I was surrounded by a melting pot of music emerging from a variety of food outlets and stage performances in the distance. Above all the sound I could hear the Spoon Player. Riding his tricycle bike around aimlessly, making whooping shouts to grab attention he stopped at random locations, dismounts and starts playing his spoons. Once a sufficient audience is garnished he kicks off into his Elvis renditions.
I asked if I can take some photographs. He nods in agreement and he immediately launches into ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ There is an endearing insanity with these types of performers. In between festivals I’m not sure what they do other than hibernate. I managed to have a small chat with the Spoon Player before he mounted his tricycle bike and spun off to his next engagement.
“How long have you been doing this?” I ask.
“Doing what?” He replies.
“Your routine” I explained.
“Since when I was born in 1935. I had a strange alien encounter in 1977 and I was whisked away to another plant. My looks have gone, but the pelves still works” He replied.
“Oh”, I said
“Your welcome” he replied as he jumped onto his tricycle bike and rode off whooping.
I felt like saying aloud, “The Spoon Player has left the building,” but I didn’t.