Jesse Colvin
Way back in 2009, a standoff occurred between Plaza vendors and street musicians—aka buskers—that ultimately wound up with a bit of regulation for those who take to the streets to ply their tunes. Today, street performers must obtain a $25 license from the city if they wish to perform, and while it has been some time since we’ve heard any news, good or bad, from their ranks, you’ll find musicians spread out across the downtown area to this day. Still, in Santa Fe—a city known worldwide for its art,—buskers remain a relatively neglected facet of local creativity. We talked with busker Adam Rael about performing on the Plaza, where he continues to balance the spirit of art and making a living. This interview has been edited for clarity and concision. (Jesse Colvin)
Is Busking lucrative, or do you also work? How long have you been at this?
I’m from Taos, I just came out here to make some money. There’s nothing in Taos right now, [because] they kind of broke down the places to play because of road construction. I’m 28 now, I started playing at about 10 years old, then started singing when I got the confidence, and I kind of just kept going from there. It’s like fishing...you throw your worms in there...like when people get hungry, like at lunch time, or dinner time, or sometimes when there’s an event on the weekend. Sometimes you’ll make a lot, and sometimes you won’t make anything; you can get kicked out by the police.
Is it the nature of the music, the way you look, or do they hassle you -because you don’t have a permit?
Our music brings out the best and worst of people. The Plaza is the only place I don’t get hassled. Mostly we play the old people music, like the lullabies and sleepy stuff, Ray Charles and stuff like that. It crosses over into country music, kind of like from the south. All the people are older, so we play a lot of older music, with some original music sprinkled in. The [security guards] like us. They don’t mess with me, and I don’t mess with them, because they like the music. They are here every day all bored, and we entertain them too. I think people dig it and it’s not like we’re playing punk music…or heavy metal or anything. We’re just playing good old songs New Mexicans like. We grew up on them, and our parents grew up on them. When they tell me about the permit, I tell them that I’m Native American, so I don’t need one. I’ve been against that permit for a while, but I follow their rules. [I] have a permit. I don’t play loud; I play certain types of music; I dress accordingly. I’m not smoking or being a punk or all drunk or anything like that. I’m very professional. I do whatever they want, including the permit. I pay for parking, I pay taxes, you have us sitting on the ground selling jewelry—I shouldn’t pay for your permit.
Is it the cops on the Plaza who want you to move along?
The cops don’t even really care. It’s the shop owners who call them. We get blamed because we are street people. The cops would rather mess with the hippie with a guitar and the nice guy stoner when there’s people smoking fentanyl right there a block from the Plaza. Literally right there, dude. We’re nice with guitars and all. They can handle us. We’re the easy ones. They came yesterday and I was like ‘Why are you doing this? We have the permit.’ and he was like, ‘Don’t get an attitude with me.’ I’m Native, just because I don’t have the feathers and the drum and going all hey-ai-hey, doesn’t mean I’m not Native. We’re making little, little dollars dude. We have to be on it. We’re like walking on eggshells because at any point they can just get rid of you. It looks like a lot of people but a block away it’s dead, and they are struggling to sell their things and stay in business. I get it that they think we’re infringing on their money. That’s why no one comes out here to play music because they discourage them, but now I try to stay down here now that I’ve got a little base. Although now that it’s getting colder, I’m trying to get some gigs inside.
