Daiana Feuer on September 8th, 2015

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Editor’s note: Buzz Bands LA staffer Daiana Feuer fronts the derring-doo-wop band Bloody Death Skull, one of the ensembles that participated in this year’s Buskerfest Saturday in the East Village Arts District of Long Beach. For the uninitiated, Buskerfest is a block-long street party where bands perform, almost unplugged, on the flatbed trucks. It’s also a competition; attendees receive five tokens to dole out to bands they like, and the band with the most tokens wins. It’s like … well, she explains:

Watching the smiling people of Long Beach toss wooden nickels at me, I felt myself booming with pride and pleasure. Each time someone threw fake money at my cleavage or into my bandmate Nathan’s low-hanging tank top, I felt delicious surges of instant gratification course through my body like a drug.

I wondered, is this what strippers feel like? Because it’s nice. It was like they were shoving crumpled dollars into my metaphysical thong, validating me over and over again until I was a sweaty happy mess, jumping off stage, lifting children in my arms and swinging them around. This could be you, kid, one day! Throw that money at me, world, and I will do my little dance like a monkey, like a beautiful sexy monkey.

I imagined a cave man, 20,000 years ago, painting portraits of me on his wall in fresh blood. I envisioned myself as a paleolithic exotic dancer, the first stripper ever, and the people of Long Beach were my cave man, and we were immersed in a business exchange of pleasure. I told the audience that I felt like I was engaging in the world’s oldest profession (and I don’t mean music). They applauded and cheered. At that moment I felt like a winner. We all did.

This is how Long Beach’s Buskerfest works: Bands are given a couple mics and one amp, and are supposed to only play things that run on batteries. Attendees receive a handful of wooden nickels and go from stage to stage giving nickels to the band they like. The band with the most nickels at the end of the festival receives a “prize.” None of us knew what the prize would be. We were told it was worth a lot of money and that we wanted it, and that was enough to get the hungry animal inside us drooling. You tell yourself it’s not about winning, it’s just fun, but deep down, hell yes, you want that mystery prize and might be willing to do whatever it takes. Beg. Charm. Cheat. Let people pelt you with tokens. Let them shove them down your shirt.

Most bands cheated a little bit. I am proud to say that, despite our dangerous outlaw persona, Bloody Death Skull plays by the rules, and our whole setup was powered by 24 AA batteries. In addition to our cool vintage Casio played by Gerard, and my ukulele, Micah on bass using the amp we were provided, Andres Renteria guesting on drums, my bandmate Beth had all her beautiful strange dolls and toys spread out on stage, her whale shaker, her yarn, her crystal ball, and other weird wonders she likes to smack or wave around.

“I never seen THAT before!” someone told us after the show. Our friend Nathan, aka Moomaw, played the singing saw, and we also brought an alien in a tutu who walked among the audience shaking maracas. We didn’t win, and I was a little bummed, and then I felt silly, and then I felt drunk, walking the dark streets of Long Beach by myself, after the crowds were gone and people weren’t coming up to me anymore to give me fake money and tell me I was great. It wasn’t about the prize, really.

All we want, ultimately, is to be loved. And nothing says love like a splinter in your boob because of all the nickels shoved in your dress. Beneath the dress, beneath boob, is a heart.