A Busker in Notts

I didn't anticipate people would look at me before I was ready. People aren't supposed to look at you before you're ready, are they? I was so scared that I forgot to tune my guitar or even decide what song to play. I just started playing. I didn't have a microphone or an amp, so I just tried to sing really loud and hit the strings as hard as I could. It was terrible. I was mortified. So before even reaching the chorus of Kumbaya, my guitar was back in its bag, and I was back in my bedroom. I tried again, and again, and eventually got more confident. But even with my guitar in tune, I still couldn't play or sing that well yet. And most, if not all, of the coins thrown into my guitar bag were from people who wanted to let me know they thought I was brave. No one ever said I was good. 

'Get a real job’ - four words every busker has heard. I remember one time, when I was eighteen or so, I was busking a bit further up the high street from where I'd first attempted to play, with my band’s banjo player Amy. After jamming for about half an hour, I was midway through a song when a middle aged woman interrupted me. Apparently she had nothing better to do at 1pm on a Tuesday. 'You want this?' she asked, as if I was a dog, 'Want one of these, do ya?' She was waving a tenner in my face. 'Get a real job then', she screamed as she snatched it away.

When I started busking with our acoustic guitarist Fin, it was mostly just for something to do. My punk band’s drummer James had jetted off to Thailand for a few months, so we pressed pause on that project, Extinction Six, and started Cheap Dirty Horse, a busking project we’d expected only to last as long as James was going to be out of the country. Not only had it been a number of years since I’d last been busking, but I’d also come out as trans since then, and I was still, at this point, very uncomfortable with the idea of being perceived in public. I hadn't really found my confidence yet. It was like being sixteen again. All that nervousness came back, but it didn’t last long. We quickly discovered how much we enjoyed writing songs together, how much we enjoyed sharing them in the streets, and before long, busking became the only thing we ever wanted to do.

There were still people who waved their disapproval, or felt the need to make transphobic comments, but we didn't care. Our focus remained on the joy of creating music and connecting with those who appreciated our effort. Our setlist was made up of songs by bands like Neutral Milk Hotel, Against Me, NOFX and Radiator Hospital, but we were also playing some of the original songs we’d started writing. We never really considered playing the more standard street performer type stuff, we just wanted to play the tunes we liked. And the times we did cover a more popular song, Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5, for example, we played it twice as fast and added a kazoo solo in the middle.

One of the best parts of busking is the amazing people you meet. That summer we met plenty. Autumn, for example, an incredible guitarist who joined the band for two hours. Or Peter, a burly man who hopped behind the mic after twelve years without singing. There was Rae, Nottingham's finest music photographer, who got us one of our first gigs and has since become a friend. We also met F.F.W.I.H. on the street - you will have seen his incredible graffiti around the city, and we're proud to be able to say he does all of our album artwork, too. Even some of the bad interactions have turned out good. One man stood very close to us, watching us play for at least twenty minutes. We were pretty alarmed by his presence but figured he just really likes folk-punk music. Eventually though, we discovered that he just really thought we needed Jesus. This formed the basis for our song Jesus II. 

We also got featured in the Nottingham Post around that time. They were doing a few articles on buskers and what originally seemed like a cool opportunity, ended with lots of angry comments from lots of angry people. “You’re just trying to get out of paying taxes,” they said, “nothing more than beggars,” they called us, and, of course, a flurry of not-at-all-bitter people told us to “get a real job.” This formed the basis of our first single, Hate Song.

When James got back from Thailand, instead of jumping right back to Extinction Six, Fin and I asked him to join in with this weird folk-punk busking thing we were doing. He was unsure at first, but soon saw our vision. Over time, the band has changed and grown and we’ve really developed our sound. Cheap Dirty Horse is now complete, with Vi on bass, Amy on banjo, and Ellen on accordion - a big rowdy six-piece. We sing songs about washing machines, anarchism, queer liberation, and dad-kissing. When we wrote our song On the Rob, it was almost definitely the moment in which we properly solidified who we are as a band. All six of us were involved with putting it together. It's blunt, both silly and sincere, and musically it shows off what makes our band a little bit unique. I couldn't be prouder of that song so it's very validating that it was our first one to blow up online, and that attention has led to some amazing moments and opportunities for us.

The best day we ever had busking was at Nottingham Pride 2023. We set ourselves up on the corner of Clumber Street and Long Row, hung a trans flag off our mic stands, and as we started playing, I couldn't have felt further from how I felt as a teenager. I was playing songs with some of my closest friends in the world and the attention we got was all so positive. So many people stopped to watch and wanted to let us know they really enjoyed what we were doing, and that is what busking is all about.

You can find Cheap Dirty Horse’s music on all good streaming services

@cheap_dirty_horse