Jeff and I were walking across the parking lot from his condo to the nearby grocery store. Every Thursday night we get together to cook man food (okay, it’s usually hamburger helper) and listen to a ball game.
As we crossed the street we heard music coming from the parking lot, unlike anything we had heard before or expected. It wasn’t coming from the patio speakers of the local pizza joint. It wasn’t coming from a car stereo. It sounded like . . . live music.
As we got closer I located the sound to an island across the drive lane from Harris Teeters where I saw a nice looking guy playing an electronic accordian through a small amplifier. His pretty wife sat on the bench and at her feet were two beautiful young girls. Jeff and I were intrigued by the music. First we heard gypsy jazz, kind of a Django Reinhardt thing. But then it was a Bruno Mars pop song. Only tasty! We walked across the drive and threw a few bucks in the guy’s open accordion case, greeted by smiles and thanks from the whole family.
After buying our bachelor dinner supplies we again walked by the busker Dad and the music stopped me in my tracks. OMG this guy is good! He played a show tune, sounding like a whole orchestra, carrying the melody while filling top to bottom with a sweet flood of arpeggio notes and accents. He made every song better than the original, in his own style, and with really extraordinary chops. This was clearly no novice.
We again crossed the drive and threw a few more bucks in the case. I had to learn more.
His accent was clearly foreign, but I couldn’t locate it at first. “We’re from Bulgaria,” he said. “My name is Orlen.” His English was pretty good, and we talked music for a while. I told him Jeff and I play in a family band at local clubs and events. He said he has been trying to play around the neighborhood at shopping centers, but the managers keep coming out of the stores and chasing him away. It seemed that they had only been in town a short while. “I don’t know where to go, where I can play. I’m just trying to make some money for my family,” he said.
Orlen said he had been playing accordian since he was seven years old, and clearly, he is now a polished professional musician. I don’t know his immigration status, perhaps he is here illegally.
I told him about our favorite club, owned and operated by a wonderful family, and suggested that surely he could get some weekday solo gigs there and make a few hundred bucks. He seemed overwhelmed at that kind of opportunity. I gave him a phone number and called the club owner to watch out for him in hopes that he will find his way there.
Immigration is a tough issue these days. But if we want immigrants who bring skills to our country, I’m backing Orlen all the way.
Tom
Caution! Blind Driver