Oh God, what’s that strum strum strum noise?…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s featured fruit is the inscrutable pomegranate; pale skinned and blotchy, sulking there on the kitchen window sill, keeping its clever ruby-like interior, and its bitter pith to itself for the time being…
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No, I don’t like buskers, street entertainers. They are a bit like graffiti ‘artists’ – these people force their art into the environment with no regard to us poor saps who have to walk past and be annoyed by it… Hm…
‘You don’t like all buskers, and all graffiti artists Dave?’ I hear you ask.
That’s right…
‘What about street theatre then?’
Oh god! Don’t get me started on that atrocity! Mime performers handing you invisible bunches of flowers – Good god! I could so easily punch their stupid, head tilted, staring, open-mouthed, white faces!… But no, of course I don’t like it…
No, back to buskers: It’s the music I suppose. I’m not one of those people who think ‘all music is wonderful‘ – some music is wonderful and stimulating, and can give one goosebumps – I’m getting goosebumps now just writing about it. But of course it’s all a matter of taste, and my taste is probably not very ‘mainstream’. People can like whatever they want to, but I don’t think much of them forcing it on complete strangers in the street.
I love music that has passion, that says something about the state of being human, that has clever and interesting elements secreted in it. You don’t get buskers playing stuff like that. They go for ‘nice’ inoffensive, ‘popular’ pleasant music – tunes that ‘everyone will like’, and generally they play it completely without passion or feeling… Strum strum strum…
Yes, the ones I dislike the most are those guitar strumming singers with their whining voices, and their horribly loud battery-powered PA systems – I feel my hands twitch and clench into fists in my pockets as one of them launches into a limp version of ‘Wonderwall’, or some other Britpop tat… No, no, I wouldn’t actually resort to violence – except in my head of course, but one day I might tip over the edge and shout out, ‘Shut up, you bland anodyne bugger!… You need an aesthetic kick up the arse!…’
Then of course, you get posh kids who bring out their cellos and violins and folding chairs, and churn out great dollops of ‘lovely’ Mozart – god, they are relentless, and loud!
Oh, hang on, I do remember one busker here in Dulltown; he was young, scruffy, a punk, and definitely not a very nice person; he was quite keen on alcohol and a good variety of drugs; he thrashed away on a horrible cheap guitar, and sang his own songs which were full of anger, humour, and aggression… and yes, passion… I don’t think he was trying to ‘entertain’ or be ‘nice’ at all. I haven’t seen him for a while, he has probably succumbed to the excesses of his ‘colourful’ lifestyle. He was alright, I always chucked some loose change in his tin…