An inside look at the world of buskers in Berlin

It is more surreal for me, being a Turkish singer in a city where there are 400,000 immigrant Turks who belong to the first, second or third generation of the Turkish immigrant community that first came to work here for a couple of years at the beginning of '60s and never actually made it back to their villages. Some came as “guest workers” to rebuild post-war Germany. Some have come to study or do internships, and as the story goes with all immigrant communities, they stayed on, married, had their children here, hybridized words and their sense of understanding of the world, got used to the taste of chalk-like tinned “feta cheese” and formed a Turkey beyond Turkey, at times more Turkish, more conservative or more traditional than the mainland could ever dream of being. This is the case with most diasporas, though. In order to avoid losing contact with our “roots,” we redefine them in a strange land and sometimes even engage in acts of cultural preservation, becoming cultural purists.

Multicultural medley of Berlin

However, from my own experience as a brand new immigrant in Berlin, those who are united here under the multicultural sky of Berlin love hearing songs from their country of origin more than anything, especially if they belong to an older generation. Although Turks are the largest immigrant community here in Berlin, nobody is used to hearing Turkish music on the street. So, sometimes, it can be totally shocking for a Turkish Berliner to hear a song in her native language sung by someone who comes from İstanbul. Hence, busking becomes an even more surreal experience for me when I get to sing a Dede Efendi or Haci Arif Bey song, accompanied on the guitar, and do that in a Tuesday Turkish market where the 300-year-old classical melodies from my amplifier mix in with the shouts of market vendors.

 It seems totally absurd, but imagine, you are just buying groceries from the market where you go every Tuesday and Friday, and you tell everyone that Maybachufer, i.e., the riverside, is just like the street markets in Turkey where you used to shop with your mom when you were a kid, and suddenly, you hear a song that was old, even back then, in the distant days of your childhood. You have probably even forgotten that you ever knew a song like that. And there I am, in the middle of all the rubble of fruit boxes and people passing and vendors shouting, singing that ancient song.

From my perspective, what happens first is that Turkish people don't understand that I am singing in Turkish and singing a classical or a traditional piece of our music straight away. Because this is the last thing they expect. Only when they combine the pieces of the puzzle and get to understand that I am actually singing in Turkish do their faces shine with a huge smile.

However, I am not the only one who has surreal experiences as a busker in Berlin. The thing is, Berlin is perhaps one of the few cities where there is still a considerable amount of freedom on the streets, and that, of course, affects the life of a busker as well. I do not know of any other city on earth where musicians can simply pop up in front of a restaurant, ask for permission to play music, perform a few songs and then pass the hat around for tips. This is something that I think is phenomenal, liberating and also shows the open-mindedness of the residents of the city. Hence, the life of a busker is a life spent performing at markets and on streets in the daytime and on the terraces of restaurants at night. You never become rich living like this, but considering the amount of musicians, jugglers, clowns and puppeteers who live on busking and street performance, it is impressive that a city notorious for its walls of segregation only 20 years ago is today ahead of many European cities in breaking down the walls of social structures. Perhaps, due to the economic crisis, it is impractical to have a class-ridden society today in any part of the world. However, the rather classless sphere in Berlin, where it is OK not to have a lot of money or at times even a job, where people who master the art of living are also considered “artists of living” (Lebenskünstler), is something I do find pretty revolutionary.

Appreciation of the genuine

This classless sphere is felt all the more in the field of performance. It does not matter where you perform, on the street, on a train between two stations, in a grocery market or in a huge concert hall or an art gallery, you are judged on the genuineness of your performance. It also matters hugely that what you do and where you do it are in harmony with each other. That is to say, if you perform electronic dance music in a tranquil Sunday market where they sell handicrafts, you are probably in the wrong place. By the same token, if you are at a very lively flea market where mostly young people go, and if you are not doing anything entertaining, such as having a big orchestra or putting on a show, then again, you are in the wrong place at the wrong time.

To draw the profiles of a few buskers and street performers that I know of, there is Julia, an autodidact harpist from Hamburg who is a favorite at trance festivals. You might come across her these days, especially on Sunday afternoons, somewhere near the gates of Friedrichshain, where she feels very much at home. She went all over Paris last winter, and now she is enjoying the Berlin summer.

There is Chema, Joseph and Breno, the Spanish, French and Brazilian trio who hang around playing original stuff and bossa and jamming. You would feel their absence if they were not there, surrounded by their fans, on the bridge where the Turkish market ends.

 There is Cesar, the Chilean clown, who draws huge crowds in Mauerpark and Boxhagener Platz with his jokes and juggling and irresistible smile.

There was Mario, the Brazilian trombonist, who hangs his amplifier over his shoulder and will not leave Bergmann Street without playing the same two songs in each and every restaurant on both sides of the pedestrian way.

There is the clown colleague of mine in Hackescher Markt, with whom I take turns performing on Sundays. I do not know his name, nor am I sure whether I would recognize him if I were to see him without his artificial nose and giant clown shoes.

These people get to be my colleagues while busking. This city gives us all a chance to survive while by doing what we like most: singing, playing, acting or performing. And it is simply a pleasure talking about how many watts our amplifier is or which market is no longer good to perform in or a recent jam session we have been to. The street performers are a clan here and they show that another world is possible, scattered around Berlin making it a more beautiful city. And that is why the charm of Berlin is not about its rather ugly buildings or its indecisive weather but its very alternative atmosphere, every detail of which hints at an unusually liberal city that has been freed from all sorts of walls, both literal and social.