My Friends, The Rockstars
Two days ago, I was at a bookstore in the city, browsing through books on neuroscience. As I flicked through the pages of an intellectual book, I was distracted by the distinct doof-pa doof-doof-pa pattern of a drum beat. It sounded muffled. Like someone threw a blanket over the speakers, or my ears. Through the glass, the busy city intersection looked like an army of ants, packed with people waiting for the green light to carry on their determined course. Then I spotted the source of the muffled music - a group of four buskers. Friends of mine from college. A crowd had gathered around them. I tried to make out what they were singing through the drum beat, the faint sound of the violin and the singer's lip movements.
"I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lung..."
A man dropped a $5 note into the open guitar case before joining the army of ants. Few others followed suit. Most of the crowd stayed for a couple of minutes, rewarded my friends with cash and applause and disappeared into their routine. Some of the crowd paid a relatively hefty price for two minutes of entertainment. If a John Mayer ticket cost $120 for an hour, the per minute rate would be $2 per minute of entertainment. My friends' capacity for per-minute earning was on par, or even greater. For a few minutes, they were more expensive than John Mayer.
The Sartorialist's Fame Spreads
Later, a girl sat next to me on the wooden bench, with a book in her hands. Her friend joined her and asked about the book. "It's about this guy in New York, who takes pictures of fashionable people," she said. The girl was talking about the sartorialist's book.
Nearly four years ago, a friend from NY put me on to Scott Schumann's website. He's come a long way - articles on GQ, a lifestyle show, traveling photojournalist, book signings, front row at most Fashion week shows.
He's a rock star in his own right.