7. Ma the far Cass (Part One)

Ma the far Cass 

 

With Brexit almost breaking, Paris in flames and the planet’s current super-power ‘governed’ by a select team of caring, globalist multi-millionaires, led by a larger-than-life Tango-Troll, it is easy to understand why, at this moment, the question on everyone’s lips is, of course, “What are the top ten things that really piss off a busker?” 

Well, allow me: 

(In no particular order. And by no means comprehensive. In fact, this is probably just Part One of a fucking encyclopedia:) 

 

• Announcements 

Whether advising you there is a good service on all lines (even when there most certainly is not), suggesting you choose today to try out using your contactless credit card to travel (when you’re already underground and thus almost certainly using your Oyster) or instructing you, in great detail, exactly how to use an escalator, right down to where to put your fucking hands… Don’t get me started. We’ll explore this further, some other time. 

 

• Being photographed or filmed 

This, in itself, is not such a problem, of course, as the narcissistic tendencies that drove us to become performers / poets / clowns mean that we love the attention. It’s the behaviour that so often accompanies the filming that is the problem. As it will so often involve disrupting the flow of passengers making their way to the trains, their own politeness making them avoid stepping between the camera and the subject (as if the filming is somehow endorsed by the subject), ultimately (almost invariably) concluding with the film-maker shuffling off without even looking up from the screen, let alone acknowledging that the subject they’ve just digitally captured is anything more than a jiggling puppet. Fuckers. 

Having said that… 

 

• NOT being photographed or filmed 

Sometimes, especially after three solid hours of playing to a particularly receptive and appreciative audience, when every note is being hit to perfection, every move is textbook, and you’re on fucking FIRE (not literally, that would be horrible), seeing people sauntering by with phone in hand, and NOT actually filming… there are fewer bigger insults. Sometimes, one cannot help but think, “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU NOT FILMING THIS? THIS PERFORMANCE WILL GO DOWN AS LEGEND, MAN!!” 

Or words to that effect. 

 

• Illegal Buskers 

Bastards. Okay, so the word ‘illegal’ is a bit harsh. ‘Unlicensed’ is perhaps more suitable. Especially considering that most of us, at some time, were ‘without papers’. But the number of hoops we’ve had to jump through to get a license, the daily rigmarole of having to sign in to submit ID cards, mother’s maiden names, DNA swabs and retina scans, just to use the toilet… Illegals stealing our pitches make a mockery of our disposition. Even if they’re actually quite good. And, just maybe, turn out to be really nice people. Bastards. 

 

• Street Buskers 

Bastards. End of. 

 

• Football fans 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a football fan as much as the next knuckle-dragger, I’m crazy about Chelsea Town and devoted to England United. When it comes to performing a sing-along, footie fans are in a league of their own. But when a collective of same-shirters are all simultaneously, atonally chanting, “My brand of tribalism is superior to your brand of tribalism!” whilst all banging their hands on the siding of the escalator… it’s hard to compete. It’s cacophonous. And it kills the music, man. That’s all. But do please stop competing to sound the most stupid. You all sound thick as fuck. It’s not big and it’s not clever. But I guess it’s okay for an England match. 

 

 

More Motherfuckers: 

 

• The Tory party 

Obviously. Goes without saying. 

 

• Requests 

Don’t get me wrong, as I said, we love the attention, the suggestion that you believe we may be reasonably able to murder your favourite song, but the chance of your average busker actually knowing how to do it justice is probably, who knows, maybe twenty percent (I just made that up), more likely two percent, so don’t bother. It will just end in disappointment all round. 

Unless you’re proffering a twenty-pound note. Then it will be amazing. Whatever fucking song it is. 

 

• Women. Looking beautiful. Dancing provocatively 

There’s nothing worse than… oh wait. Hang on. Scrap that. I meant: 

 

• Middle–aged blokes. Pissed up. Twerking. A yard in front of you 

I’m not even kidding. This, in itself, is bad enough. But what really irks / disappoints / depresses is the inevitable reaction from his companions, the OTT laughter they feel compelled to produce, having witnessed what is undoubtedly the funniest thing they’ve seen all month: A sad, middle-aged wanker confirming our suspicions that our species is slipping inexorably back into the primordial soup. 

Gentlemen. Please. Grow the fuck up. 

 

Okay, let’s take a step back and a deep breath, what’s done is done, grab a coffee, pop a pill, have a wank, whatever you want to do… I’ll be back in a bit with part two, you lucky thing, you. 

 

Cheers, b’gears x