I remember the first time I stopped to really listen to a street musician. It was on my walk to class one fall afternoon on the campus of the University of Michigan. I was fascinated by the dynamic unfolding in front of me under the walkway of the Engineering building leading to the center of campus as almost everyone walked right by the guitar-playing singer as if he did not exist at all. Why I wanted to replicate that kind of rejection or believe I could turn that seeming disregard into compelling interest probably requires deeper analysis. Nevertheless, days later I pulled out my acoustic guitar with no microphone or amplification and played a couple songs in the same spot. I watched most of the people pass by with their heads looking straight ahead, their Sony Walkmans providing the predicable soundtrack for the day. I had no idea what I was doing, and before long, I re-cased my guitar and headed home to the rest of my life.

Playing music in the street, busking, has always fascinated me. As a performer, it has always seemed like the most genuine of arts in direct communication with its audience. Away from the stage and the lights and the expectations of what a performance should be in an established venue, whether it be a small coffeehouse or a massive arena, the artist is in an intimate, unexpected, and unpredictable relationship with the public on the street. The reactions from adults and children are as blatant and honest as they can get. Most people walk by, seeming not to notice a thing, while others may pause and smile or dance or cry or add a dollar to the guitar case. Children may be frightened and cling to the leg of a parent or infected with the energy of joy and dance.

The job of the street musician is to connect with the stranger, to offer an unexpected distraction from the routine of the day, to make that stranger feel, feel something – whether it is joy or sorrow, to be reminded of a memory or inspired to dream, to celebrate the music.

Busking on the street is where I have found my most fulfilling musical experiences. From that day in Ann Arbor to railway stations in France, the subway of New York City, the wharf of San Francisco, Giddings Plaza in Chicago, the streets of Málaga, Spain, and the downtown of my hometowns of Evanston and Highland Park, IL.

In the winter of 2023 while walking down the streets of Lisbon, Portugal, I envisioned this project: tell the stories of street performers in words, pictures and videos of their work on the street or in a subway. Uncover the story of the musician behind the music and share this with the observer. Who are they? What path took them here? How can they make a living?

It is no small task to unpack an instrument and begin playing in a public space. Sit with the idea of what kind of courage and confidence it takes to perform alone to a crowd of passers-by, most of whom who do not even recognize the presence of a musician and even fewer of whom will offer a coin or a bill for the music. But it is the music, these strangers, and the few who acknowledge the experience that continue to motivate the street artist. Earning enough to live is a separate challenge, but none of the musicians I have met refer to the money as the top priority. The music and the experience is first. I invite you to meet the street musicians I have had the pleasure to meet during many months in Spain beginning in 2024.

Jeff