The Grafton Academy

One of them started busking at four, another met Van Morrison while singing one of his songs, and all of them learned a few lessons at the unofficial music school that is the buskers patch. Some now-famous musicians tell Fiona McCannabout their days on the streets

Cora Venus Lunny

When did you start busking?

I was about four years old when first I busked, on Grafton Street. As far as I remember, I started out on my own, but later on some of my friends joined me. Initially the money from my solo efforts went towards my book addiction, but later on my friends and I were raising money for Greenpeace.

Where did you busk?

The only place was Grafton Street. Outside A-Wear was the preferred spot, where BT 2 is now. There was a bit of an overhang and a nice little space.

What did busking teach you about music?

At that age I was too young to have any self-consciousness associated with performing, so it only served to reinforce my natural confidence. I don't think I cared much whether people listened or not, but in any case I remember appreciative crowds and a violin case full of coins.

I also remember getting pretty lost in the music, and the experience of playing; the fact that I was outside on the street wasn't a big deal to me. I've always zoned out like that when playing. I'd probably find it a lot more challenging now than I did then.

Paul Noonan, Bell X1

Where have you busked?

I was in Paris with Brian Crosby and Dom Phillips, two of the guys from the band, and we made enough money to drink cheap beer and eat canned chilli con carne for a summer. In Jersey it was the first summer that they had legalised busking, and you needed a license to busk on this pedestrianised street in St Hellier, but to get a licence you had to have a full-time job and I didn't have one. I just went ahead in the hope that the police wouldn't ask for one and deport me.

It worked out well. Busking was quite a novelty then, so people were really into it. Apart from one shopkeeper who used to stand outside his shop while I was singing Under the Bridgeby Red Hot Chillipeppers and at the end of a long evening, when I couldn't make all the notes, he used to howl at the moon like a wolf.

What did busking teach you professionally?

I rarely played my own songs busking. Learning other people's songs does give you an insight into song craft. I was already playing in a band at that stage, but playing drums, so I suppose it gave me my first taste of singing and performing just with the guitar. As we see from the howling shopkeeper, people can be merciless out there.

Kate McGarrigle

When did you first busk?

When I first got married to Loudon Wainwright we went over to London in 1971. I had a friend over there named Chaim Tannenbaum, whom Loudon had never met, and we started realising we had some music in common. Chaim knew all the buskers in London because he's a terrific singer, and at the time he was supplementing his income through busking. So we ended up forming a little group and busking on the Portobello Road. It was in April and May of 1971. I would play the fiddle, Chaim played banjo and Loudon played guitar.

I was the bottler also. We'd do a song together on the McGarrigle Hour, a Charlie Poole song called The Baltimore Fire. It's typical of what we did on the street, which was kind of pre-bluegrass, 1920s American string band.

Did you make much money?

We made enough money to go into a pub and buy a few pints and keep the hot water running.

What did you learn about performance and music?

It was fun learning the songs simply; you just had to sound good for a short amount of time. When you're busking they're not a captive audience - you really have to go after them. It was just fun for us to be doing it, you know? It was fun to do it outside, not have microphones. It was pared down and completely immediate. Very green.

Any remarkable busking moments?

About a month ago I was in New York with a friend of mine and we were in Williamsburg, which is kind of a groovy area. We hit the subway to go back to Manhattan, and there was this guy, a young white guy with a guitar, singing a song called Poor Wayfaring Stranger, which was an old song from my youth, and it was very beautiful. We started humming along with him. He finished it and we said "Do you know anything else like that?" and he said "I know Bob Dylan".

So he started playing Blowin' in the Wind, and suddenly we found ourselves singing along, and suddenly everybody on the platform is singing, "The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind." It was kind of a magical moment.

Glen Hansard

When did you start busking?

When I started out, all the buskers that I came across were doing it to make a living. It almost seemed like they were a bit beaten, and it felt like the music wasn't so much coming through them as it was being pulled from them. So busking never seemed that attractive until I saw Liam Ó Maonlai and Fiachna Ó Braonain busking. It was almost like they were playing a concert on the street, not playing to make money.

Busking is a job, and a lot of people approach it that way: they go out and make money and stop when they've made what they need to make. But then there was this new thing, these people doing it for the wonder and the fun.

When I started busking, money wasn't my driving force and that was the big difference between the generation of buskers that I grew up with and those I'd lived with as a child. Those who preceded us lot were the working musicians, who went out and sang whatever was popular. But there was a different philosophy behind our playing. It was more to do with learning our chops because we couldn't get gigs.

Did it help you musically?

Like everything, it's all about how you approach it, and we approached it thinking, "This is our education. This is school."

I was 14 when I left school. My headmaster was Frankie Byrne, who was a producer on 2FM. One day he said to me, "Look Glen, you love Dylan, you love Cohen, you can tell me the track listing of Street Legalbackwards but you can't tell me the square root of nine. You're a bright kid, but you're not using your intelligence the way that you need to. You love music, and you play guitar, so why don't you go out and get an education with what you love, and if in a year it doesn't work out for you, you can come back to school. "

I took him up on it and went busking that same day. For me, when I went out on the street I was keeping a deal with my headmaster as well as keeping a deal with myself.

I learned how to sing on the street. On Before the Flood, Bob Dylan does a version of Just Like a Woman. I said to myself, "The day I can sing that song like Dylan does it, I'll be able to say I'm a good singer." And every night I lashed it out, and I was pretty shit. But eventually I got to the place where I could hit the wall across the street.

When you're busking, you've got to hit the guitar as hard as you can and sing as loud as you can. When I joined the band, I realised I was hitting the guitar harder and singing much louder than I needed to. My guitar has a big hole in it now because I still play like a busker.

Do you still busk?

I just busked in Barcelona. Sometimes cities can be quite intimidating, and make you feel like a tourist, like you're outside of the city, a visitor, and not welcome into its heart. The funny thing about music is you can go to any city in the world and pull out a guitar and start singing, and pretty much immediately the city welcomes you into its heart.

Any interesting encounters?

If you stand still on the street in any city in the world for long enough, you get to see it. I thought of that playing in Grafton Street, that if there's anyone you ever want to meet, you go and stand in a place long enough and they have to pass by at some stage. And sure enough, there I am playing Astral Weeksone day and Van the Man walks past.

Within the first few months of me busking, I met a street artist whose name was Templeand. Because he was a street person, we went for a coffee together, and he brought me back to his mother's house, and she was an artist, Philippa Bayliss, and I ended up living in his house for four years. So suddenly I had this whole new circle of friends from one momentary encounter with a guy. And Philippa was the person who really educated me on the idea of art. She had this simple relationship with money, which was, you make art and you sell it and you live from it. That was my education.

Also, just like in Once, I got The Frames together from people I met on the street.

Damian Rice

When did you start busking?

The first time I remember I was about 13 or 14. But I guess this wasn't real busking because I wasn't doing it for the money, just playing for the Spanish and Italian students who used to visit our school during the summer holidays. Proper busking started after leaving Juniper. The reason I did it was because I'd never done it "properly" before, and I wanted to wander.

Did you make money?

I used to make great money. I could go busking for an hour or two and have enough money for the day, 20 to 30 quid, which would get me food, a hostel, and a bit of savings for the next bus to the next town.

Were people receptive?

People were receptive in their own way in different places. Ireland was certainly the best earner and the most receptive, especially the Galway Arts Festival. I met people there who have become some of my dearest friends in life. Germany was a little different because they had rules whereby I had to get a permit from somewhere. Then I went south in search of warmer weather and eventually landed in Spain and enjoyed busking on the streets in Alcalá de Henares, just outside Madrid, during their town festival.

Any busking stories?

One time I was busking in Elgin in Scotland 10 or 11 years ago. I played and played and nothing came in, not a penny, people just walked by. Just as I was starting to doubt myself, it started to rain. I pulled my stuff in from the path and put the amp and mic under a window ledge for shelter and sat there a little depressed after what felt like a wasted hour or so in the cold. I curled over my guitar and started humming to myself in my defeated mood. And there I was, hanging sloppily over my guitar and vomiting up whatever words came to me and out of nowhere a £2 coin fell into my guitar case, then another pound, and then another, and on it went.

It was quite surreal. When I played for them they ignored me. When I played for me they paid me even though they could hardly hear what I was doing in the midst of writing a song, mumbling to myself. Perhaps there's a message in there, or maybe that was just Elgin on a rainy day.

Trish Klein

Where did you start busking?

When The Be Good Tanyas first started playing together we'd go busk on Commercial Drive in Vancouver, which is the bohemian, arty neighbourhood. There was a vintage clothing store a friend of ours owned, and we had a regular gig there every Sunday. We'd go in and put on wild outfits, Victorian dresses and 1930s hats. It drew people into the store, and in exchange we'd get donations and get some credit.

Did you make much money?

Not much, usually enough to all go out for lunch afterwards, or go buy some groceries, and go to my place and cook some dinner, or go to a greasy spoon. We'd walk away with $15 apiece and some credit at the shop if we were lucky.

Another time we busked was at a big festival called Lilith Fair. There was a long line of people waiting to get in, so we decided we would busk and we made $100, which seemed like extravagant riches to us.

How did it help you professionally?

Early on it was good for us getting over the shyness, but it was hard. Busking can be disheartening, especially if you're by yourself. You're trying to put a lot of emotion into a song, and it seems like no one cares. When we did it with The Be Good Tanyas it became more fun. We were like a little performance troupe. We'd get dressed up and really get into the theatrics

Gemma Hayes

When did you start busking?

I never really busked as a means to an end. I actually only did it 10 or 15 times. I did it more as a laugh when I was about 19 or 20, because I'd just started going to the International Bar and I'd seen a lot of those people out busking, and I thought, "That's really cool". So I tried it myself.

Where was your spot?

I used to do it outside Brown Thomas, and there's a shop up from Bewley's that has a little alcove - anywhere where there's a doorway is good. For acoustics, if you've got a little alcove around you, you can get a louder sound.

Did you earn much?

One evening it was pouring rain and I'd made no money, maybe £2 or something, and I was packing up and this guy came over and gave me a tenner. I said I was packing up and he said just play me a few songs. It was raining and I had to open up the guitar case and he sat on a bin and I just played to him in the rain on Grafton Street. It was very strange.

What did busking teach you musically?

You have to up your game. You want to try to stop people in their tracks when they have other things on their mind. It really makes you step up. You have to be confident, you can't be some shrinking violet at the side of the road or people will just walk by you. You have to project your voice and your whole being for them to stop.

Paddy Casey

How did you get into busking?

Mic Christopher was in my school, so I caught him on the street one day busking, with Glen Hansard and Mark Dignam, and I asked them could I play. There were a few different groups of people that used to do it. Busking supergroups, that's what they were.

Where have you busked?

Grafton Street was usually the main place to go. You just found a space - there were a few places that were nicer than other places, but if they were gone you just found somewhere else. When you got the Bewley's spot that was great, because the doors went inwards and the sound used to bounce around a bit.

Any run-ins with the law?

I've been arrested a few times for busking. They'd put you in the cell the odd time as well - it just depends on what way you answer the gardaí back. Most of the time they just moved you on.

Did busking help your music?

When you went busking you'd no choice but to do it and do it properly, to do it loud and do it strong, so that when it came to doing gigs, you just got up and decided: "No one is going to pay any attention if I sidle off to the corner and sing to myself." It made my voice a lot stronger. It's easier standing on a stage than it is busking.

What did you learn about audiences?

It definitely taught you that when they were drunk they enjoyed it more. It taught you that people like things they can sing along with.

Any strange busking stories?

Me and my friend Colin were busking in Galway and these two guys came up to us and were like "Do youse want to come on our boat and play a few songs?" They told us they were in the navy, so we went on their navy boat and we played a concert for all the crew of the Irish navy. We had the run of the ship that night; we could have gone and fired off the guns if we'd wanted to.