From sunlight to spotlight: A day in the life of buskers in Singapore

Aside from her, there is one other bubble busker in town, she says.

“There are a few other bubble artists, but not many. The others are magicians, clowns or balloon artists. I purely do bubble shows,” she says

Whenever her schedule allows – about once a month – she busks at a grass patch near the playground at Marine Cove.

“(Being a bubble artist) pays for everything for me,” she says. “It covers my van, my housing rent – everything.”

Parks are her favourite, as she prefers to perform on grass.

“Grass holds moisture, and the dew makes the air more humid. Bubbles love humidity,” she explains, adding that she also needs large open spaces because her bubble wands can stretch up to 3m long.

As heat affects how large her bubbles can grow, she prefers performing in the mornings or late evenings. Her show lasts about 20 minutes, and she typically stages two per session.

“I’m basically running around with high energy, long poles with nets. I’m weight lifting!” 

“I’m busking for future shows,” she says. Parents often approach her after watching her perform and may book her for private events.

“It’s like free advertising in some ways. And I get tips as well.”

2:30pm Tampines MRT

Dressed in a red cheongsam, 48-year-old Ms Michelle Chua plucks the strings of her guzheng to the tune of Taiwanese singer Tsai Chin’s 1991 hit Spring Breeze Kisses Me, accompanied by a backing track from her speakers.

Some commuters slow their pace as they pass. Others linger longer, leaning against the metal rail at the bus terminal just outside the MRT exit. 

Ms Chua has been playing the Chinese zither since secondary school. 

Now, she teaches guzheng as a co-curricular activity at schools and performs commercial gigs. Though a certified accountant, she has never practised as one.

Busking is also an important source of income. She busks at least once a week, mostly on Friday afternoons, but also on some Saturdays and public holidays.

Most people assume central areas with heavy tourist footfall, such as Orchard Road or Marina Bay, are the most popular spots for buskers.

Ang Mo Kio Hub, for instance, is a surprisingly rewarding spot. Older residents in that estate enjoy hearing tunes from their younger days and tend to be generous tippers, she says.

Public holidays such as Vesak Day, National Day and Christmas are especially rewarding with more people out and about. Playing National Day songs on National Day, she adds, often earns her more generous tips.

She puts in as much effort into each performance as she does putting on a concert, she reckons.

 “I’m an artist. If I don’t take pride in my performance, I might feel like people are giving me money out of pity.” 

She also invests in her instrument. A good quality performance-grade guzheng, she says, can cost more than five figures.

Ms Chua studies her audience too – guessing their ages and playing songs she thinks will resonate with them.

6:30pm East Coast Park

At an open space near East Coast Park’s seafood centre, the sound of waves crashing against the breakwater fills the background. Mr Norman Mohd Yusof, 61, sets up his speakers, and tunes his guitar. He then launches into What a Wonderful World, Louis Armstrong’s 1967 classic.

The retired educator has been busking since 2012. His income, he says, is unpredictable. Some days he earns less than $100.

For him, the reward lies in entertaining the community.

He often performs at locations popular with seniors, such as Changi Village hawker centre, where diners linger over meals. On Saturday nights, he performs with a friend as an acoustic duo.

Once, a Chinese tourist requested Yesterday Once More by the American duo The Carpenters and approached him in tears after he played it.

“She’d been living in Singapore for 17 years, and her parents were in China. The song reminded her of them,” he recalls. 

Sometimes, however, there are unkind remarks.

Once, while performing at West Mall, he overheard a mother telling her young son: “You’d better study hard, or you’ll end up like him.”

“Some people still think buskers are just beggars,” says Mr Norman. 

He tries not to let the comments bother him. Instead, he invests in his instruments and equipment, makes it a point to show up looking polished and takes pride in presenting himself professionally as a performer.

“Some diners come up after finishing and say, ‘Thank you for the song. Because of you, we stayed longer!’”

8:30pm Clarke Quay

In the past, Friday nights at shopping streets were as crowded as Saturdays. Now, footfall on Fridays is “way worse” than on weekends. “I feel like every year there’s more rain,” he adds. “It also seems that Singaporeans aren’t going out as much as before.”

Whenever he busks, Mr Wong invites the audience to form a circle around him. He calls this a “circle act”, unlike the usual “walk-by” style where performers play for passersby, who drop tips as they go.

Before becoming a performer, he spent 11 months as a recruiter, and about six months each as a content creator and general administrative worker. 

In October 2022, he left those jobs behind to become a full-time circus act busker. There were initial worries about income and instability but he decided, after talking to other buskers, that performing full-time could be a sustainable career.

He has a clear financial goal: to earn at least as much as he did in his office jobs. He has since reached that target, though maintaining his props comes at a cost. His Cyr wheel, priced at around $1,000, has had to be replaced three times due to frequent use.

“Nothing satisfies me more than performing,” he says, adding that he busks at least once a week.

“I’ve already achieved my life goal of performing as my career. Now I’m trying to see how I can take this dream to the next step.”