Bring on the accordions

Buskers can arouse violent reactions. Some love them, some hate them. The Paris Métro has strict rules for busking in its passageways: would-be underground entertainers have to audition and stick to specific pitches at specific times.

Buskers at Pont Neuf © Paris Tourist Office / Amélie Dupont

On the métro trains themselves, notices warn against giving money to musicians wandering up and down the carriages. I quite often give something to these itinerant accordionists – they are part of my idea of how Paris should be and I want them to keep going. After all, the great Edith Piaf, Paris’s own “little sparrow”, began by singing in the gutter, and at least they’re doing something for their supper money. The beggars who arrive in my carriage with a plea for money or meal vouchers – usually delivered in a machine-gun monotone – are sad, and sadly common, but not so attractive.

This morning I was woken by something different however. Music in my street. Outside my bedroom window. A trumpet player and his friend, playing something that looked like a melodica, were strolling down the street making a jolly racket. Both wearing hats that looked as if they’d been snitched from Chico Marx. I’ve seen these modern-day troubadors before – the idea is that they are so noisy you pay them to go away. So I did. I won’t mind if they come back – but not too soon, guys, eh?

Morning wake-up: street musician © Renata Rubnikowicz