<![CDATA[Busker Central guitarman's Blog Feed]]> http://buskercentral.com/buskers <![CDATA[Calling their bluff]]> http://buskercentral.com/buskers/blog.php?u=55&b=18&sid=7e0782d8e3751838551699130eba61d6 I remember I was busking on a popular outdoor mall at a commonly used pitch. As a muse, I played and sang between an outdoor cafe and restaurant. Buskers had used the stage for several years. I usually got a coffee at the cafe while on breaks and was familiar with the staff.

One day, a new staff member came outside and asked me to move down the way. When I asked the blond middle-aged woman why, she simply said she didn't appreciate me singing outside on a beautiful day while she slaved away inside. I told her it was my choice in life to busk rather than being a server and I really couldn't help her. She again requested me to move on and left with the satisfaction of having told me 'what for'. I ignored her request and continued performing.

As a mature busker, I had seen the like before. They have a problem with someone busking because they can't do it. After several other altercations, I had...

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<![CDATA[Rivera Beach]]> http://buskercentral.com/buskers/blog.php?u=55&b=14&sid=7e0782d8e3751838551699130eba61d6 Living out of my car, I was 26 on Rivera Beach in Florida. I was already hot in more ways than one. The police had already noticed me hanging out with my guitar and knew I was meeting girls and getting laid. Once, a cop came up on us knowing something was going on but found no evidence. It was inside my closed guitar case. Then, a jamming buddy made a sign and we crossed the street to an alcove between 2 restaurants. The sign read "Donations gladly accepted for munchies and strings". We made $12 and took off for much greener pastures down in the French Quarter.]]> <![CDATA[Hey - This is cool!]]> http://buskercentral.com/buskers/blog.php?u=55&b=5&sid=7e0782d8e3751838551699130eba61d6 ]]>