I love music. I love all kinds of music. But music in context. I’m not going to blast you with opera singing when you’re trying to eat your tortellini at a quiet Italian restaurant.
Nor should you, I think, depress the hell out of me when I go to a block party on a beautiful summer day.
If you are putting a giant slip-n-slide in the neighborhood I want some zippy music to go along with it. I want Rebirth Brass Band music and people moving their feet against their own better judgement.
But too often the buskers who apply for permits for outdoor events in North America sound more like:
I’ve heard nothing but sad singers this summer. Morose dudes on acoustic guitars who will take upbeat songs and then play them at half speed. Why? It’s a beautiful summer day and children are playing and people are sliding down the streets and the music is dirge and funereal.
Who cares if it’s even appropriate to the occasion? Here is my man swinging his hips (bless my lucky star) along with a sweet South American sound at a Christmas parade in New Zealand. That’s our eldest imitating a hat. It was perfect for a summer party atmosphere.
I think I’d rather have piped in recorded music than live music if it’s going to be a sad man on a guitar. *Cross arms pouty face*