My commute is usually a pain this winter: slow trains, slushy platforms and crowded cars. There is, however, this violinist who is at the 7th Avenue Station in Brooklyn most mornings — beanie cap askew, eyes half closed and fingers spidering like crazy over the strings — who creates awesome commute soundtracks. He’s good — not great like a Joshua Bell or Nadia Sonneberg — but because of how he’s playing and more importantly, where he’s playing — there’s something transcendent about the experience.
Passengers rush by. Some stand on the platform, craning their necks for the next train around the bed, one ear tuned to the screeching tracks while the other can’t help but twitch to the bow and string. Sometimes, a dad or mom will push their kids forward to drop a few bills into the open case. Sometimes, a tired looking office worker will forgo the first train and get on the next so he can listen to a few more bars.
Perhaps creative expression rises in correlation to the degree of transientness of the impression.
It’s snippets like this that makes me love New York.
I find it incredible that I am able to listen to this.
(Source: joshuanguyen)
