A sidewalk is not a stage. A stage has a door and a cover charge and a sound man and a bouncer who decides who gets in. A sidewalk has none of that. A sidewalk is public property. It belongs to the city which means it belongs to everybody which means it belongs to nobody. And that is the best venue in the world. A venue that belongs to nobody.

I played on sidewalks for fifty years. Not because I could not get a gig. I had gigs. I had Elektra Records. I had Apple Records. I had a Beatle produce my album. I could have played clubs for the rest of my life. I chose the sidewalk. Because a club audience paid to be there. A sidewalk audience chose to stop. There is a difference between paying and choosing. Paying is a transaction. Choosing is a decision. I wanted the decision. I wanted somebody to stop walking because the music was worth stopping for. Not because they already bought a ticket.

The cops hated the sidewalk. The cops wanted the music inside, behind a door, behind a license, behind a permit. Because once the music is behind a door you can control it. You can shut the door. You can revoke the permit. You cannot revoke a sidewalk. The sidewalk was there before the cops and it will be there after them. I played on the sidewalk because the sidewalk cannot be shut down. The sidewalk cannot be censored. The sidewalk is the first amendment poured in concrete.

Every musician I ever respected started on a sidewalk. Not all of them stayed. Most of them moved inside as fast as they could. Got the record deal. Got the tour bus. Got the green room with the rider. Good for them. I stayed on the concrete. Not because I was too stubborn to go inside. Because the inside is where music goes to get comfortable. And comfortable music does not change anything. The sidewalk is uncomfortable. The wind blows your setlist away. The bus drowns out your chorus. A drunk guy yells during your best line. That is where music is supposed to happen. In the mess. In the weather. In the world.

See also: The Busker — the job description. The Corner — where two streets meet and a person decides. The Permit — the city tried to put a leash on the sidewalk. The Arrest — music criticism with handcuffs. The Hat — the oldest payment system, right there on the concrete. The Rally — Sinclair on what happens when the sidewalk gets crowded. Penn Station — playing Seventh Avenue while the cops move you three times. Sunwalk — the morning walk on the sunny side of the street. The Stoop — the five steps between the sidewalk and the door. Parking Meter — paying rent for six feet of curb. Stickball — the bases are a manhole cover and a fire hydrant and a parked car. Subway Grate — the ground is breathing and Marilyn Monroe is standing on it.