Busking Makes Me Feel Good with Journey

I never intended to be a singer. Indeed, I was told quite implicitly by my dearest friend at the age of fifteen that I "couldn't shout for coal", apparently a Northern phrase for being completely tone-deaf. With him having been the lead in the school choir, and more recently boasting a spate of prestigious West End roles, I had no valid reason to dispute this.

I have however (possibly moreso in my own head) always had something of a talent for voices, so upon moving to Aberystwyth at eighteen and discovering the joys of karaoke, I set about dedicating a "Song for Wales" each week during our drunken singathons. So somewhere, amidst raspy Cerys Matthews renditions and my booming Tom Jones, there came a time when I began belting out some Stereophonics tunes. It was at this point some inebriated fool informed me that actually, I had a cracking voice.

Since those heady days, I have found myself hiding more and more behind the crummy old guitar I found in the loft, finding comfort in the likes of Counting Crows and Bruce Springsteen. It wasn't until I moved to Japan however, and my girlfriend half-jokingly suggested I go for the house musician job being advertised at a local bar that I really discovered the power that music had over me.

On stage, one loses oneself. There is a true comfort in sound, when you're caught in a lyric, the crowd, however small, however previously rowdy, suddenly intoxicated by the music that you yourself are creating; in that moment, time stops and suddenly you are the lord of your own harmonious kingdom. When the song ends and you step away from the mic, the harsh reality of life inevitably returns, but for a few moments, you become a celebrity in your own right. There's still a small Northern voice in the back of my mind, adamantly telling me I can't sing. But you know what? For the most part I ignore it and just enjoy the moment.

Recently, I've been earning a little extra money busking on the streets of Durham. The smiles from the passing public make up the majority of my earnings, but seeing them singing along, knowing that in some small way I have brightened up their day is payment enough. Having a two year old girl stop dead in her toddling tracks to stare up at you in awe is one of the loveliest feelings you can have.

Of course there is the occasional comedy genius who decides a good heckling is in order. "Get a proper job!" Is usually the witticism of choice. But consider this when questioning the validity, and indeed the price of hiring an entertainer;

1) Minimum wage is £6.31 an hour. I have a "proper" job. Said proper job is exhausting and soul-destroying. But can I afford the rent on a flat? The upkeep of 4G network? A new pair of slacks? No. As Tesco so finely put it, every little helps.

2) Training. Sure, it's not your 

mandatory diploma, required and then scoffed at by every potential employer, but the hours spent perfecting your craft are surely worth the little extra monetary gratitude? After all, it's a very lucky man indeed who picks up an instrument for the first time and is instantly a pro.

3) Can you do it? If you can, then do. But if not, consider it a service. You wouldn't complain about hiring a plumber or a chap to service your laptop, so why bemoan a more inspirational talent?

But most importantly, don't take away our music. Imagine a world like in Oscar's Orchestra! The world needs music, and the musicians need it even moreso. It is our life, and when we play, it is our world. We're just working hard tryin' to get our fill...