Buskers in Foreign Languages
Like most popular tourist destinations in Europe, Lisbon's and Porto's narrow, winding streets and tiled underpasses attract motley street musicians. They're scruffy, in unusual hats, and accompanied by tired-looking pets leashed beside them. Despite their misshapen appearances, their talent is remarkable.
Portuguese guitar in hand, eyes closed, and face scrunched, a performer bellows ballads into an echoey subway station tunnel. The instrumentation is simple, basic chords and a few plucked strings, allowing space for a weathered voice.
I don't understand a word, but listening to these somber or sultry melodies in another language almost enhances the experience. It's not marred by unrelatable lyrics or uninspired, cliched songwriting. I imagine the emotional depth of the lyrics by witnessing the singer's catharsis while singing them. I imprint the facts of my own life onto the unintelligible syllables of his verses.
The actual meaning of the lyrics don't matter, only what the beg, sob, or growl of the singer's voice shakes free in me.