Barred from busking?

Response to: Rapper Tone Oliver makes up to $200 a day on BART. Should he be barred from busking? Article by Rachel Swan Aug. 18, 2019 Updated: Aug. 18, 2019 3:59 p.m.

As a busker, not on BART itself but once or twice in the Powell Street corridors, I gravitated there given the acoustics. It was a dream I had. First, I read a book, with two friends, that I wrote. Passersby were usually positive, probably, I think, because my friends were tall, handsome men, all of us wearing black shirts. A few of the women, who passed complemented them. I think a lot of people walk by because they are busy, intimidated, uncertain of what to do given the snippets of language. The second time, I played music I had improvised and recorded at home, and then played through an amplifier. The BART Police came that day and shut me down. The next time I went, the walls seemed to have closed in, there were homeless people lying around, the air was still, stinking. I couldn’t imagine how my music would not disturb them. My presumptuous behavior had its limits. I understood. But, I want the world to hear what I think is lovely. “But, I want the world to hear what I think is lovely.” I can hear myself saying this. I know it is insensitive. Just being left alone, especially when on a train. No one likes to be stuck listening to someone else’s conversation in an elevator. The rapper on the train must have driven those people crazy. What presumption! I agree that on the train, especially given the horrible acoustics and close quarters, there’s no reason to think it is fair. But, that North-East end of the Powell Street corridor is like gold. What a great way to cut one’s teeth as a performer? When there is more space between people and the performance is great, I never think to complain. Today, I played my iPhone piano with a small portable Bose Amp along Lake Merritt. There were runners and people walking by. I think I cleared the entire grassy bank across the water from me where they have the Children’s Fairyland sign, less one lady with glasses on a yellow towel. I played to her. Literally, this is like a football field away. It was Sunday. You could smell my music like a*s, over the seagull chatter, the passing cars, trees rustling in the wind, and the winding of the chains of occasional bicycles. I am a thief of time and sanity. I get up enough gall as an introvert and scatter my ashes over the lake, anything that gives me enough time to both embarrass myself and perhaps find the lover I am inclined to appeal to. It is an advertisement of self. I am selling any opportunity to make myself known. And, yes I am always cognizant that I am probably a fraud. But, that deep desire wrestles with the fact that one day someone will attack me in a fit of rage, I will be arrested and put away, or perhaps I will touch someone, make that person want to share their story. Hell, I have been so crazy as to attend America’s Got Talent with all the other poor saps. We stood in line without eating for 11 hours. Who does that? I even took time off and flew to LA and got a hotel room and a rental car. I think I am going to be a busker until I am busted. But, I don’t do it for money. I don’t even have a hat. I don’t know why people are being punished for that. You should simply judge them on whether they are irritating or not. Where’s this money thing coming from? Why does that matter? That reason alone makes me think that the proposed ordinance is uglier than anyone who might perform in public. This is what’s wrong with our society. Every decision is tied to money.