I remember an accordionist in a Cossack costume with a dashing forelock. I heard his rolling "A young Cossack walks along the Don..." both in Bremen, and in Hamburg, and even in Munich. And then - as if cut off! And the "Cossack" had far fewer colleagues in this spontaneous trade. And he himself noticeably lost his free spirit, became wary, tensed up. Now Nikolai (that's how he introduced himself) is always in a hurry. And he acts looking over his shoulder. Not only does he work at tourist bus stops illegally, that is, without permission, but his Schengen visa has long expired.
Once a former director of a House of Culture from near Lviv took with him part of the props of a regional dance ensemble and, after a divorce, bought the cheapest tour package to France. But before the start of a sightseeing tour of Paris, he ducked into the subway. So that, in Nikolai's own words, he would "later regret it a thousand times and praise himself a hundred thousand times for such a decision."
Below sea level, this seeker of adventure spends most of his current life. Now in Germany. Because in his previous place:
- There's no getting away from competitors! They've flocked to Paris from Romania and Moldova. They perform their 'gypsy music' at almost every step.
And in the subway, both in France and Germany, it's warmer to ply one's trade. But here's the trouble: time and again Nikolai encounters the high legal consciousness of German citizens, male and female. The author of this observation himself witnessed how a law-abiding female passenger expressed her "fie" at creative amateur performance in an inappropriate place. The lady pulled out some kind of ID card and pointed Nikolai to the doors of the car. He obediently, with a guilty smile, submitted.
In beautiful Salzburg, for example, at the foot of the majestic fortress, my wife and I joined numerous listeners and could not leave for a long time the quintet of musicians who at one time shone not only on Ukrainian and Russian stages. The guys, gathered together in Austria, had previously worked at the Kiev Philharmonic. And now they virtuosically demonstrate classical repertoire in Mozart's homeland. At the same highest level, girls from St. Petersburg also master their bows. They came to Bremen on a cultural exchange and were supposed to perform only in concert halls. But we noticed the artists on the street. Without realizing it ourselves, we recorded what under new German laws is a serious administrative violation. As it turned out, professionals can now work in the open air only in exceptional cases and with special permission.
The explanation may be the fact that local authorities are tired of the disorder that is unprofitable for the treasury. After all, all these impromptu concerts bypass the official cash register. And they are accompanied by active under-the-counter sales of CDs. So they cut off the oxygen to all our honored and national orchestras and ensembles. They directed professionals exclusively through official channels, demanding that they perform only there and only as many times as stipulated in invitations and contracts. At the same time, they also brought order to the amateur element in Germany. And quite noticeably!
"Hanna from the Zaporozhian Sich" is actually named Tatyana, and she was born in Voronezh. But she did work in a bandura ensemble for about two years. And she brought the folk instrument along to Germany "just in case."
- At first everything was simply wonderful," Tatyana Samuilovna recalls nostalgically, "you'd get your benefit, sit through language courses, and you could be free. Run your fingers over the strings until you're blue in the face.
The bandura player settled on the Römer, the main and oldest square in Frankfurt am Main. In a national Ukrainian costume, with colorful satin ribbons and an exotic instrument, Tatyana Samuilovna attracted increased attention. The immigrant woman did not particularly need money. Her husband fairly quickly got a job as an electrician at the fair complex. But Tatyana was bored on her benefit.
- Cooking dinner is an hour's work. Cleaning up - no more than an hour. And then what? You go to the square, there are always people, smiles, applause... And I always managed to collect 30-40 marks for myself in a couple of hours for pocket money...
But later, according to Tatyana Samuilovna, a personal drama happened. Simply put, the artist became infatuated with an artist. Also an immigrant and also a former Voronezh resident. She moved with him to the banks of the Danube. But times there for the artist began not the sweetest. As throughout Germany, in Bavaria they set about taming street and square revelry. The city administration sells only five permits a day before noon and five after. But there are always far more applicants. And you have to queue from early morning.
But even having received the coveted piece of paper for 10 euros, you can't relax. German Ordnung now imposes its strict order among the free artistic fraternity. Phonograms are strictly forbidden! And you can play and sing live in one place, designated by an official, for no more than an hour. Then you must change location according to the schedule approved by the magistrate. And God forbid you act illegally! Not only do inspectors from a special department of the city administration constantly circulate, and police patrols appear exactly when you least expect them, but your own brother, a wandering artist, can report an unauthorized performance to the authorities. Because the wolf law of commercial struggle operates even in the world of sweet muses. Eliminate a competitor and you get an extra chance to earn more.
But even through such a frequent German sieve, the Slavic free spirit manages to seep through rather dashingly. Some play on pity. Another group is our former minors, earning money in Lübeck after music school for a game console. Germans are sentimental, and a rare inspector will start finding fault with the hardworking "flowers of life."
Another trick was invented by a retired Soviet major. Together with a guest, your correspondent came out of the famous Munich Hofbräuhaus late in the evening. After good Bavarian beer, the soul felt light and warm. We wanted a song. And it immediately struck up. A brave mustached man in a Kuban Cossack outfit stretched the accordion bellows and immediately received his two euros from two grateful listeners.
- I don't gather a crowd around myself. And I try in every way not to attract the attention of inspectors, - the former military man, who asked to be called Bayanist, shared his small production secrets. - I go out to work after sunset, I deliver "pinpoint strikes"... That is, I choose only tipsy, considerably good-natured tourists near beer halls. I perform Ukrainian or Russian folk songs "exclusively for you". And I immediately leave the zone of possible defeat for a backup site...