Two friends of mine caught a unique street act in Key West ten years ago: Cats trained to run in circles and jump through hoops, among other circus tricks, all at the command of a tamer working whistle and whip, and busking with a hat. They were so impressed with the cat-tamer's showmanship, his verve and swagger, that the act was among the foremost attractions the couple used to lure her sister and brother-in-law to join them on a return visit last year.

Oh, they found him alright, but were they ever disappointed!

When I heard them laugh about it over dinner, I asked if the cat-tamer "didn't look like he wanted to be there" because he was having a bad day or was terminally burned out by carrying on such an act for so long. Not sure, they guessed the latter.

Sometimes while busking I find myself lapsing into what I think of as automatic pilot, a condition certainly known to teachers and likely to those in many other occupations. Back in the late-Eighties, during two particularly distracting and distracted years, there were times my fingers went through the motions of Irish jigs and Telemann fantasias while my mind wandered to the possible marinades I might use for that evening's grilled chicken.

I haven't the slightest idea what a cat-tamer might do to re-engage his performing gears, but musicians have a number of options: change instruments, change the songs, change their tempos or keys, use different arrangements, different segues. Even a shuffled order of songs can breathe new life into the performance.

Furthermore, geography favors me. While the tourist towns north of Boston are small, there are several where a busker can do well. A change of scenery works wonders. I recall Key West, the scene of my first college spring break, as a place that might as well have been made for buskers, but just look at the map: The cat-tamer has no other place to go short of a round-trip that would be sure to drain all enjoyment.

However, more than driving distances or the contents of any busker's bag of tricks is the tactic of turning a spectator into a muse. Catch someone's eye and if you hold it, perform just for him or her--for them, if it's a family or small group. While performing, you can make expressions and gestures, make them smile and laugh. This is often the best time to try a song in a slower or eccentric tempo or key never tried before, making the song seem as if played for the first time, just for those listeners, making them seem that they are as much a part of the performance as the music itself, as the instrument, as you.

And it's always the right time for a break in the performance, to chat. If you can't guess where they're from, you can ask; if you know nothing about it, you can ask that too. Ditto for what work they do, what they study in school.

The added benefit to engaging the audience in conversation would qualify as an ulterior motive: It prolongs the time that a busker stays in a spot and stays fresh. I can be no more sure than my four friends if the cat-tamer in Key West was having a bad day or was in some unspecified state of burn-out, but engaging the audience would have solved the former.

And if done early on might have saved him from the latter--which makes me think that it had to have been the former: Any busker not engaging the audience, and not well-versed in it, would not last in the same place ten years. No way. Nowhere near that amount of time--or that one place.