Metro Jazz

Paris is alive with the sound of music! It’s the jazz festival and music seems to infiltrate every available space. My favourite is definitely the metro jazz. On random trains at random times, there are musician duos playing their saxophones along to the recorded sounds of jolly ragtime jazz. They are usually chirpy types and they bop along in time to the music. I keep getting the giggles because everyone else on the train refuses to acknowledge these poor buskers. Eye contact is avoided, faces are deadpan and noone even dares shift in their seat, for fear that it might be mistaken for a dance move or some sign of encouragement.  But, the musicians seem oblivious and they just continue on, making merry, filling the carriage with jazz.  This is particularly funny on a packed train carriage, when there's not any spare space for two buskers, two saxaphones and an amplifier, but they jump on anyway.  People are already pressed together like sardines, armpit to face, hand uncomfortably close to crotch, backed up against pole, baguette in eye, sweat running down leg, but off they go, Jazzy Jeff and his accomplice, chirpy as all get out, squeezing out some sunny day jazz riff! 
I must say though, on a less packed train, if you do make eye contact, they start to shuffle and shimmy towards you, amplifier in tow, and before you know it, they're shoving a plastic cup (which is gaffa taped to their amplifier) into your face. But, come on commuters! It’s fun! It’s Paris! It’s jazz season. They are entertaining. They deserve some coins and a little acknowledgement once in a while.  (And on a packed train, it's much easier to take change out of someone elses pocket, to pop in the plastic cup.)

Perhaps the guy on metro line five, between Bastille and Republique, ruins it for everyone. He staggers onto the train, a little intoxicated, but with an impressive looking ukulele, and proceeds to dig it into the ribs of some poor girl (unintentional on his part). Once he finds his balance, or rather a leaning post, he flips the instrument onto its back and begins to play it like a drum. Unfortunately he has no rhythm. He then starts to sing an excruciating tune, completely out of tune while persisting with his not-so-melodic ukulele pummelings.  The girl, whose ribs have been violated, jumps off at the next stop, which I’m not sure is her planned disembarkation point, but probably a wise choice. I stay on for another couple of stops, deadpan, avoiding eye contact.

More pleasant a busking experience was had last week in Montmartre. I was enjoying my Croque Monsieur, (why does cheese on toast taste so much better when it’s called Croque Monsieur and eaten in Paris?) when out of nowhere, appears a huge man with a huge Double Bass. He sets himself up just outside the entrance to the cafe courtyard and, with his little cup gaffa'd to his amp, he plays for an hour, non-stop. It was blissful, a perfect accompaniment to my slow lunch...perfect until he'd exhausted his jazz repertoire and moved onto Lionel Ritchie’s Hello (which I found cheesier than my Croque Monsieur).

Buskers seem to be randomly placed. I’ve found them on bridges, under bridges, at the entrance to public toilets, taking over the steps beside the river, in the parks and even in the middle of the road.  (There's even a Glee Club by the river with a real piano and sheet music!)  They play the sax, the guitar, violin, accordion, drums (aka up-turned ukelele) and there’s the occasional vocalist. 

I’ve noticed that many homeless men are also having a go at busking. Unfortunately, most don’t have access to an instrument, so you’ll find them, suited-up, (Homeless people in Paris are much better attired than in Melbourne) chanting a little ditty and shaking their coin cup in rhythm. It’s not quite Miles Davis, but good on them for jumping on the band wagon.