Not a gigging tale. Nevertheless.....
In the early 90s our original heavy grunge band used to rehearse in the church hall in a local village. We were there one afternoon a couple of days before a weekend jumble sale. There were heaps of clothing, toys, dog-eared copies of Jennings and Derbyshire books, and sundry other tat piled up on tables and chairs waiting to be organised into some sort of order for the sale. We couldn't help but admire their optimism. Neither could we help having a bit of a rummage through the sorry offerings and avail ourselves of some of the more choice items and dress up in them while we went through our set. About 20 minutes into the set, one of the local parishioners wandered in, probably to see where in the name of Jesus that ungodly devil-music was coming from. She stood there agape as we rocked out, myself sporting a rather lovely, floaty blue summer dress with little white flowers on, and the guitarist in an olive green crimplene trouser suit that would have fitted Montserrat Caballe. IIRC the singer had found a pair of pug-ugly checked old-man trousers, I can't remember what the drummer was wearing. I don't know whether any of the items had belonged to one of the parishioner's deceased relatives or whatever, but we found shorty after that our regular rehearsal slot had been given over to some other interest... presumably flower arranging or the Brownies....