Musical discord above subway din

Street musicians in Washington say the rules banning music in and around Metro subway stations are unfair and stuffy.

WASHINGTON - The instrument of the crime was a 1930s-era Heidig violin, crafted in Germany, worth many thousands of dollars, and wholly unsuited for a stint in evidence lockup. The proof? The notes of Beethoven and Vivaldi, maybe a little Mozart concerto drifting over the bleating horns of cars whooshing along I Street.

The perpetrator on this muggy morning at the Farragut West Metro escalator was a wiry, slightly hyper, classically trained, internationally traveled native of the nation's capital. He was engaged in civil discord with each stroke of the bow.

By his presence alone, Raycurt L. Johnson, 43, challenged the district's police to arrest him.

"Good morning, Amadeus!" he cried, finishing a heady Violin Concerto in G Major. He hopped in the air, sending his short braids dancing.

This time, no police officers were in the audience. Johnson and several other musicians routinely endure tickets, court time and fines because they play near the city's subway system stations. It's an evil necessity, they say, if they are to make a living.

Musicians survive on the tips from commuters, which can total more than $100 during a rush-hour performance.

More importantly, they're advertising themselves in hopes of better paying gigs.

Among a litany of rules, Washington has banned music in and around its Metro stations.

Boiled down, the dispute turns on a number of philosophical and civic questions: What constitutes public property? What defines panhandling? Is playing music a form of freedom of expression? And can a transit system dictate taste?

Performers say the laws are archaic and unfair, smelling vaguely of the city's obsession with order. (Washingtonians actually wait for the walk signal to cross a street.) New York, Boston and Paris have rocking street and metro music scenes. Why does the nation's capitol regulate music?

"Some people think this town is supposed to be the cradle of democracy, of law and order, power and control. That everything should be regulated," Johnson said in a voice that bursts like a snare drum. "There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing. . . . People are running around in a concrete jungle. (The music) just changes people, and people tell me this."

Metropolitan Transit Authority officials say music is fine, just not near or in transit stations. Rules barring live performances or radio-playing without headphones ensure that commuters are not impeded or annoyed.

While there has been talk of amending the laws, police say they now serve as solid post-9/11 security measures.

The rules survive, also, clearly for aesthetic reasons.

"We have to enforce quality of life issues or things could get out of control," said Sgt. George Burns, assistant to the transit police chief. "They just might be playing something you might not like."

Washington's Metrorail rules are souvenirs of a system designed by an Army general. When the subway system opened in 1976 officials vowed to keep the enormous vaulted ceilings and sci-fi-like tunnels from becoming as grungy and unruly as New York's. The transit board banned eating, drinking and smoking.

With the rise of homelessness in the '80s, the city outlawed "solicitation of alms" near bus and Metro stations. When police arrest musicians the charge is "musical panhandling."

Other cities have attempted to restrict public performing and have largely failed. Federal and appellate courts have struck down rules in New York, Massachusetts and St. Augustine that sought to limit the time, place, type and volume of street performances.

Some cities decided if you can't regulate, congregate.

The Metropolitan Transit Authority in New York founded Musicians Under New York in 1987. The program sponsored auditions and scheduled 22 performers this year.

Washington musicians mounted one successful legal challenge. An appellate court ruled in 1996 that "all free speech activities are to take place at a distance greater than 15 feet from any (Metro) escalator." They say police make arrests despite the ruling.

Stephen H. Baird, who tracks cases as executive director of the Boston-based Community Arts Advocates, says a number of entertainment forms - from jazz and tap to rap and break-dancing - started on city streets. Governments have property rights and can make some restrictions, but D.C.'s laws are more conservative than most, he said.

Last year Johnson was determined to work with the Metropolitan Transit Authority. He asked the board to create the Capitol Area Troubadour Society, which would audition and schedule acts in stations.

Calvin Nophlin, a Metropolitan Transit Authority board member, pushed for a trial run.

Along came the anthrax and security scares and budget woes and the idea was shelved. Other musicians and Nophlin said Johnson's idea did not gain support because he is too antagonistic, demanding that musicians be allowed to play on platforms.

A John Coltrane and Miles Davis fan, Nophlin said he's determined to raise the issue again.

"The system itself is so sterile," he said.

If Washington decides to opens its stations, it can't regulate talent. "The First Amendment doesn't say you have to be good," Baird warned.

On a Friday morning, already steamy before 9, the commuters are grim-faced as they glide up from the Farragut West Metro stop.

Most hustle by Johnson as he stands eight feet or so from the escalator, selecting Beethoven's notes with a surgeon's care.

Johnson decides to unfurl Vivaldi's tribute to spring. This is Washington music, recognizable even to the artistically inert. During each piece, two or three people throw money into his leather case.

The money is not steady. A musician can make $60 playing nonstop for three hours as trucks belch exhaust. Some days are better, netting $120 or more.

Unfortunately some proceeds are earmarked for D.C. courts. Johnson's criminal music history dates back to 1982, after he left the Eastman School of Music, a year shy of graduating. He would perform in Metro stations because he liked the way the echoes from the concrete tunnels made his chords resonate.

The arrests started and sometimes his violin would be held as evidence. The majority of court cases were dismissed.

Tuesday morning the district court clerk called United States vs. Raycurt Johnson. Johnson had been playing at the Woodley Park Metro escalator June 29. A Metro station worker said that when she asked him to move, he called her Satan and sprayed her with something that stung her eyes.

Police tracked down Johnson hours later, playing at another station. When they arrested him, officers said, they found a small bag with cocaine residue.

Johnson was charged with simple assault, possession of a dangerous weapon, possession of cocaine and misdemeanor contempt of court for playing where a judge had ordered him to stay away. Johnson vehemently denies spraying the woman.

Johnson decided it would be most expedient to concede to the drug and assault charges, and the assistant district attorney dropped the other counts.

Outside the courtroom, Johnson's court-appointed attorney, Michael Olshonsky, said he wasn't willing to pursue the matter further.

He turned to his client: "My advice to you is: No, you can't play in the Metro."

That afternoon Johnson rode to the Farragut North station. He tucked his violin under his chin and summoned Beethoven to accompany fellow citizens on their travels home.

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