Late this summer, classical guitarist Shogo Kubo hatched an ass-backwards business plan. Though he was raking in the cash on the sunny Santa Monica Pier, he decided that, as an artist, he should move to New York just as the weather there started to turn cold. Now the 34-year-old Japanese immigrant delicately picks his strings in the dank underbelly of the Times Square subway station, where what's booming is not his business but an actual boombox a breakdancer's Michael Jackson CD competes with his Pujol, his Villa-Lobos, his Bach. The howl of screeching subway brakes interrupts his serene fretwork. Then there's the mournful bowed saw lilting from down the stairs.
But noise pollution is the least of Kubo's worries. As he doesn't have the local transit authority's official approval, cops sometimes shoo him out, leaving him a few dollars short for the day. "There is a saying where I come from," says the plank-thin musician at a nearby Starbucks, where he pours what seems like an entire shaker of chocolate powder into his Jungle-sponsored grande cappuccino. " 'The Japanese go to America to suffer.' That's what I'm doing."
After traveling the world for three years, he arrived on these shores just one year ago, after literally winning what's known as "the lottery": The INS randomly picked him to receive a green card, and he says he was happy to come over and attempt to strum his way to success. Thanks to a former Canadian girlfriend whom he dated in his hometown of Obihiro, Japan, his English is passable.
Language and guitar skills aside, though, you wonder how Kubo will survive a harsh Northeast winter. A bit underdressed for late October in New York, he wears flared corduroys and a black turtleneck. Too small to fit into men's clothing, he buys women's threads. "Three dollars," he gloats, pointing to his pants that look straight out of The Matrix. The duds were about right for California, where he began his U.S. busking career. In the Golden State, even an unknown Asian guitar player could make an easy buck. Almost wistfully, Kubo recalls how he positioned himself in a key location on the Santa Monica Pier, where all the tourists go. Occasionally, a kind passerby would slip him a $100 bill; he could make up to $150 for just three hours of work. Living lean, he actually saved money in California.
But the thing is, L.A. bored him. Every day was the same, and so were the people, he says. Too many tourists, too few soulmates. Kubo wanted to be around other artists, even if it meant taking a financial hit. After he unloaded $300 on a transcontinental flight, he started busking on the pier in New York's Battery Park City, earning $30 to $40 on an average day. Kubo wasn't allowed to use his amplifier there, so barely anyone could hear him. These days, in Times Square, he can pump up the volume. But even though his seen-better-times Jose Ramirez acoustic guitar is more audible now, it doesn't automatically make people dig into their pockets. When he is really fortunate, someone will hand him a $20 bill. Today, though, he has no such luck. During the hour and a half he played in the Times Square subway station, he drew a decent crowd but raked in just $18.
His subway busking brings in roughly $400 a month, which takes care of his rent in Queens. But he's got to eat, so it's a good thing Kubo has other sources of revenue. His roommate in L.A. showed him how to build his own PayPal-affiliated website (shogokubo.com), where the guitarist now sells CDs of his favorite compositions at $10 a disc, an aggressive markup considering they cost him just 50 cents to make. He also sells up to eight CDs a week when he plays at a restaurant on Houston Street, a gig that brings in $100 a month in performance fees. Two guitar students, who heard him play in the subway and later phoned him for lessons, account for another $300 a month. Performing may well be his loss leader.
Kubo sees other ways to put more money in the guitar case, but he refuses to take the path of least resistance. Some pieces, he's noticed, make more money than others: A version of the Beatles' "Yesterday," arranged by Japanese composer Takemitsu, is extremely popular with passersby, as is "Cavatina," a Stanley Meyers piece featured in the film The Deer Hunter. His expression frequently grows hopeful at the sight of older people slowing down when they hear him performing: They tend to leave more money than the younger crowd, preferring soothing classical tunes to hip-hop or rock beats.
Back in his snowy hometown in Northern Japan, a cousin who played bluegrass on a banjo inspired Kubo to pick up the guitar at the age of 10. He still remembers those songs but isn't tempted to add a little country flavor to his act. "I only want to play classical," he says. "I have to do business, I know, but I'm an artist."
