Busking in Madrid:
The Collaboration

An article by graduate, Andrew Aprile, about his adventures busking in Madrid

Part 1 - Busking in Madrid: Autobusk

I have always sought tasteful collaboration in the music I make. However, finding a successful collaboration is easier said than done. Among the many challenges are limitations of musicianship, the presence of egos, compatibility of musical sensibilities, and general rapport. In addition, it's tough to make sure that musical connections arise organically. Not to condemn posting an ad, but there is something special about the discovery of a musical companion that should not be discounted.

Enter indie-rocker Lindy, of the shier variety, peddling her craving for musical collaborations along with a unique multi-instrumentalism. We met at a party for Map Magazine writers (www.mapmagazine.com a guide for English-speaking expats in Madrid). We had both taken up writing as an interesting supplement to our teaching schedules. But our true desires lied elsewhere: we were both eager to make music. Her cello skills stuck out to me as a potentially brilliant synthesis and we instantly traded phone numbers (ambition in tandem with inebriation is a good recipe for exchanging digits).

We met up a week after my unsuccessful attempt on Calle Huertas and it was magic. Despite skepticism, Lindy exuded brilliance on an instrument that can be described as anything but conventional. It wasn't the cello or guitar sitting in her room, but a blunt and utilitarian tool that proved to be the main source of our collective inspiration. This amalgamation of wood and metal has been a staple.

The fact that we can perform music with a real-life saw poses a wide array of benefits. The most obvious of these advantages is the novelty factor. The object, by virtue of its teeth and harsh metal, demands and attracts attention. In addition, its melancholic tones can beautifully meander through pitches - a vibrational quality perfect for compositions not thoroughly rehearsed, especially if, as is the case here, they are performed by an accompanist with a great ear.

With one short rehearsal under our belts, we took to the Metro. Callao, Gran Via, and then Lavapies. Callao wasn't happening. Despite a lot of anticipation and what we were sure were pleasant sounds, we, rather the saw, only got a few curious looks. We decided to move on. We arrived at the crossroads of the transfer between Lineas 1 y 5 at Gran Via as a violinist was packing up. It was as if he was clocking out and we were clocking in for our unofficial jobs. The low ceilings provided for nice acoustics, and it was there that I realized the true power of the nod.

My experiences in West Africa helped teach me the interrelatedness of the experiences of audiences and performers. There the line is blurred and it is common practice to paste dirty cash on the forehead of a dancer or musician. This gift is not merely a charitable donation; it constitutes participation in the performance. Similarly, the nod provides reassurance and incentive to continue on a musical path. We made less than 2 Euros while under ground, but it was the nods that convinced us that we were making something special.

Our long-awaited second performance took place in Retiro on a beautiful Friday afternoon. I emerged from the Retiro Metro station with the realization that I forgot my nine-volt battery, necessary to make the presence of electric guitar felt. Where would I find such a practical item in a posh neighborhood that had just called it quits for a two to three hour siesta? I reluctantly spent 4.50 for the necessity on Calle Recoletos and looked forward to the possibilities.

I met up with Lindy and we strolled past the African drums on the steps, ate a bite, and parked next to the lake. Though the sound was almost completely swallowed by the vast outdoors, Retiro proved to be our venue. Novelty acts thrive there. People began dropping 50 centimo pieces into our hat (for intents and purposes, though the hat actually belongs to her) because they couldn't resist the sweet, if haunting, bowed melodies that were being produced on such an unusual instrument.

A man dressed in a black spiderman outfit (perhaps he was venom, I can't say for sure) peddling sword-like balloon sculptures gave us the thumbs up. His outfit, complete with a pumped up fluffy chest and cotton boots lined with spider webs, was surprisingly juveline. Save for the absence of that suffocating plastic mask with a thin rubber string (his was a cloth mask with mesh eye holes), the costume was sufficiently exemplary of items that one might have bought shopping for halloween as a six-year old. It is surprising that they had his size.

A man acting as if he knew us later approached and revealed that he had been spiderman. I presented the possibility that he was venom because of the black suit and the Hispanic man, with no covertness nor pretense as to assume the identity of Peter Parker walked on his merry way. 15 minutes afterward we received a friendly wave from Mickey Mouse. Perhaps this was the former spiderman's new shift; perhaps we had made inroads with the Retiro superhero/fictional character fleet.

Two hours and eight euros later into our performance, our mini and unrehearsed session seemed to be a success. We packed up and spent the profits on beer.

Andrew Aprile