In the eighties and nineties I lived in London and throughout that time, London Underground put buskers on a par with the small, grey, dusty mice running between the rails. That is, vermin ripe for extermination. Okay, maybe not extermination, but certainly eviction. Signs and notices festooned every station, threatening fines, arrests and stern words for anyone who tuned up within earshot of passengers.
I wasn’t a busker (I can’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow) but I knew people who were and, while they bemoaned the unfairness of London Underground’s antipathy towards them, they also rather relished their maverick status and the cat-and-mouse game they were forced to play with officialdom. If they’re still busking today, they are operating in a very different environment. The Man sooner or later comes to realise that outlawing an activity is never as effective as subsuming it – and so it is with busking.
I wasn’t a busker (I can’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow) but I knew people who were and, while they bemoaned the unfairness of London Underground’s antipathy towards them, they also rather relished their maverick status and the cat-and-mouse game they were forced to play with officialdom. If they’re still busking today, they are operating in a very different environment. The Man sooner or later comes to realise that outlawing an activity is never as effective as subsuming it – and so it is with busking.