The Sweet Sound of Street Music

This morning, as I left Union Station on my way to work, the trumpet player was hitting the high notes of a jazz standard. By the time I got to the crosswalk at Massachussets Avenue, he was playing the fanfare they play at the beginning of horse races. And the commuters are off, ladies and gents!

I don't know the trumpet player's name or anything about his story. But some days, I feel like he knows me. Like the day he was playing the theme from "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood," which was my favorite show when I was little. Or the day I was in a horrendous mood as I walked back to Union Station on my way home, but he was there playing the theme to "I Dream of Jeannie." My nickname's Genie, so friends have sung that to me for years—just hearing the tune made me break out in a grin.

When the trumpet guy is playing between me and the Metro station, I make it a point to find a dollar in my wallet to throw in his open case. And I do the same for practically every street musician I pass in the city. Unlike panhandlers, these people—some of whom are even selling CDs—provide a timbre to the landscape that I love, even if I only get to enjoy them as I hurry by.

There's the bagpiper, replete in his kilt, who appears from time to time. There's any number of blues and jazz saxophonists who put Lisa Simpson to shame. There's a guy who appears to be in college who plays Bach on his violin. And there's even a group of Peruvian guys who play what sounds like new age versions of Andean folk tunes, with the occasional extremely-bizarre selection thrown in for good measure. One of my co-workers came in one day and said they'd been playing a pan flute-rich version of "How Deep Is Our Love" by the Bee Gees.

I've always wondered how the musicians decide who gets which Metro stop during rush hour. Perhaps each one stakes his or her claim before dawn? There almost never seems to be a clash of musicians. And even though the trumpet guy's clear notes echo off the face of Union Station almost every day, for example, on the few days when he's not there, there's always someone there to take his place.

Regardless, panhandlers should beware—I'm not going to give them my money. But the street musicians? Absolutely.

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