Just a Song at Twillight
By Clare Mulley
Monday 19th October 2009
Monday 19th October 2009
Most musicians have said it at some point in their lives, generally around the more pretentious teen period – ‘I/we should go busking sometime’. I’ve said it many times, and will probably say it again in the near future. However most of them, including me, never seem to get round to it. Imagine my astonishment, therefore, at finding myself sitting inside the entrance St Mary’s Quad around teatime one nippy Thursday, singing along to a ukulele. My friend Robbie, a keen strummer, had had the idea that we, and maybe later on some of our group, should try our hand at playing together – in our case not for the money, just to practise our ad. lib skills and learn some bangin’ tunes. For a while nothing had come of all the plans, but after a spontaneous decision to get the ball rolling we set a time just to do some duetting. And so, the location was picked, the hat put in position, and we were ready to go. Just in case anyone reading this is also inspired to try it, be warned – you need a license before performing off university property. Neither of us had one yet, so we had to make do with the best place we could find. The stone archway leading to the quad had good acoustics, so that was one problem solved. Tip number two: pick your time carefully. You want a time that isn’t rush hour but has some scope for change. Again, we had problems here, as neither of us was free before 6pm, and the rest of the weekend was busy. So there we were, merrily freezing our behinds off as the sun went down behind the spires.
One thing I had been prepared to feel was embarrassment in some form or other, but surprisingly it never came. Maybe that was partly to do with the sparse number of people around (most sensible students were back at home by now) but I think it was the combination of music, time and setting. Seeing twilight fall over somewhere as old and idyllic as St Mary’s Quad is peaceful in itself, but playing a mixture of relaxed, swingable songs such as ‘Dream A Little Dream Of Me’ and a couple of Hawaiian ballads (seemed appropriate, especially as Robbie knows them well) while watching it happen is definitely another level up - or should I say down - on the chill scale. I was very conscious of being pleasantly detached from anyone passing, almost like being in a small bubble, and it didn’t seem to matter when we made mistakes. This is probably because you’re aware that hardly anyone is paying much attention to the performance as a whole; most just hear a snatch of the music on their way elsewhere. Think about it – every one of us has passed a busker at some point in St Andrews, because the size of the place makes it unavoidable. You might or might not like the overall sound in passing, but generally you have too much on your mind in the shape of lectures, tutorials and work you should have done to stop and comment, let alone rummage around for your purse.
Ergo, if we made any impression or contribution, I like to think that it was ten seconds of (hopefully pleasant) interlude before having to tackle the big issues of the Universe. And, despite earning nothing, it certainly boosted both our mood and sight-reading. So what are you waiting for? Get out the old guitar you haven’t practised on for ages, get out your abandoned tin whistles and get out there! You may not get much change, but your neighbours will thank you for your improved skills – or at least for taking it elsewhere...
One thing I had been prepared to feel was embarrassment in some form or other, but surprisingly it never came. Maybe that was partly to do with the sparse number of people around (most sensible students were back at home by now) but I think it was the combination of music, time and setting. Seeing twilight fall over somewhere as old and idyllic as St Mary’s Quad is peaceful in itself, but playing a mixture of relaxed, swingable songs such as ‘Dream A Little Dream Of Me’ and a couple of Hawaiian ballads (seemed appropriate, especially as Robbie knows them well) while watching it happen is definitely another level up - or should I say down - on the chill scale. I was very conscious of being pleasantly detached from anyone passing, almost like being in a small bubble, and it didn’t seem to matter when we made mistakes. This is probably because you’re aware that hardly anyone is paying much attention to the performance as a whole; most just hear a snatch of the music on their way elsewhere. Think about it – every one of us has passed a busker at some point in St Andrews, because the size of the place makes it unavoidable. You might or might not like the overall sound in passing, but generally you have too much on your mind in the shape of lectures, tutorials and work you should have done to stop and comment, let alone rummage around for your purse.
Ergo, if we made any impression or contribution, I like to think that it was ten seconds of (hopefully pleasant) interlude before having to tackle the big issues of the Universe. And, despite earning nothing, it certainly boosted both our mood and sight-reading. So what are you waiting for? Get out the old guitar you haven’t practised on for ages, get out your abandoned tin whistles and get out there! You may not get much change, but your neighbours will thank you for your improved skills – or at least for taking it elsewhere...