The Serious, not-so Underground World of Pandemic-Era Busking

A busker must walk with confidence and humility. They must carry their talent to their destination and back, whether it resides in their voice, amp, or instrument case. They must expect no money, but sometimes, they gain more than they hoped for.

During the last two years, almost every industry saw major shifts, whether in their business model, interactions, or the goods and services they provide. Street performance, a field of its own, was not spared. A study published in July showed that after the WHO pandemic announcement, buskers gained heftier tips and more donations from online transactions. A lack of live music and a wariness of cash changed the busking scene.

In the strange, eerie quiet of a locked-down New York City, buskers adapted to their new ways of work and coped just like everyone else.

Bumbly performs at the Columbus Circle subway station in NYC

Although street performers may seem like mysterious underground musicians who may not have another option, their work is intentional. Over time, they’ve developed a sense of where to stay (places with foot traffic), when to stay (several hours), who to make eye contact with (follow the instincts), and when it’s time to move (when police say you’re blocking traffic).

They also must become brand managers when the show is over, as recent cultural studies show.

“Artists now have to be cultural entrepreneurs–what we now call ‘artrepreneurs,’” said Meg Elkins, the main author of the July study. “It’s not just talent that allows you to succeed, it also has to be backed up with some level of business now.”

Busking must be more than a person with an instrument. Her study concluded that “the number of fans an artist has matters for both receiving a donation and the amount the artists they receive,” implying that success depends on a fanbase. The only way to maintain a fanbase is to “self-market” oneself.

Yet, busking can be a surprisingly stable source of income. It’s no coincidence that skyrocketing unemployment rates and 24% growth in the gig economy happened in the same year. In May 2020, the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics even reported that the average hourly wage for musicians in “independent performance industries” was $35.27.

Although the BLS doesn’t have a category for “buskers” in their data, the “independent performance” category includes buskers like Bumbly.

Bumbly has been busking since 2015. When the pandemic began, her mental health declined and performances became scarce as a result. Pandemic assistance kept her afloat.

“I was able to rely on unemployment, and then I would still busk here and there, but it wasn’t consistent,” she said over Zoom.

Assessing the risk and benefits of venturing out to busk during the pandemic was difficult for these performers. The ability to bring in joy and extra income was lost and met with safety concerns.

“The subway was empty for a long time. From March 2020 until about November I stopped busking because it felt reckless to be out there,” said Heather Cole, a violinist who usually busks near Grand Central Station. She began busking when she spontaneously joined a banjo player who happened to have a spare violin.

But the pandemic was brutal.

Busk.co, a platform that connects buskers around the world to resources, one other, and fans, asked their community, “How have you been surviving?” The responses were mixed, ranging from confessions of depression to realizations of new passions.

To assist performers, the site launched “buskpay” in 2020, which allowed buskers to seamlessly earn cashless tips. The founders did not respond to a request for comment.

By tracking donations made through Busk.co, the platform found that default tip values, custom URLs, QR codes, and donation options can help buskers increase the number of donations and the worth of each.

With the pandemic bringing wariness over hand-to-hand and cash-to-hand contact, the tool helped cater to a community that once relied on cash alone. It also united a group that Elkins said, exists on the “cultural fringes”–denied grants and other resources. Yet, they’re at the root of thousands of commutes.

Against all the odds, buskers persisted and succeeded throughout 2020. Bumbly, for example, earned $400 for the first time after the pandemic.

Cole was shocked by the warm welcome when she returned to the scene. “Initially, the subway was primarily medical workers and construction workers and they were extremely generous,” she said.

Both artists felt that people were just grateful to have live music again.

“They’re like, ‘wow, I don’t hear something this beautiful everyday,’” said Bumbly, who thinks the music also inspires listeners, encouraging them to tip.

By Elkins’ definition, Bumbly unlocked the key to successful busking: making connections, building relationships through sound.

As cool and “bohemian” as that may be, the drawbacks and risks are apparent. Bumbly and Cole both recount experiences of sickness, assault, and harassment.

“There are fights, there are smells,” Cole said. “I’ve had a rash of maturbators.”

Recently, an officer saw her being harassed, left, then returned to check in on her afterward. “There was a sweetness to it,” she said, sounding almost tired of the laxness.

“I’ve been physically assaulted on the train,” said Bumbly. “I don’t let it affect my day because I’m here to make money, I’m not here to be crying over somebody’s stupidness.”

She’s blunt. It’s a dangerous profession, even with the perks.

“Most of the time it’s fantastic, but I do feel like there’s a risk inherent in it. It’s not worth it if its not financially rewarding.The subway is not a fairytale,” said Cole.

For Bumbly, the experience is a little different.

“When I’m singing, everything disappears,” she said. “It’s just about the song, and I’m so grateful that I have this.”

Busking is a job and a love for Cole, Bumbly and thousands like them. The reward can be a hefty Venmo tip, but it could also be a smile.

Bumbly admitted that if she isn’t singing on the trains, she’s singing at home. Might as well busk, right?