Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, whom I was fortunate enough to interview and is now in his 90s, told me that he was playing in the Tube for some British school kids in the early ’60s. He was on one platform and across the tracks was a class of school kids.
Maybe 15 years later, a British guy comes up to Jack and says, “Hi, my name is Mick Jagger, and you played for my class. We were on a field trip in the London Tube.”
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So, you might say Jack’s busking helped to influence Mick Jagger.
Quincy, Massachusetts-based musician Jesse Ahern knows a thing or two about busking. In a 2023 interview for his fifth LP Roots Rock Rebel, SPIN Executive Editor Liza Lentini said of the album: “Jesse creates a meaningful call to action in the tradition of great rambling American buskers.” At the time, Jesse was the first artist signed to Dropkick Murphys’ Dummy Luck Music/[PIAS] label. Jesse has toured extensively with DKM and is an old friend of frontman Ken Casey and the band.
SPIN then interviewed Jesse last August for the release of his new single “Sunshine,” one the writer called “a deeply optimistic song,” released at a time when Jesse was readying himself for his next move—and new album.
“Sunshine” would end up being the closing single on Mercy, the long-awaited new album, released on January 17. Its opening track, “Someday,” refers to the streets: “Down on the street is where we should be putting fools back in their place.” Even though he now plays clubs, theaters, and festivals, it’s not uncommon to find him setting up shop on a sidewalk before a “real” show—or even a cancelled show.
While I was busy listening to Mercy, Jesse was reading my newly released book, Down on the Corner: Adventures in Busking & Street Music (Jawbone Press). So in a recent phone conversation, we had a lot to talk about.
Was busking the way you broke into performing music?
Jesse Ahern: I was 18 to 22 when I started busking. It was hard to crack into the Boston and Cambridge scenes. I wanted to play in front of people, and I got the notion to busk. I grew up in North Quincy. You get on the Red Line, and it was six stops to Park Street. At Park Street, you’d see a lot of musicians. I probably saw Mary Lou Lord down there.
So that was your first kind of performance. Had you played clubs or coffee houses prior to that?
I played a friend’s party. Our band did a few original songs and I got the bug. It was hard to crack the Boston scene unless you knew someone. I really wanted to play and I knew people who’d busked, so that’s what I did. I had an old beat-up Yamaha guitar. I did that for a number of years. Playing in the subway is a lot of politics.
How is it political?
I thought you just had to show up with your guitar and start playing. But if you showed up at a certain stop on the Red Line or Harvard Square at the busiest time and started playing, someone might come down there and claim it was their spot. They’d get mad. I’ve always kind of been an outsider. So I learned how to find places that weren’t as busy, like Brattle Square, a couple of stops away from Harvard Square.
New Orleans has a musician advocacy organization, MaCCNO, which asks people to respect spots that another busker had come to adopt.
I guess that’s political—if you’re down in the subway and someone claims that’s their spot. I found spots and learned how to pick up my guitar anywhere I was and play. It wasn’t always the subway. Sometimes it was Walton Beach. I’d play for hours at the sea wall.
I don’t know my Boston suburbs; how would you describe Quincy demographically?
It’s a working-class [city, less than 10 miles outside] Boston—union workers, firefighters, police—when I was growing up. When I was growing up, it was [predominantly] Irish and Italian.
What would be a good day in busking? What would be a bad day?
A good day would be when I’d go down and play Davis Square for two or three hours and put a few bucks in my pocket. There were plenty of times I walked out of there with only loose change, and then there were other times that I would make a few bucks. A really good day was when someone would stop and talk to me. I learned that having a connection with people is a bigger part of music than being a virtuoso. I’ve always had to work at being a musician; I’m not a natural born musician. I’m kind of a working-class musician. That’s my vibe. I was never this smokin’ guitar player. I have a decent voice, sure. But I was always good at communicating with people and making connections. When you’re down there, people walk right by you and pay you no mind.
Billy Bragg told me for the book that busking taught him not to fret—no pun—about the lack of soundchecks, that he could always improvise it on the spot.
I’ll tell you a good story that kind of plays to that: I’m friendly with the Dropkick Murphys. They’ve been pretty good to me. Well, Billy Bragg came out and played with them last year on St. Patrick’s Day, and the greatest thing about it—and I 100% agree with him on this—as people that I’ve been on the road with can tell you, I don’t like soundchecks. I’ve learned how to do it on the fly. When Billy played with them that night, they wanted him to do a soundcheck, but he wouldn’t.
I was talking to Fantastic Negrito, Grammy Award-winning blues artist. When he started out, he was Xavier, kind of a Prince-like R&B act, and he was dropped by Interscope Records. I mean, everybody who signs to Interscope becomes a star except for this guy! So he returned to Oakland, became a pot farmer and started busking just to keep that muscle memory alive. He eventually discovered that he was a completely different kind of artist—a folk-blues artist. Did busking give you any revelations stylistically?
Oh, yes! That’s how I discovered Woody Guthrie. When I first started busking, I liked the Grateful Dead and Joe Strummer… always a big Clash fan. I’d heard of Woody Guthrie, People would say “you remind me of Woody Guthrie” all the time. I don’t think there’s anything similar between us other than we play music and sing songs, right? I learned about being a folk singer from busking—a lot about Woody Guthrie, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, all those people.
Mary Lou Lord told me about a particularly bad day in the London Tube, where a creepy guy with one arm peed in her guitar case, then stole her money—so that would be a bad day for her.
I had that stuff too, like dealing with drunks. It’s an interesting culture. On my last British tour, I had to do an impromptu show: A club double-booked me or something like that. But enough people showed up to where I said, “Alright, let’s take this to the street.” So I went out onto the street and played a whole show in Manchester.
Harry Perry, a famous Venice boardwalk busker who wears a turban, Sikh outfit, and roller skates, often follows the tour route of Grateful Dead spinoffs, playing on the grounds, and that’s proven lucrative for him. But one needs formal permission sometimes.
I played before Bob Weir in Worcester. He was doing a show there and I set up in the parking lot and played to a bunch of Deadheads. Another time I was in Nashville and I did some busking. I think it was in the Five Points area. I’d been sleeping in my van, I was on tour, and I did like a little impromptu show out there. Basically, if I have my guitar and someone asks me to put on a show, I can do it.
How has technology changed busking? Needless to say, people used to throw quarters or, if you’re lucky, dollar bills or $5 dollar bills. Now that’s changed with QR codes and payment apps. And social media alerts fans to where and when they can see you.
I’m archaic…I don’t like doing social media. I obviously have to do it to some extent. I came to the realization that maybe I might be a little too old fashioned. If you wanna look at it from another perspective, doing stuff like Instagram Live and Facebook Live—I’ve been doing a ton of those—is a form of busking. A hermit’s idea of busking.
Maxwell Street in Chicago, where I saw my first street singer, wasn’t around much past 1988-90. You drive by it, it’s sad now—pricey condominiums where the flea market once stood. It’s near the Loop and the University of Illinois campus. I get it. It’s real estate. But it made me sad that Chicago didn’t turn it into Bourbon Street or Beale Street or Cambridge Square or Venice Boardwalk.
It made me sad too when I was reading that, with the university not wanting to budge. Harvard Square is kind of like that now. It’s just not the same. When I used to get off the train and walk out those doors, there’d be people playing everywhere, and you don’t see that that much. It used to feel like when you watched these people, you’d get a little insight into their soul.
Ted Hawkins was discovered by a Geffen Records A&R scout. The Violent Femmes were playing Milwaukee beneath a theater marquee where the Pretenders just happened to be performing and Chrissie Hynde and James Honeyman-Scott came out, saw the band and said, ‘Hey, you guys are good. Wannabe our opener for our opener?’ And they invited them inside to play the theater. Did you ever experience anything like that? I mean, probably not being signed by Geffen nor discovered by Chrissie Hynde, but did you ever expect something a little like that might happen?
I have far exceeded any expectation I’ve ever had music in the last 10 years of my life. So I never really had those thoughts. I think the most that ever happened to me is I got my heart broken. That’s about it.
Would you care to elaborate?
I had met a woman who kind of took to me. She was going to Tufts or some school in Cambridge. She was writing a paper on street musicians, and she talked to me. She told me about some gallery she was going to perform at. So I went to the gallery and she had a beautiful voice. I fell for her. I had an extra guitar and I gave it to her. And then I never saw her again. Only years later, when social media came out, I saw that she was playing. She still had my guitar, which made me happy. I don’t think she knew I was falling for her. So the coolest thing to me was meeting people like that. I’ve made relationships that way.
Is there anything you’d like to say that’s NOT about busking but about other aspects of your career?
I’m just a song and dance man—that’s it. I’ve always liked to entertain and tell stories. I just was lucky enough that I got a guitar and was introduced to good music as a kid. And I’ve been lucky enough to keep my mind open, bob and weave, and change.
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