Street Music

The lady next to me wasn’t wearing any shoes. She did have black stockings pulled tight over her feet, however, and a Celtic blanket of red and black wrapped about her shoulders. The guy next to her was Jewish, probably 55, his hair and his beard a slate gray. He was taking pictures with a nice Canon camera. There was a crowd of 15 or 20 more people on the sidewalk, 4th and Market, near the new Bloomingdales and the white neon glow of the Apple store.

Only one of us was dancing.

She was in her 20s. Her head was shaved, and her body was sinewy. She looked liked she had just outlasted a bout with cancer, and she was dancing like it, too, her arms and legs flailing about in the dark. Anytime pedestrians walked through the crowd, she implored them to stop and dance. “It’s Friday night,” she said. “I love San Francisco. Were you born here? I wasn’t, but I wish I had been.” One guy with a “Ya Mamma Nigga” sweater walked on through without slowing down. Another lady stopped to shake her booty, then continued on.

The band’s name was Sinclair. It consisted of a drummer, a bassist, and a lead singer who could play the electric guitar, scat, and sing. Their songs often began with the lead singer playing a rift. Then the drummer joined in and so did the bassist. The music that emerged was beautiful and raw, like it was growing from the streets. It was at times melodic, then crude and uncut. There were squeaking brakes, car horns, Friday-night banter. A red hook-and-latter knifed down Stockton and swung a right onto Ellis. Everything blended in.

When I got home, I checked the band’s profile on MySpace. Sinclair, I learned, performed seven days a week on the streets of San Francisco, even on days they had gigs secured in clubs and bars around town. They had won a Battle of the Bands up in Sacramento as well, but they were still awaiting their big break. A recording of their music was playing in the background as I read this. I have to admit I was a bit disappointed, as though I had found I shiny penny on the sidewalk only to discover it had lost its luster by the time I got home.

The recording wasn’t even bad. It just lacked the surround sound.