For this street musician, dreams are taking flight

Steven Bacon moved to Boston to follow in the footsteps of famous musicians who launched their careers playing in the street. (David Kamerman/Globe Staff)

He had been playing for hours. His hands were cold and cramping on the guitar strings, his voice was hoarse, and he really needed to find a bathroom. But still he stood on the sidewalk in front of the Agganis Arena and sang: "In the rose-covered hill/ grows a dirty yellow pill/ they say it brings you back around/ picks you up and lies you down . . . "

His name is Steven Bacon. He has a voice like an oboe, warm and pure. He has a Martin guitar and a battery-powered amp and a license to play on the streets and in the T stations.

"I don't sleep, but if I slept/ I'd dream like Daniel dreamt/ I'd dream you home again/ home from the lion's den . . ."

He knew that in a few hours, the Swell Season - headed up by two stars of the movie "Once," Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova - would be playing the arena, and so there was a chance, just a chance, they might walk by and hear him singing on the sidewalk.

In a few hours, there would be bright lights in his face and thousands of people cheering for him, but he didn't know that yet. He only dreamed.

Even if you're not a musician - even if you can't carry a tune - you know this dream. The young artist toils in obscurity, until the right person recognizes his talent and he's transformed, made famous.

On the Boston folk scene, the story has real names attached to it - like Tracy Chapman and Joan Baez and Peter Mulvey - folksingers whose careers began on street corners.

Bacon moved to Boston a year ago with this story ringing in his head. He'd taken a songwriting course with Mulvey, years before, and Mulvey had given him this advice: "Move to Boston. Busk in the T."

So when Bacon's wife, Libby, was accepted to a PhD program at Boston University, Bacon did just that.

He was 34, with years of experience playing clubs and coffeehouses - first in Alaska, where he grew up, and later in Maine. But playing the streets of Boston was the hardest gig he'd had.

"You can't hear yourself, you're starting to choke on weird fumes, you're cold," Bacon said. "That's when you start to get really depressed about your career."

Once, he wheeled his amp onto the elevator to the Park Street underground station and found himself standing in fresh urine.

Other times he found himself playing for hours in front of crowds who never glanced at him. He wrote a new song. The chorus went: "Charlie wants to run/ Charlie wants to run/ from Park Street underground/ into the sun . . ."

In the midst of this, Bacon saw a movie called "Once," an independent film about street musicians in love.

It stars Hansard, an Irish guitarist, and Irglova, a Czech pianist. In the movie, the two fall in love, write songs, record an album, and part. In real life, Hansard and Irglova fell in love, wrote songs, recorded an album, won an Oscar, and began touring sold-out stadiums across the world.

"This is such a big deal, not only for us, but for all other independent musicians and artists that spend their time struggling," Irglova said when she accepted her Oscar. "No matter how far out your dreams are, it's possible."

When Bacon saw the film, he felt a flash of recognition.

"It gave me a lot of hope, some extra fuel to keep going, to see a story that felt so real and resonated so much."

He downloaded the soundtrack, and listened to Hansard and Irglova's songs as he rode the Red Line into the city each day.

He was slowly learning the fine art of busking: how to connect with people on the street, how to make them want to stop and listen.

The dream doesn't just happen to you. You have to make it happen.

The day Hansard and Irglova were due to play at the Agganis Arena, Bacon set up his amp across the street and started to play.

After three hours, BU security politely kicked him off the property, so he moved across the street and kept playing, his fingers numb, his eyes closed. When he opened his eyes again, Hansard and Irglova were standing in front of him, smiling.

He remembers the next minutes as a joyful blur. A friend who was with him took pictures. Bacon babbled about how much Hansard's music meant to him, how he was looking forward to the concert that night.

"We'll see you at the show," he remembers Hansard saying to him.

"I'll see you," Bacon told him, "but you probably won't see me."

In the Swell Season concert, Bacon sat in the back of the arena, soaking in the sounds of the band.

Then there was a pause, and Hansard stepped to the microphone.

"We came in tonight and we were walking around," he said. "And we ran into a busker . . . and his name was Steven. Everyone be quiet for a second. Steven, are you here?"

Bacon stood up and held his guitar over his head. The crowd began to cheer.

Come up and play a song for us, Hansard said.

"You have these dreams," Bacon said. "And you feel like, this is the path you're meant to be on. But you also know that everyone feels like that."

It's been a month since the Swell Season concert. Bacon has been busy. He's been playing a lot of gigs, at places like the Me & Thee Coffeehouse in Marblehead and Club Passim in Harvard Square. He's looking into recording a new album. A PR firm has offered to represent him.

He even landed a gig opening for the Bacon Brothers, actor Kevin Bacon and songwriter Michael Bacon's band (no relation).

It's not that the Swell Season concert caused all this - most of it was already in motion. But something changed in Bacon when he walked onto the stage at Agganis.

All the things he'd imagined for himself seemed possible then, he said.

"Even though I was nervous and kind of awestruck," he said, "I felt like I had found my place." When he walked onstage, Hansard pulled him into a hug, than handed him his own guitar.

Bacon stepped up to the microphone, his heart pounding. When he started to sing, his voice was hoarse. For a minute his pitch wavered. Then he steadied himself, and his voice grew stronger. "Charlie wants to fly/ Charlie wants to fly/ from Park Street underground/ into the sky . . . "