Gabrielle Paluch tries her hand at busking in Hong Kong.

There are three kinds of street urchins in Hong Kong: the kind with musical instruments, the kind that play on your sense of pity, and the kind that thrust flyers at passers-by. I hate those guys, those flyer guys. And in Hong Kong, it’s sad to say, the street performers with quality musical props are few and far between. What’s happened to all the street musicians in this city?

It’s surprising, really, considering the busy, busy streets. There are all these people walking around on their lunch breaks with plenty of disposable income, and so few musicians to brighten their days. Would it help if the buskers took Octopus? It got me wondering, what’s it actually like to busk in Hong Kong? Where does one go? How much money does one make?

There was only one way to find out. Fortunately, I’ve been learning to play the guzheng, so I already had my prop. A guzheng is a 25-stringed zither that originated in China probably around the first century BC, and I have been informed that it is a decidedly sissy instrument. The erhu on the other hand, a two-stringed fiddle that sometimes sounds like a wailing cat being murdered beneath the screeching breaks of a double-decker bus, for some inconceivable reason, is supposedly dripping with masculinity. This would explain the old-guy-on-the-erhu phenomenon which seems to dominate the busking scene in Hong Kong.

There is also that guy Melvis, who dresses up like Elvis (complete with strips of carpet glued to his face) and plays the guitar—sometimes into people’s doorbell intercoms. He is probably the city’s most renowned and accomplished street musician, and surely a conversation with this man would help to put me in the correct transcendental state of mind to help me embark on my very own busking outing. I happened to run into him one evening under the escalator in the middle of Hollywood Road. He was wearing a very large belt buckle and sunglasses. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Hi Melvis, I’m so pleased to run into you.
Melvis: Hello. Do I know you?
Me: No, but would you like to step out of the road?
Melvis: Would you like an autograph?
Me: I’d like to ask you some questions...
Melvis: Let me ask my wife if it’s OK first. Goodbye!

Melvis’ wife is his agent, it turns out. OK, so no luck there. No matter: For better or for worse, I was now more or less ready to busk, but wasn’t quite sure WHERE to go. My zither is about four foot long, fragile, and not very loud. Although I was glad I was not attempting to challenge traditional gender roles with my instrument choice, I was beginning to see the wisdom in busking with an erhu. The guzheng incredibly uncomfortable and impractical to carry on the MTR. Getting the thing through the turnstile is equal parts miracle and spectacle. Also, how are people supposed to pay up if they can’t even hear it? I decided to start small and join forces with an erhu player—we could jam out like it was the Tang dynasty.
I packed up my guzheng and took it to the Bank of America walkway where there’s almost always a musician with an amplifier during lunchtime. Sure enough there was an old man with his erhu, wailing away just waiting for the feminine yin accompaniment to his yang fiddle. I knelt down beside him at his feet, and began to unpack. He looked pleasantly surprised at first, but then I struck a chord and the poor man grimaced as if to say, “Yo girlfriend, you’re cramping my style. This is my turf.” I was hopeful and attempted to play some more, but there was someone on a megaphone shouting something I couldn’t understand. He began to pack up his instrument, closing the case he had set out for coins. I glanced towards the commotion and realized he was packing up because a fairly large camera crew was slowly approaching, and asking for money is technically illegal in Hong Kong. Not only that, but Anson Chan, the “Conscience of Hong Kong,” was at the center of the entourage, campaigning for the then upcoming Legco by-election. After shaking some hands, she came over to the erhu player and I, and she bent down to talk to us. It was a very brief exchange:

Anson Chan: How long have you been playing?         (Cameras click, click, flash, flash)
Me: About five weeks
Anson Chan: Wow! That’s great.                 Are you a legal resident of Hong Kong?
Me: Yes. I’m here legally.
Anson Chan: (handing me a flyer) Well then would you please cast a vote in my favor?
It was time to go home. I felt a little defeated. I had gone out busking, made no money, and someone had handed me a flyer. On the other hand, I did see Anson Chan.
A few days later, I was about to bury the whole idea—that’s when I met Mr. Christian. Mr. Christian is a 58 year-old Frenchman with a wreath of long silver hair surrounding his bald spot who has been traveling the world, supporting himself by busking since he was 19. He has been coming to Hong Kong since 1992, and laments the destruction of the Star Ferry Pier because it was such a fantastic venue for buskers. He says, “With busking, what is most important is location, location, location. That, and red velvet. You must have a violin case lined with red velvet.” He says on average he makes between one and two hundred dollars per hour, but last year on November eighth, the night of the final journey of the old Star Ferry, he made over two thousand in one evening. “But it was not special for the money. That night, the mood in the crowd was so fan-tas-tique. I played all night and I loved it so much, what I was playing. It was for the love of the music, and the crowd. We enjoyed one another.” I followed him to his new spot near the IFC, and listened to a very strange song he composed called “Yunnan Reggae” on his white electric violin. He was not handing me a flyer, and that was pleasant.
I was finally ready to brave it on my own, got a box for my zither, a music stand, and claimed a spot in the escalator alley link. I knelt behind my instrument, and channeled a passion and romance for public music only Mr. Christian could inspire—I was determined to enjoy both the performance and the audience in the hopes they would enjoy it too. I’d say about thirty percent of the people walked by without noticing. One very skeptical lady walked around me to inspect the sheet music on my stand, and when she was satisfied that it was bonafide, gently placed a crisp one hundred dollar bill in my hat. This was slightly distracting, and I messed up the song I was playing. It was very satisfying to observe people listening to their MP3 players remove their headphones for a moment as they passed by. For two hours of “work,” I earned exactly $88 in coins, $310 in bills, and 100 Japanese Yen. I got lots of thumbs-up, and very encouraging remarks. Not a single unfriendly glance, not a single police officer harassed me, and I even got some business cards and a date out of it.
Most satisfying though, more than earning money, more than playing my instrument well, was the occasional passerby who saw a white chick playing a guzheng—and then whizgigging away laughing. Just like Mr. Christian said, the best part is enjoying one another.
Mondays in Causeway Bay there is a meeting of juggling street performers. For more information visit: www.andycomic.com