escape artists, but we strive for it). "No, we're holding you back. We did a great show together, and now it is time to do our own shows- Beatles and Stones, man!"
It was sad. It was like being with a friend that when you first met everything clicked and was perfect but then some time later, you said too much, got too close, learned too much about each other. Or maybe it wasn't exactly like that. But for a moment, it was beautiful. I will never forget you drunk Santa, singing your songs handing out your gifts and shaking hands with the good people of the T while drinking your listerine.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Saturday, February 05, 2005
My Worst Day Ever
My worst day, or worst couple of hours in the subway occurred about a week before this past Christmas. Lisa and I tried to get Redline Park Street spot, but our talented friend John, the classical guitar player, had beaten us there and expert fingerpicker, Michael Sullivan, had the spot for the remainder of the evening.
John suggested that we try upstairs at the Park Street Green Line spot. Unfortunately, the Park Street elevator was broken so we had to carry our 200 pounds of equipment up the stairs, while dodging hundreds of rush hour commuters scrambling to their connections. We set up upstairs and it was impossible to hear yourself think. The problem with playing the Green line is that there are always trains coming in or out because there are five different trains and there are three different tracks at that spot. It reminded me of living next to Route nine as a child as noisy trucks and cars came wizzing by.
We tried playing for about 15 minutes but no one could make out any of our lyrics and it was like we were not there. One guy got into us and asked if we played the Middle East or places like that and we gave him a gig card. A Berklee student came by and we immediately gave her the spot. She quickly set up all of her equipment next to us as we dismantled and took our stuff to Downtown Crossing to try our luck there.
Lisa went to get some food and make a phone call, and right when I set up I was immediately hassled by an MBTA employee. He complained that I did not have an MBTA ID around my kneck. This week it had been near freezing temperatures and I could not fit an ID around my kneck because like him, I had on a thick jacket and a scarf, and it was impossible for this little badge to fit around this. He went on to tell me that it wasn't placed well in my case, and the whole point of the badges is for us to wear them so they know that we're not terrorists or something like that.
(As a side note, I just read in the Boston Globe that in New Mexico, legislation is being passed that strippers must also wear ID badges. Do they think that strippers could also be terrorists? Or do city officials want an easier time of getting strippers contact info for private parties? Now they can get their real names and numbers, cuz before they would try to look up Amber or Star and get the wrong one? Subway musician and stripper badges, what's next? At least we are in good company.)
When Lisa got back, I was like this day sucks and I want to go home. She wanted to wait it out another hour to see if it would get better. The month before we had had some amazing days at this spot when the Red Sox had won the world series, and we were hoping with the Christmas spirit and all that it would still be good. I had been playing an hour by myself at this point and did not have that much to show for it.
I'm playing Simple Twist of Fate, and Lisa is eating a slice of pizza, and all of a sudden these three teenagers proceed to huddle around the case and check out the CD's. All of a sudden like synchronized swimmers, they simultaneously dive into the case, scoop up all of our money and run.
This was the last straw. Lisa was starting to agree with me at this point that the spot was not working out that well. I felt bad for these kids, because their pranks will probably get more and more serious until they could be shuffled through the US prison system, and it all started off robbing someone singing a Dylan song. To add insult to injury, they continued to tell me how much I sucked as they ran away.
(Atleast they didn't try to steal a song. I read in the Globe yesterday that an 83 year old dead woman was being sued by record companies for millions of dollars for illegally trading hundreds of pop and rap songs on her computer. It was later found that she did not like rap or pop and neither had nor knew how to use a computer, though the record companies did not drop the charges until they found out she was dead.)
A nice guy on the platform gave me a ten dollar bill after this happenned and urged me to quickly put it away before it gets stolen. Lisa and I start packing up. A man with a cowboy hat is getting off a train and walks towards us as Lisa is emptying the case and putting away the stuff. He has over 4 feet between us and the yellow line to walk by but instead decides to stop and glare at us.
"Get out of my way!" he yells at us. "You guys are blocking the platform." As he walks away I proceed to do what any good citizen would do at this point: give him the bird. It's funny how so many days are so great in the subway, but every once in a while you can have this day that is so bad that it is almost surreal. Maybe somewhere in this tragedy is the birth of comedy : )
John suggested that we try upstairs at the Park Street Green Line spot. Unfortunately, the Park Street elevator was broken so we had to carry our 200 pounds of equipment up the stairs, while dodging hundreds of rush hour commuters scrambling to their connections. We set up upstairs and it was impossible to hear yourself think. The problem with playing the Green line is that there are always trains coming in or out because there are five different trains and there are three different tracks at that spot. It reminded me of living next to Route nine as a child as noisy trucks and cars came wizzing by.
We tried playing for about 15 minutes but no one could make out any of our lyrics and it was like we were not there. One guy got into us and asked if we played the Middle East or places like that and we gave him a gig card. A Berklee student came by and we immediately gave her the spot. She quickly set up all of her equipment next to us as we dismantled and took our stuff to Downtown Crossing to try our luck there.
Lisa went to get some food and make a phone call, and right when I set up I was immediately hassled by an MBTA employee. He complained that I did not have an MBTA ID around my kneck. This week it had been near freezing temperatures and I could not fit an ID around my kneck because like him, I had on a thick jacket and a scarf, and it was impossible for this little badge to fit around this. He went on to tell me that it wasn't placed well in my case, and the whole point of the badges is for us to wear them so they know that we're not terrorists or something like that.
(As a side note, I just read in the Boston Globe that in New Mexico, legislation is being passed that strippers must also wear ID badges. Do they think that strippers could also be terrorists? Or do city officials want an easier time of getting strippers contact info for private parties? Now they can get their real names and numbers, cuz before they would try to look up Amber or Star and get the wrong one? Subway musician and stripper badges, what's next? At least we are in good company.)
When Lisa got back, I was like this day sucks and I want to go home. She wanted to wait it out another hour to see if it would get better. The month before we had had some amazing days at this spot when the Red Sox had won the world series, and we were hoping with the Christmas spirit and all that it would still be good. I had been playing an hour by myself at this point and did not have that much to show for it.
I'm playing Simple Twist of Fate, and Lisa is eating a slice of pizza, and all of a sudden these three teenagers proceed to huddle around the case and check out the CD's. All of a sudden like synchronized swimmers, they simultaneously dive into the case, scoop up all of our money and run.
This was the last straw. Lisa was starting to agree with me at this point that the spot was not working out that well. I felt bad for these kids, because their pranks will probably get more and more serious until they could be shuffled through the US prison system, and it all started off robbing someone singing a Dylan song. To add insult to injury, they continued to tell me how much I sucked as they ran away.
(Atleast they didn't try to steal a song. I read in the Globe yesterday that an 83 year old dead woman was being sued by record companies for millions of dollars for illegally trading hundreds of pop and rap songs on her computer. It was later found that she did not like rap or pop and neither had nor knew how to use a computer, though the record companies did not drop the charges until they found out she was dead.)
A nice guy on the platform gave me a ten dollar bill after this happenned and urged me to quickly put it away before it gets stolen. Lisa and I start packing up. A man with a cowboy hat is getting off a train and walks towards us as Lisa is emptying the case and putting away the stuff. He has over 4 feet between us and the yellow line to walk by but instead decides to stop and glare at us.
"Get out of my way!" he yells at us. "You guys are blocking the platform." As he walks away I proceed to do what any good citizen would do at this point: give him the bird. It's funny how so many days are so great in the subway, but every once in a while you can have this day that is so bad that it is almost surreal. Maybe somewhere in this tragedy is the birth of comedy : )
Friday, February 04, 2005
My Second Worst Subway Day Ever
I didn't play as much as I would have liked during the blizzard. It can be very hard to play the subway when it's cold out and there's lots of snow. It's weird, I don't mind playing the subway in the summer- it's nice and cool down there. One summer I played Harvard Sq. outside with a band and it would hit 90 degrees on some days and my stuff would start to melt.
One winter about 4 years ago during January, I had just gotten a new Crate limo and wanted to try it out. It did not cross my mind that it was one of the coldest days of the year. I got down to Park Street and this excellent classical guitarist Julian was there, and seemed to be doing pretty good, though he said it wasn't as good because of the cold. A Berklee student was there and he was so excited about getting to watch me play the subway. He was interested in buying an amp and trying it out himself.
Park Street is a good spot, late morning to early afternoon, and after 7PM to closing. But during morning and evening rushhour its is the pitts. Figure in that it was -20 below zero and you get the picture. So this very enthusiastic Berklee student is watching me for like 8 trains going by, and no one tips me the entire time. I felt like a leper. People would look at their pockets, and look at me and notice how they could see the cloud of their on breath and did not want to even try to attempt to take their wallets out.
I felt butterflies in my stomach and my head started spinning from the cold. I felt like a leper that everyone was trying to avoid like the plague. The Berklee student who seemed way less enthusiastic about playing the subways himself by then took a few pennies and nickels and through them to me, and said, "Sorry this is all I have," quickly avoiding my gaze in fear of catching my leper disease.
I felt tension in my face as I sang the songs. I just got to the point where I couldn't take it any more. I packed up my stuff, bundled up, and walked home through the New England Artic Chill.
One winter about 4 years ago during January, I had just gotten a new Crate limo and wanted to try it out. It did not cross my mind that it was one of the coldest days of the year. I got down to Park Street and this excellent classical guitarist Julian was there, and seemed to be doing pretty good, though he said it wasn't as good because of the cold. A Berklee student was there and he was so excited about getting to watch me play the subway. He was interested in buying an amp and trying it out himself.
Park Street is a good spot, late morning to early afternoon, and after 7PM to closing. But during morning and evening rushhour its is the pitts. Figure in that it was -20 below zero and you get the picture. So this very enthusiastic Berklee student is watching me for like 8 trains going by, and no one tips me the entire time. I felt like a leper. People would look at their pockets, and look at me and notice how they could see the cloud of their on breath and did not want to even try to attempt to take their wallets out.
I felt butterflies in my stomach and my head started spinning from the cold. I felt like a leper that everyone was trying to avoid like the plague. The Berklee student who seemed way less enthusiastic about playing the subways himself by then took a few pennies and nickels and through them to me, and said, "Sorry this is all I have," quickly avoiding my gaze in fear of catching my leper disease.
I felt tension in my face as I sang the songs. I just got to the point where I couldn't take it any more. I packed up my stuff, bundled up, and walked home through the New England Artic Chill.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Parakeet and the Psychotic Real Estate Agent
Here's a story from a couple years ago before we had a blog or lived in Cambridge. My, we've come a long way (or have we?)
8/29/2002
Found a stray parakeet the other day and became friends with him. I risked my life for him, protecting him from a neighbor that was trying to catch the bird with a crow bar. The bird is alive and well, and has been adopted by some of our nice neighbors. It seemed that the bird really liked the grass in front of our house and stayed there for a few hours. This has got to be some really cool grass.
Otherwise my life has been pretty unexciting except for being trapped in a car with a psychotic real estate agent for 4 hours ("It has air conditioning, you buy this place now or it will be gone in -3.14 minutes"), who proceeded to show us an apartment near the Kendall Cafe in Cambridge that was okay except that it was missing a stove, sink, toilet, and parts of the ceiling and floor. The walls were a lovely collage of exposed wires and plaster.
"I guarantee the place will be ready by September First, " said the psychotic real estate agent, "They're working on it day and night." I looked at my watch and it was 2 o'clock in the afternoon on a weekday, and there were no work men to be seen within a 5 mile radius of the place. "You'll be in Kendall Square, next to the movie theatre and the Kendall Café! Only $1300/month !!! Don't I show you guys the best places??"
I wanted to inform this woman that large parts of the floor were missing, but then decided that some things are just best left unsaid. "Airconditioning," she quipped.
Luckily, we found a cheaper (and better) apartment in Winter Hill without the help of a real estate agent, but that's another blog entry. . .
8/29/2002
Found a stray parakeet the other day and became friends with him. I risked my life for him, protecting him from a neighbor that was trying to catch the bird with a crow bar. The bird is alive and well, and has been adopted by some of our nice neighbors. It seemed that the bird really liked the grass in front of our house and stayed there for a few hours. This has got to be some really cool grass.
Otherwise my life has been pretty unexciting except for being trapped in a car with a psychotic real estate agent for 4 hours ("It has air conditioning, you buy this place now or it will be gone in -3.14 minutes"), who proceeded to show us an apartment near the Kendall Cafe in Cambridge that was okay except that it was missing a stove, sink, toilet, and parts of the ceiling and floor. The walls were a lovely collage of exposed wires and plaster.
"I guarantee the place will be ready by September First, " said the psychotic real estate agent, "They're working on it day and night." I looked at my watch and it was 2 o'clock in the afternoon on a weekday, and there were no work men to be seen within a 5 mile radius of the place. "You'll be in Kendall Square, next to the movie theatre and the Kendall Café! Only $1300/month !!! Don't I show you guys the best places??"
I wanted to inform this woman that large parts of the floor were missing, but then decided that some things are just best left unsaid. "Airconditioning," she quipped.
Luckily, we found a cheaper (and better) apartment in Winter Hill without the help of a real estate agent, but that's another blog entry. . .
Monday, January 17, 2005
Frog Pond, Fajitas & Ritas, & Other Capades
Yesterday we went to Frog Pond in the Boston Common to go Ice skating with our great friends Robert and Alice. I learned a lesson that when you go off ice to cement on skates it is good to maintain a speed of 0 miles per hour or you are sure to fall flat on your face.
Rental Ice skates I think were originally an ancient torture device that some entrepreneur decided he could make a buck off of. They have nothing in common with the comfortable skates that you buy in a store. I'm sorry, but what is so comfortable about putting all your weight on your ankles while the top of your foot is lifted unnaturally at a 20 degree angle up from your heel. This seems like something the mafia would make you wear if you owed them money.
Otherwise, I really enjoyed the ice skating. It is not everyday that I get to combine four of my five top neuroses:
1) Fear of sharp objects
2) Fear of losing control while moving fast and falling onto a hard surface
3) Fear of other people running you over with sharp objects
4) Fear of death (see fears 1-3)
All you need is the fear of heights thrown in there, and we've run the entire gamut. How about ice skating on top of a cliff with no protective guard rail. Or how about ice skating on top of a tall building like the Prudential or the Empire State Building with lots of people and no guard rail. Why not play Hockey on top of the Empire State Building while you are at it. (I'm just venting, I love ice skating... or do I?)
We later went to Fajitas and Ritas which had a great goth atmosphere of free world graffiti and killer watered down Sangria. Who ever came up with the idea for this place is a genius. It's hard to find and that makes it exta special. Also, they took the charm of the graffiti written all over the bathroom stalls at the Middle East and made it a centerpiece of the restaurant. What other restaurant could you go to where you would find the name of someone's mother written on the wall next to you and a phone number saying, "For a good time call this number."
We started covering our table with graffiti immediately. They should really do this with more restaurants. It was hidden off of West Street, near the Park Street T spot. Robert and I braved the scallop quaesadillas which were very interesting to say the least. You can't go wrong with free all you can eat tortillas and salsa.
We saw Michael Sullivan on the way home, performing at the Park St. T station, so we talked to him for a bit, and listened to his beautiful music.
Michael Sullivan has a lot of great songs. Our favorite is "Becky's Tune" which we heard on a tape made by David White (a musician friend of Lisa's who tragically committed suicide), and a new love song that he played for us. Michael does great renditions of old folk tunes as well, like "Streets of London" and "Shady Grove". When he's not playing in the subways of Boston, sometimes you can find him on tour with his old friend Michelle Shocked. We loved listening to Michael play, and it was the perfect end to our Taco Ice-Capades day.
Rental Ice skates I think were originally an ancient torture device that some entrepreneur decided he could make a buck off of. They have nothing in common with the comfortable skates that you buy in a store. I'm sorry, but what is so comfortable about putting all your weight on your ankles while the top of your foot is lifted unnaturally at a 20 degree angle up from your heel. This seems like something the mafia would make you wear if you owed them money.
Otherwise, I really enjoyed the ice skating. It is not everyday that I get to combine four of my five top neuroses:
1) Fear of sharp objects
2) Fear of losing control while moving fast and falling onto a hard surface
3) Fear of other people running you over with sharp objects
4) Fear of death (see fears 1-3)
All you need is the fear of heights thrown in there, and we've run the entire gamut. How about ice skating on top of a cliff with no protective guard rail. Or how about ice skating on top of a tall building like the Prudential or the Empire State Building with lots of people and no guard rail. Why not play Hockey on top of the Empire State Building while you are at it. (I'm just venting, I love ice skating... or do I?)
We later went to Fajitas and Ritas which had a great goth atmosphere of free world graffiti and killer watered down Sangria. Who ever came up with the idea for this place is a genius. It's hard to find and that makes it exta special. Also, they took the charm of the graffiti written all over the bathroom stalls at the Middle East and made it a centerpiece of the restaurant. What other restaurant could you go to where you would find the name of someone's mother written on the wall next to you and a phone number saying, "For a good time call this number."
We started covering our table with graffiti immediately. They should really do this with more restaurants. It was hidden off of West Street, near the Park Street T spot. Robert and I braved the scallop quaesadillas which were very interesting to say the least. You can't go wrong with free all you can eat tortillas and salsa.
We saw Michael Sullivan on the way home, performing at the Park St. T station, so we talked to him for a bit, and listened to his beautiful music.
Michael Sullivan has a lot of great songs. Our favorite is "Becky's Tune" which we heard on a tape made by David White (a musician friend of Lisa's who tragically committed suicide), and a new love song that he played for us. Michael does great renditions of old folk tunes as well, like "Streets of London" and "Shady Grove". When he's not playing in the subways of Boston, sometimes you can find him on tour with his old friend Michelle Shocked. We loved listening to Michael play, and it was the perfect end to our Taco Ice-Capades day.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
The Entrepreneurial Spirit (by Lisa)
It seems like every time we go down to play in the subways, we see people selling unusual stuff. If you look closely at the wares of the "Magazine Man" at Harvard, you will find, amongst his ancient porn and "Better Homes & Gardens", ten year old copies of "PC World". I have no idea who would be interested in buying ten year old copies of a computer trade magazine, but perhaps I am the fool for not snatching them up quicker, as they may be valuable collector's items waiting to happen.
We also won't soon forget the woman at Park Street who we saw selling buttons that say "This is the Only Bush I Like" with a picture of a woman's you-know-what. She seemed to be doing quite well in the pre-election season.
The most unusual sales people we have seen down in the subway, however, were two women selling perfume. The two women, who were wearing long cotton dresses and hijabs, decided to try their luck one day selling perfume near where we were playing. They greeted us with a smile, then proceeded to set up a display of their perfume bottles on top of a nearby trash can. When a promising looking man or woman came into range, they would lead him or her over to the trash can to smell some samples of their fine perfumes.
At one point, the subway cleanup guy came to empty out the trash can, and waited patiently while the women lifted their bottles, one by one, and put them away so he could empty the trash. When he was gone, they neatly set up their bottles again, and resumed business as usual.
They seemed to be having a hard day, and Dave & I considered mentioning to them that a trash can might not be the most appetizing way to display perfume and that they might perhaps want to consider investing in a folding card table, but they must have sold some bottles while we weren't looking, because after about two hours they waved goodbye to us, smiled, and tipped us sweetly before boarding the train to head to their next location.
We also won't soon forget the woman at Park Street who we saw selling buttons that say "This is the Only Bush I Like" with a picture of a woman's you-know-what. She seemed to be doing quite well in the pre-election season.
The most unusual sales people we have seen down in the subway, however, were two women selling perfume. The two women, who were wearing long cotton dresses and hijabs, decided to try their luck one day selling perfume near where we were playing. They greeted us with a smile, then proceeded to set up a display of their perfume bottles on top of a nearby trash can. When a promising looking man or woman came into range, they would lead him or her over to the trash can to smell some samples of their fine perfumes.
At one point, the subway cleanup guy came to empty out the trash can, and waited patiently while the women lifted their bottles, one by one, and put them away so he could empty the trash. When he was gone, they neatly set up their bottles again, and resumed business as usual.
They seemed to be having a hard day, and Dave & I considered mentioning to them that a trash can might not be the most appetizing way to display perfume and that they might perhaps want to consider investing in a folding card table, but they must have sold some bottles while we weren't looking, because after about two hours they waved goodbye to us, smiled, and tipped us sweetly before boarding the train to head to their next location.
Monday, January 03, 2005
A 90 Foot Sausage or a Dance with Your Eldest Daughter
Lisa and I both came down with the flu this past week. Despite our maladies, our awesome friend, Robert, insisted we come to his New Year's extravaganza. Apparently, we were going to perform a New Brunswick New Years tradition of going from house to house and singing a Cajun/French song asking for a 90 foot sausage, or, if they don't have that, a dance with their eldest daughter. When Lisa and I got to Robert's apartment, we were welcomed by a surly violin player and Robert's friends from New Brunswick, Mark and his girlfriend Tania, and the scrumptious aromas of food from "Bob the Chef's".
Robert had this really nice oriental rug in the middle of the floor which I did not see when I first walked in with my snow covered shoes. Then Lisa, heaping her plate with vegetarian greens, collards, rice and potatoe salad, sits down at the table and accidentally drops her food on the floor onto the expensive Oriental rug. When we sit at the table and replace the food, Lisa keeps leaning on the table and I look underneath the table and become aware that it is in fact not a table, but a piece of wood balanced on a small box. So every time Lisa leans on the table, I watch it go up 15 degrees and am nervous that my jambolaya, beer, and other acoutrements will go flying onto the rug.
We start learning the song in French, and I'm having a little trouble getting the words right. But it works out pretty well. Robert and Mark would say the part first while Lisa, Tania and me would repeat each verse in call and response. Each of us knew about a third of the lyrics, and it seemed that one of us would know the lyrics that the other one didn't know.
After practicing a few times we added in the violin and soon we were ready to hit the streets. We first hit the brownstones on Comm. Ave. It appeared that at 10 PM, alot of people were either out at parties, sleeping, watching Dick Clark's New Year's special, or at First Night. We knocked at a few doors and rang a few bells, but did not get much of a response at first. So, after getting turned away from a building by a disgruntled security guard, we hit the streets for a bit and sang to lots of Boston fans who enjoyed the violinist's Christmas carols as well as our French song and usually responded with the usual, Happy New Years, and go Red Sox. We sang the song to some people in a limo.
I had to go to the bathroom and I find as a rule, the nicer the place you choose to go to the bathroom in Boston, the more chance they will let you use it. You could stop at a small bar or pizza parlor or a convenience store or fast food place, and they will turn you away unless you are a customer. If you go to the Ritz Carleton or Eliot House, you will have the most enjoyable bathroom experience unhassled.
At the Eliot House, we had groupies calling to us from their rooms begging for our French carol. We even got our first tip on the streets of Boston singing our song for a couple waiting for a taxi in front of the hotel. The Doorman loved our carol so much, he was sad when we left. It should be said that no one gave us a 60 foot sausage or a dance with their eldest daughter.
At about 10 minutes to New Year's we passed a party where they were celebrating the new year with some hip hop dance music from their balcony. They invited us to their party, but we decided to sing to them from the street. When we told them we were going to do a Cajun carol, they said "Sure! What ever!!". They turned down the rap music and danced to our song.
It was 3 minutes to New Years and we were right near the Prudential. Mark opened up the champagne and we danced around the streets and toasted in the New Year. We got a lot of the night on film, which which I will stream from this blog as soon as it is ready.
Robert had this really nice oriental rug in the middle of the floor which I did not see when I first walked in with my snow covered shoes. Then Lisa, heaping her plate with vegetarian greens, collards, rice and potatoe salad, sits down at the table and accidentally drops her food on the floor onto the expensive Oriental rug. When we sit at the table and replace the food, Lisa keeps leaning on the table and I look underneath the table and become aware that it is in fact not a table, but a piece of wood balanced on a small box. So every time Lisa leans on the table, I watch it go up 15 degrees and am nervous that my jambolaya, beer, and other acoutrements will go flying onto the rug.
We start learning the song in French, and I'm having a little trouble getting the words right. But it works out pretty well. Robert and Mark would say the part first while Lisa, Tania and me would repeat each verse in call and response. Each of us knew about a third of the lyrics, and it seemed that one of us would know the lyrics that the other one didn't know.
After practicing a few times we added in the violin and soon we were ready to hit the streets. We first hit the brownstones on Comm. Ave. It appeared that at 10 PM, alot of people were either out at parties, sleeping, watching Dick Clark's New Year's special, or at First Night. We knocked at a few doors and rang a few bells, but did not get much of a response at first. So, after getting turned away from a building by a disgruntled security guard, we hit the streets for a bit and sang to lots of Boston fans who enjoyed the violinist's Christmas carols as well as our French song and usually responded with the usual, Happy New Years, and go Red Sox. We sang the song to some people in a limo.
I had to go to the bathroom and I find as a rule, the nicer the place you choose to go to the bathroom in Boston, the more chance they will let you use it. You could stop at a small bar or pizza parlor or a convenience store or fast food place, and they will turn you away unless you are a customer. If you go to the Ritz Carleton or Eliot House, you will have the most enjoyable bathroom experience unhassled.
At the Eliot House, we had groupies calling to us from their rooms begging for our French carol. We even got our first tip on the streets of Boston singing our song for a couple waiting for a taxi in front of the hotel. The Doorman loved our carol so much, he was sad when we left. It should be said that no one gave us a 60 foot sausage or a dance with their eldest daughter.
At about 10 minutes to New Year's we passed a party where they were celebrating the new year with some hip hop dance music from their balcony. They invited us to their party, but we decided to sing to them from the street. When we told them we were going to do a Cajun carol, they said "Sure! What ever!!". They turned down the rap music and danced to our song.
It was 3 minutes to New Years and we were right near the Prudential. Mark opened up the champagne and we danced around the streets and toasted in the New Year. We got a lot of the night on film, which which I will stream from this blog as soon as it is ready.
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