The Detroit Troubador - Stories from Detroit & Beyond "EASTWARD HO"

The Detroit Troubador - Stories From Michigan and Beyond
"Eastward Ho"

I'm an aging performer in one of the hardest cities in America, Detroit, MI, so tomorrow, I’ll head to the east coast to busk in the subway. It's where I learned to play, write my first songs, hone my performance chops.

Last time I played in a New York subway, it was so hot it felt like swimming in a pool of my own sweat with an acoustic guitar welded to my chest. Two songs in, my shirt was drenched in so much sweat you could have wrung it out. I made $500 and spent it all on hotels and transportation. Tomorrow I’ll do it all again, maybe staying with friends this time to retain some cash.

 

Musician D. Blair Busking at Christopher St. (PHOTO BY TIFFANY L. CLARK)

To save dough, I’ll take a Greyhound Bus, where the people are always interesting, to say the least. My last bus trip was spent with two younger dudes discussing the eastern expansion of The Crips,  a dude who looked like Prince,s ave for the tattoo shrieking across his neck, and a woman who seemed until she started speaking to white people in what sounded like Swahili, but probably wasn’t.

When these folks walked away, she'd address them as if they were members of her church congregation. A dude in a Lynard Skynard shirt became Sister Elizabeth to whom she beckoned, "I know you brought your good book Sister Elizabeth. Now start proseletyzin'." "Sister Elizabeth" was freaked out to say the least. He was a young white dude leaving Denver, where he'd left his $1400 Blue Pit with a girl who, while he was in jail, traded the dog for Percocets. He was 20 years old and had hair like Leo Sayer... Richard Simmons...? I'm dating myself.

When busking I wonder if I show my age. I like to reinterpret  pop songs of yesterday or in currency. My underground concerts consist of originals and covers by Radiohead, Talking Heads, Stevie Wonder, Tracy Chapman, Bob Dylan, Bjork, Ani Difranco, Paul Simon, Rhianna, The Killers, Tom Waits.

It’s an art learning what people will like in the West Village. They don't like being intruded upon. They want to be enticed, surprised. It’s my favorite when passengers enter the turnstiles, see my guitar, proceed to a far end of the platform only to return to me, with a few bucks at the first sweet words of Hallelujah. Of all the songs I do in the subway, this is the  favorite. Regulars request it. Cheshire Cats and Mona Lisa’s stand nearby singing softly to themselves... "Hallelujah / Halleluuuujah" It's almost religious.

Seventy-year-olds thank me for playing Leonard Cohen, thirty-somethings for playing Jeff Buckley. One woman, about 50 her hair in a bun, dropped a dollar in my case saying, "I love Shrek," reminding me that I found it odd hearing it in the movie when I watched it with a friend’s family while on tour.

But there's no tour happening now.

Next big thing for me is a trip to Siberia in late September. I'll read at an international youth conference, fly home by way of a Universtiy performance in Wales, then stop by Antwerp. Early 2011, I’m reading at The West Palm Beach Poetry Festival on the same bill as Pulitzer Prize winners and Genius Award recipients.

But for now, I'm broke and headed east, like a Crip, because there's money to be made underground. I'll use it to turn the lights on in my apartment. They’ve been off for over a month now. For me and lots of Michiganders, life is a struggle. Yes, I could get a job at KFC or something and take care of it, but I not only value, I need the time I have to read, write and practice, even if it is by candle light. And truth be told, I can deal for another month and a half if it means having good poems and strong songs to take to my international performances.

I'm not getting younger. My time as a small time rock star here in Detroit and beyond is perhaps behind me. But I still have tricks up my sleeve, so  please don't count me out. I'm going back to school. I’ll win some grants, attend residencies and workshops. So, I'm an aging artist in one of the hardest cities in America. There's still hope for this city and an old troubador like me... right?