The Melbourne CBD at lunchtime on a Monday is a cacophony of sound. The noise of cars, trams and people create an urban harmony that sings down every lane. The Bourke Street Mall offers some reprieve from vehicles, but their place in the orchestra is swiftly replaced by another instrument.

Walking past David Jones, the air fills with the sound of an electric guitar. Its strings are tugged by the experienced fingers of a long-haired man in a pullover and blue jeans. A familiar beat comes from a small amp, growing louder in a lull of activity and catching the interest of a few busy pedestrians. An atypical cover of ‘Lonely Boy’ by The Black Keys hits the chorus; the key vocals replaced by a guitar riff.

Traditionalists may take aim at the creativity, but this is something that regulars to the Mall have become accustomed to over the years. But just as the guitar solo begins, it’s lost to the symphony of the Melbourne CBD again, drowned out by the ding and thunderous roll of the Route 96 tram, and the ensuing rush of commuters that floods out onto the walkway.

Set up just in front of the famously oversized Public Purse and playing to a small crowd situated on the steps of the old GPO, Adam Seidel’s guitar solos are nothing new. Since his first official performance outside the H&M in 2022, he’s been playing everything from all-time hits to personal favourites and crowd builders. But during his time with guitar in hand, he’s also seen firsthand the cultural shifts of the city, and the way they’ve changed busking.

Once a sustainable business model used by aspiring musicians to promote their work and make a little cash, street performances are suffering from a multitude of forces beyond the performer’s control. Regardless of the quality of music, busking has turned into a hobby rather than a side hustle – which is a mindset that Seidel has had to adopt. Juggling four jobs, he’s come to terms with the fact that playing on the streets is just another opportunity to work on his craft rather than a reliable way to earn.

“The amount of money to be made here just isn’t the same as what it once was,” Seidel says.

“I’ve talked to a lot of the older guys and a lot of them were able to save up for their home loans purely by doing this back in the early 2000s – it’s just not the same anymore.”

Although he knows busking has always been a tough way to make a living, one thing sticks like a thorn in his side: new payment methods, which just aren’t working for buskers. The Reserve Bank of Australia’s Consumer Payments Survey indicates that the percentage of cash payments made in Australia has dropped from around 70% of in-person transactions in 2007, to just 13% in 2022. With smaller amounts of cash changing hands on the street, there are fewer small notes and coins that people can drop into the guitar case of a performer as they walk by.

In an attempt to adapt, Seidel stuck a PayID QR code to his case, so that those without cash on hand could still give something. Unfortunately, he still finds himself dependent on the few coins and notes from the pockets of passers-by.

“More people carry cash around than the average person realises,” he says.

“I still think there’s quite a lot of it around and that still makes up the bulk of the Bourke Street busker’s income by far… It’s not even close. It’s like maybe a thousand percent [more than digital payments].”

Exactly why the QR codes haven’t had the same uptake for buskers as they have in other sectors is unknown, but Seidel points to a social phenomenon to rationalise why it doesn’t work.

“Obviously we’re moving into an electronic sort of payment world, but what comes with that is a decrease in trust, especially for things like busking,” he says.

“I get a lot of people [who] just don’t donate because they’re like ‘oh I don’t really trust digital payment platforms from small businesses,’ because they’re worried either I or who I’m going through is going to rip them off.”

But in the dwindling years of a cash-dependent society, Melbourne’s buskers have been struck down by another invisible enemy: the cost of living crisis.

Not only are people wary of the QR codes being used by buskers nowadays – they also simply don’t have the money to spare. This, combined with the reduction of foot traffic as a result of the shift towards more flexible work-from-home hours, has brought down a sector that produced international stars like Tones And I, and Passenger.

Seidel enjoys what he does, and he has other means of making money, but it doesn’t make it easier for him to stomach that what he currently gets for a Bourke Street shift is worlds away from what it used to be.

“It’s the little things like people can’t spare a dollar for a busker anymore, which ends up very demoralizing for quite a lot of us because we have crowds and people like watching and especially recording on their phones,” he says.

“I don’t expect people to give – if you can’t you can’t, but it would be nice if someone’s going out of their way to watch what I’m doing [to] give a bit.”