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Street music It’s a warm Saturday afternoon in a busy side road in the old district of Barcelona. The pedestrians are standing in a semi-circle around someone or something in front of the cathedral. I push my way through the crowd and find a quartet of musicians playing a violin suite of classical music. The session lasts ten minutes. Then one of the musicians picks up a saucer on the ground, and asks for money. All contributions are voluntary, no one has to pay, but the crowd shrinks as some people slide away. But others happily throw in a few coins. They’re grateful for this brief interval of music as they go shopping. Below the window of my apartment in Paris, a music man takes a place made vacant by an earlier musician. He raises the lid of his barrel organ and turns the handle. Then he sings the songs of old Paris, songs of the people and their love affairs. I remember some of the words even though I have never consciously learnt them. I tap my feet and sing along with him. Down there on the pavement, few passersby stop. Some smile, others walk past with their heads down. Cars pass, gangs of boys form and disappear, someone even puts a coin the cup on the organ. But the music man ignores them all. He’s hot in the sun, so he mps his head with a spotted handkerchief. He just keeps singing and turning the handle. In Harlem, New York, some locals place a sound system by an open window. They plug it into the electrical socket, and all of a sudden, there’s dancing in the streets. In downtown Tokyo, young couples eat popcorn and dance to the music of a rockabilly band, which plays American music from the Fifties. In the London Underground a student plays classical guitar music, which echoes along the tunnels. It lifts the spirits of the passengers, who hurry past on their way to work. In a street in Vienna or Prague or Milan a group of pipa musicians from the far Andes fill the air with sounds of South America. The street musician is keeping alive a culture which has almost disappeared in our busy, organized, and regulated lives: the sound of music when you least expect it. In a recording studio, even when relayed by microphone, music loses some of its liveliness. Bt street music gives life to everyone who listens and offers relief from the cares of the day. It only exists in the present, it only has meaning in the context. It needs space. 街头音乐 那是一个温暖的星期六下午,在巴塞罗纳旧街区的一条繁忙的道路旁。行人们在大教堂前围成半圆,围观着什么人或什么事。我挤进人群,发现了一个四人乐队正在演奏古典音乐小提琴组曲。演奏持续了10分钟。然后一名演奏者从地上捡起一个碟子要钱。所有的捐献都是自愿的,没有人非掏钱不可,但是随着一些人悄悄走开,人群一下子缩小了。但是其他人非常高兴地扔进去一些硬币。他们感谢使他们在购物途中为之短暂驻足的音乐。 在巴黎我居住的公寓的窗下,一位音乐人占据了早先另一位音乐家空出来的地方。他打开手摇风琴的盖子,摇动把手。然后他开始演唱古巴黎的歌曲,关于人们和他们的爱情故事的歌曲。我仍记得一些歌词,虽然我从未特意去记住它们。我用脚打着节拍跟随他一起唱。沿着人行道很少有过路人停下来。有人微笑,有人低着头走过。车辆路过,一帮帮的男孩子们聚了又散,有人甚至往风琴上的杯子里投硬币。但是这位音乐人不理会所有的这些。在太阳下他很热,所以他用一条脏乎乎的手帕擦脑袋。他只是一个劲儿地边唱边摇动把手。 在纽约哈莱姆,许多当地人将音响设备放在打开的窗户旁。他们把音响设备的插头插入电源插座,突然间,街上的人们就跳起舞来。在东京的市区,年轻的夫妇吃着爆米花随着乡村摇滚乐队演奏的50年代的美国音乐跳舞。在伦敦的地铁里,一个学生演奏古典的吉他音乐,音乐在地铁的隧道里回响。它提起了那些匆匆忙忙赶着去上班的过路人的精神。在维也纳、布拉格或米兰的街道上,一群来自遥远的安第斯山脉的管乐器演奏者让空气中弥漫着南美洲的乐曲。 街头音乐家保持了一种文化的生机,而这种文化在我们紧张忙碌、组织有序、一成不变的生活中已近乎消失:在你最意想不到的时候听到的音乐的声音。在录音室里即使被麦克风转播,音乐也失去了它的些许生动。但是街头音乐赋予了每位倾听者活力,让人们减轻生活的烦恼。它只存在于当下,也只有在情境中才具有意义。它需要空间。 |
