In 2020, the Streets Went Silent

When I came to Northeastern University, living here was an entirely new experience. Compared to my rural hometown, cities were always bright and noisy, brimming with life and people, and above all: music. Street performers, parades, bands, and so much more, all created music in the streets of their city; Boston of course is no different, or at least it was. With the arrival of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, the streets have gone silent, as people are confined to their homes and stay distant from one another. My first year living in Boston is quiet and somber, but it is near impossible to keep people from making music. With this research project, I sought to discover how the pandemic has affected street performers in Boston, and where the music has gone.

When it comes to music, street performance can be one of the purest forms; it's energetic, unpolished, and extremely inclusive. Street performers want everyone to listen, no matter the culture of their music or the identities of their audience. They play openly on the streets, with no tickets or fees, no walls or stages in the way between them and their listeners. From busking to parades, music in the streets is free-flowing, and I think it is an important tradition to preserve. With the pandemic, people have become afraid of one another and of being in public. They’ve fled to their homes, and shuffle away from each other if someone gets too close, fearful and joyless. It’s been proven time and time again that music heals, from being used in therapy to simply just making somebody dance and sing. Even in the pandemic, people have resorted to music to help steer solitude away. Playing instruments and singing in their balconies across the world, from Italy, Spain, and New York City, people have used music as a way to connect with others during difficult times.

This article covers the topic of why people chose to make music during the pandemic, studying it from an interesting, scientific perspective.

This is why street music is more important than ever: with people growing distrustful and angry at each other, and higher rates of depression and substance abuse, this pandemic has stripped human connection and intimacy away from us. It’s well-known that music brings people together, creating a feeling of closeness and belonging, of being a part of something grand, something meaningful. Whether you’re listening or participating, music is a universal source of fun. With our streets more silent than ever, our concert halls empty, and our bands left with no venues, how else can people use music to feel connected? That’s why this topic matters, it is about finding where the music has gone, what has happened to it, and how it can be brought back. How can we bring people together again through music, when music may no longer be possible in traditional settings?

The internet was one of my primary sources, as the pandemic prevented me from asking questions in a physical scene. Relying on Google and Northeastern University’s many databases to answer my research question, first I asked: “Where has street performance gone?”. What happened to the performers, their livelihoods, and how are they managing now? An article from The ARTery, an online media site, provides information concerning two of Boston’s most beloved street performers. Despite not being musicians, they were a well-loved part of Boston’s busking scene. A dancer, Cjaiilon Andrade, known as Snap Boogie, would normally perform at Faneuil Hall, personally selecting onlookers to perform with him. Nowadays, his performances can never be the same, as people will no longer stand close to one another, and he cannot select audience members to join him. As a result, Snap Boogie has been out of a job since the pandemic  began and Faneuil Hall has paused its street performer program. Another Boston performer, known as Rami Salami, had been a balloon-twisting clown since the mid-’90s. Suddenly out of a job, he lived in his camper until an acquaintance provided him a place to live. However, Rami is unsure about the possibilities of returning to his busking career- at his age, it’s simply no longer safe (As Boston Sits Empty).