The Holy Modal One Man Choir–free demo MP3

Don’t make eye contact.  That’s what they say.  Always good advice unless you happen to be busking Pioneer Square sandwiched between the replica of a stolen Tlingit totem pole and the sad shit-stained bust of Chief Seattle the horse trough.

 

I watched as he plowed resolutely through the park—talking quick and loud to no one in particular—arms gesticulating madly to the tempo of his temperament.  It wasn’t until he passed directly in front of me that I saw he was suddenly speaking to me.

 

“Is that a six string or a eight string?” he asked.  Serious. 

 

I played a little faster, sang a little louder, avoided eye contact.  He sidled onto the next bench without missing a beat—looking like the disheveled love child of Chico Marx or maybe that of Johnny Depp in Benny and Joon. 

 

For the briefest moment my ego perked at the prospect of an attentive audience, but then I understood that my story was his—that I was the attentive audience—as he launched into a commanding soliloquy.  And I played.

 

Song spawn is omnipresent. 

 

I have always been a magnet for the deranged.  But as a street musician, that magnetism powers the mother of all tractor beams.  Even on the slowest days when the missionary folks aren’t passing out free lunch and the sun refuses to shine, I can still count on at least one life history—or at least some valuable piece of advice—from the unending army of formerly rich and famous street musicians that stop by to chat me up.

 

Here’s how well that tractor beam works. 

 

A couple weeks after I wrote The Holy Modal One Man Choir, I was working Occidental Square, a few blocks from the previous spot in Pioneer Square.  One of my regulars dragged a chair within a couple feet of my feet, slumped down into the seat facing 90deg away from me, and proceeded to enjoy some sort of grand fit—mumbling and gurgling and shouting and shaking and waving and moaning and drooling and rocking and ranting—rolling eyes glazed over and unfocused upon anything in this world.

 

Meanwhile.  I continued playing—as best I could—while also watching my 17yo daughter, Laura, out of the corner of my eye as she sat nearby, transfixed upon the terrible tableau.  A while after my friend finally wandered off in the tow of another of my fans, I figured it was high time to world premiere The Holy Modal One Man Choir. 

 

As I worked through the chords a bit and got ready to sing, my heart all of a sudden slammed up into my throat.  There!  About ten yards out.  Transported outta Neverwhere.  Him.  The dude.  Chico’s love child.  The subject of his very own song.  Shouting about shooting something. 

 

Timing.  Is everything.  Instant karma gonna get you.

 

I thought to maybe play something else at that moment but quickly steeled myself to the inevitable—with a wavering conviction that sometimes the Cosmos knows more than I.

 

One complete moment suspended in amber. 

 

The Choir walked on shortly after I finished singing his song—without so much as a bye-your-leave.  And I played.

 

The Holy Modal One Man Choir  was recorded live and uncut in the living room on an Olympus LS-10. Just me and a guitar about 2 feet away from the mic with levels set on automatic.