The Accordion Player at Broadway-Lafayette
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There is an accordion player whom I see on Sunday afternoons at the Broadway-Lafayette subway stop. She is young, has white skin with almost a talcum powder glow. Her hair is raven black. The music coming out of her accordion sounds so old… as though she channels an old Eastern European soul from its wooden frame by pressing its white keys.
When I descend the stairs into the underworld of the MTA and hear her accordion cry, I freeze. I am chilled by its misplaced melody, as though someone opened up a jewelry box somewhere and its notes are echoing through the labrynth of tunnels. I feel I am suddenly being haunted by a ghost. The accordion player smiles if you smile at her. I often wonder her story, and indeed took a card should I want to end the mystery. Her song makes you think you have time traveled back to the cobblestone streets of early 20th century Prague. Seeing her as the source of the music is just as unexpected as first hearing the notes; her modern image jolts you back into the present. I see her as an unlikely historian, a priestess of an old craft, keeping what’s dead in history alive in our memories.
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I love it kid, good stuff
I just now came across this, and really appreciated the description. I am that accordion player, and I no longer play at that station (too much of a 5-0 presence…), but you can find me 3 or 4 times a week at the 14th and 6th station. I’m glad you enjoy the music.
Glad you like it and that you’re still sharing your art.