Midnight train to silence: Boston hushes its subway musicians

Alisha Lomasney, leaning against a red steel pole with headphones pulled down around her neck, worries that without amplifiers, trains will drown out the songs: "Taking away speakers takes away the whole point,"

John Ellis, crooning The Cure's "Just Like Heaven" nearby, agrees. "I'm going to feel pretty silly with an acoustic guitar, screaming over the trains," he says. Like Mr. Craven, he's skeptical of the rationale. "They are trying to weed out the undesirables," he says of the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority (MBTA) - to clean up the city before the Democratic National Convention lands in Boston next summer.

It was not ever thus. Gov. Mike Dukakis. who rode the "T" to work, found money in the state budget to pay subway musicians - and coax members of the Boston Symphony Orchestra into performing underground, too.

But the era of government funding is gone; these days, musicians rely on tips and CD sales. On a good day, Lisa Housman and Dave Falk can earn as much as $150 singing folk music. They've been playing subways for three years since graduating from Oberlin College and Cornell - and even chose their apartment based on its proximity to Cambridge's Porter Square T stop.

They say their income - which can be more than $150 daily - will fall precipitously under the new rules. "It can be depressing down there," says Ms. Housman. "We make it more peaceful and add a unity to the crowd. People even sing along."

"It's devastating," says Stephen Baird, head of the Street Artists' Guild. And the decision couldn't have come at a worse time, he says: Subway riders are most generous in December. His group has asked the American Civil Liberties Union to challenge the rules on First Amendment grounds, and is circulating petitions.

So far, the MBTA remains unsympathetic. "A subway station is a transit center first; a concert venue is probably last on the list," says spokesman Joe Pesaturo. The rules are among 200 safety changes recommended by a task force appointed after Sept. 11, he says.

Come December, Mr. Innocent will return with his amp - no matter the consequences. "I think it's nonsense," says Innocent, who studied music in his native Paris before enrolling at the Berklee College of Music here. "You can't work without that tool. It's like being a cop without a gun." Today, he takes the afternoon shift on the city-bound platform at Harvard. Though fewer riders crowd his stage, Mr. Innocent and others actually prefer this slot. And down here, the bright light of noon, the chill of dusk, and the dark of midnight are the same. He plugs in his microphone and amp and lines up CDs before starting to sing.

A few commuters clap or drop dollars into his amplifier case as they board the next train. Then, as Innocent sings "Let's Fall in Love," the doors slide shut, the wheels rumble on, and his audience - for now - rolls away.

• Sara B. Miller contributed to this report from Boston.

Page: 1 | 2