I heard Tea For The Tillerman as I entered the coffee shop before hopping the bus for Harbourfront. Asked the young woman who served my Earl Grey did you put this on yourself? Answer: Spotify playlist. Later at  Harbourfront noticed the group teaching “how to dance to Bollywood” used pre-recorded music that had lead singers singing in Hindi or Urdu but the constant kick drum dance beat and a droaning synth bass line ruined what I would have otherwise found an adventure. In the later afternoon a band performed from Iqaluit who incorporated a throat singer, low guttural surprises and high pitched squeals. But the electric guitar, bass and drums where straight out of an autopilot blues jam from Grossman’s Tavern. Seemed today every time I turned around everyone was proud to fall short of the mark of originality except when we headed home and passed the crowds lining up for the Raptors game. That’s when I heard today that knocked me out, the peculiar songs and phrasing by so many scalpers, spaced out or in clumps, trying to be noticed but indifferent if you didn’t like it.