Metro musicians

I owe the fact that I contemplate this every time I'm in the metro to this article.

The metro is filled with people asking for money. Mothers sit against the walls holding their children (usually infants, though I've seen them do this with much larger children as well) with cups in front of them. Men attest to their unemployment in the cars and walk up and down the aisles with hands outstretched. Musicians of various caliber take up residence in trains or in the corner of a coveted transfer station. I've even seen a guy with a portable dancing puppet show going on and off trains.

Some of the musicians are really terrible. You get a lot of tone-deaf "singers" and amateur clarinetists in the trains themselves. But there are also some pretty good musicians, often the ones playing in the stations because they have to get permits to perform. Some of my favorites include a 16-piece orchestra I saw last time I was in Paris, a gypsy folk/banghra fusion group that I wish I'd had more time to listen to, and a woman playing an instrument that looked like a cross between a harp and a guitar. Not what I expected to hear when I stepped out my door, but very cool. It was the kind of music that puts a bounce in your step.

The problem with all of these people asking for money, musicians included, is that generally speaking I don't want to give them money. It sounds terrible, but it's true. There are so many people asking for money that I can't afford to give to everyone, but then I also can't come up with a good basis for determining who "deserves" money and who doesn't, so I'm one of the thousands of stingy people riding the metro day after day. Actually, I usually adopt the rather shameful attitude of appearing to ignore them altogether because it's easier to ignore someone than to look at them and tell them no. But maybe that will change.

Today as I was changing trains to come to school I heard a violin playing Eine Kleine Nachtmusik rather well. I like the song, so hearing it made me happy, and the sound echoed very nicely off all of the tunnel walls. When I got to my platform, I noticed to my great delight that the musician was standing on the other side of the tracks. I could listen to him play without feeling guilty for not giving him money. Unless I wanted to take my life in my hands to cross the tracks, there was no way I could get money to him. And the little sign told me that my train would arrive in 1 minute.

So for 1 minute I listened happily. I could be critical of the performance if I wanted - it wasn't perfect - but there was more good about it than not. At one point the violinist looked up and smiled at me, and I figured there was no harm in smiling back. (Smiling at strangers is another thing one just does not do in Paris.) When I got on my train to go, he stopped playing to wave goodbye. I was really touched. All I'd done was listen.