The Police at Reading Festival, I think 1979. A large group of us were taken to the local nick for smoking a spliff.
Oh the irony.
My choice to leave early was the Pogues in Shepherds Bush on 17th March around the time of the opening overs of the Gulf War.
The sad drunken shambles of a lead singer arrived shockingly late to the stage, and proceeded to mumble through a set.
I, only marginally more pssed than he was, staggered out into the London night, and thence into the back of a van which had happened to be stopped at a nearby traffic light. The two youngsters driving eventually let me out, lord knows where, and I somehow managed to get a taxi back to my hotel.