Busking is an antidepressant for me.

I saw my first busker in the French Quarter of New Orleans in the summer of 1987. He was shirtless and long-haired, sweating under a fancy Western hat. He was singing some song about Montreal.

That’s all I remember about the tune, but I made a mental note to myself:

I’d like to do that someday.

Someday was over 30 years later.

In between, I spent a lot of years playing in bands. Quite frankly, I finally became exhausted by all the compromises and drama of being in bands. I reached a breaking point and decided to quit playing.

I essentially took my toys and went home.

Quitting music took away my sense of purpose, and I became really depressed.

The problem remained: I still wanted to play.

My first busking experience was during a Kentucky Bourbon Festival in Bardstown several years ago. I found a spot on the corner and set up with my Epiphone J-45 copy and brand-new Roland Cube Street battery-powered amp.

I was nervous as hell.

My kids were there.

It wasn’t a great performance, and I only made $3, but it got busking in my blood.

I can’t get arrested in Bardstown.

Well, as far as gigging goes.

That’s an important distinction because I’ve actually been arrested in Bardstown.

What I love most about busking, and by now I’ve done it in many cities in the U.S., is the connection with pedestrians.

Whether they want to hear me perform or not, they have to.

Which amuses me a little.

I don’t have to schedule it. I just pack up the car and drive to the center of town. No dealing with booking, schedules, or fee negotiations.

On a good day, I reach people who wouldn’t run into me in a bar. Runners and joggers. Small children. The elderly. Hot chicks out walking their dogs. Other colorful characters like eccentrics and the homeless.

So far, the police have left me alone everywhere. Except for one.

He helped me land a paid gig in a restaurant that his buddy owned.

The dancing children. The singalongs. The tips. Sometimes people drop prayer cards.

You can’t beat a good day busking.

Weather permitting, of course.