Your Worst Gig Ever

[EliasMooseblaster]

Don't Tell The Bride

Yep, that awful program off BBC3. One of my bands should have been playing in the background of an episode years ago. It's not the kind of telly that I'd normally touch with a 60-ft remote control, but it would have been a telly appearance for a band playing originals, on a relatively mainstream channel, and so it seemed like a potentially good opportunity when first touted to us.

It turned out our singer knew somebody who had put in a successful application to lay on a UFO/Roswell-themed wedding for his (very patient) betrothed, and decided he wanted us to play during the reception. Suits us, we thought, we can cheekily squeeze our more accessible material in between the standard covers. One of the things about programs like this is that they do like to pack out the venues, so every Tom, Richard and Harry was invited to make up the numbers. Even if being barely visible in the final TV edit didn't do wonders for our career, we'd have easily had 100+ impressionable punters to play to.

Naively, we even pressed ahead with it when the groom told us that he'd blown all the budget on this ridiculous setup and had no money for the band. Sound familiar?

One of the other things about programs like this is what an absolute logistical mess they are to film: the first take is never good enough; the cameramen missed certain angles that time; something's stopped working, bear with us; FFS Terry why didn't you hit 'record'?; and so on. Nothing runs to time. We were asked to drive up to an old airfield somewhere near Ipswich for filming. We knew we wouldn't be needed until after the first dance, but they asked us to get there for something like 10am anyway. Both the singer and guitarist had done TV before, and warned the rest of us that this was the reality of it: a lot of waiting around.

Every so often, information would trickle through. They're just doing one last take of the vows; can you be ready in an hour? This becomes worse than standard waiting around - every so often somebody drops in to make sure you're on tenterhooks. Sorry, they need to reshoot a couple more snippets; we'll be back for you in another half-an-hour.

Eventually, we were invited into the venue to soundcheck. It was an old wind tunnel - an aircraft hangar with some very effective acoustic treatment lining the walls and the roof. That's a weird sonic experience if ever you've had one. Our guitarist played some riffs to soundcheck while I walked maybe 100m from his amp to see how things would sound in the middle of the audience. It sounded exactly the same as when I was on the stage. Very impressive, but also incredibly sterile-sounding - you don't realise how much you miss room ambience until it's gone!

Anyway, the soundcheck complete, they served a meal, about three hours later than planned. At least we got a good lunch out of them. We sit through the speeches. The couple finally have their first dance, and we get ready to play as soon as they've finished...until a producer wanders over and tells us they just want to reshoot a scene from earlier. Also, can the DJ put some music on so they can get some shots of the guests dancing?

The latter request seemed odd to us. Surely the guests could dance to our music? And surely they'd continue to dance when the DJ took over after our set?

It all became apparent after the first dance: after a day of filming, all the guests are knackered. The DJ piped in some music but even he couldn't corral more than half a dozen people up to the floor. Most of the assembled party looked like they just want a quiet cup of tea and/or a nap.

The camera crew make do with what they can get, and we're given the all-clear to start playing. As we hit the opening bars, we look over to see the camera crew packing up and walking brazenly out the door. We are not going to be on television, we all realised. And the 100+ punters manage some polite applause from the comfort of their seats, but are too tired to give a rat's fundament.

We decide to call it quits after five or six songs. The DJ fares no better as we load all our gear out of the hangar and into a van hired at no small expense to ourselves. The best man tries to call a half-arsed apology to us as we leave. We drive home, ruing the day we ever agreed to appear on Don't Tell The Bride.

[HengistPod]

One of my old bands used to regularly play a local biker pub, and it was always an absolute screamer of a night - bikes doing donuts inside the pub, general madness, lots of beer and noise, and everyone having a great time.

I was, therefore, delighted when my new band got booked to play their MCC Rally a couple of years ago. Different pub (the original one had closed down), same village, same MCC. A nice big function hall.

Well, the passage of 20 years appears to have taken its toll. Same guys, many nursing motorcycle-crash type infirmities, most incapable through drink by the time we start. All of them 20 years older (not a single youngster to be seen) and correspondingly less enthused by a loud rock'n'roll band. By the end of the first set, only about 20 them were left - the rest had crawled off to their tents in a nearby field. By the time we finished, there were only half a dozen hardened drunks at the bar at the far end of the hall, the guy who'd booked us - absolutely trousered - and his girlfriend who was doing her best to keep some semblance of organisation about the prize-giving for furthest travelled and stuff to which little attention was being paid. She squared us up, we packed the gear away and naffed quietly off into the night.

Most disappointing gig for many years.

 

 

[skidder652003]

20 minutes ago, HengistPod said:

One of my old bands used to regularly play a local biker pub, and it was always an absolute screamer of a night - bikes doing donuts inside the pub, general madness, lots of beer and noise, and everyone having a great time.

I was, therefore, delighted when my new band got booked to play their MCC Rally a couple of years ago. Different pub (the original one had closed down), same village, same MCC. A nice big function hall.

Well, the passage of 20 years appears to have taken its toll. Same guys, many nursing motorcycle-crash type infirmities, most incapable through drink by the time we start. All of them 20 years older (not a single youngster to be seen) and correspondingly less enthused by a loud rock'n'roll band. By the end of the first set, only about 20 them were left - the rest had crawled off to their tents in a nearby field. By the time we finished, there were only half a dozen hardened drunks at the bar at the far end of the hall, the guy who'd booked us - absolutely trousered - and his girlfriend who was doing her best to keep some semblance of organisation about the prize-giving for furthest travelled and stuff to which little attention was being paid. She squared us up, we packed the gear away and naffed quietly off into the night.

Most disappointing gig for many years.

 

 

we've played a few biker nights at the clubhouses (and I'm talking 1%'er clubs). Everyone is over 50 and injured! They don't/can't jump around but they appreciate the music and they pay well and our vans are always secure in the compound!

[Guest aDx]

Did a gig with a metal band in Norwich supporting Dumpys rusty nuts

They used our PA

Did a soundcheck, then a  group of Hells angels turned up and sat at the back of the hall

We played then Dumpys started. Midway thro their set they did  a song about british bikes being better than Jap ones.

The angels didn’t like this and one rode his bike (Kawasaki) into the middle of the hall and did a donut (spinning back wheel into a circle) and parked it up.

N0-one went near the bike!  Lol

When all was done we were packing up when suddenly the Angels went beserk!

Smashing each other with chairs, tables and fire extinguishers, also kicking each other in the heads!

I was sat at mixing desk not daring to look round when a HUGE man in a boiler suit and shades tapped me on the shoulder.

He then started to push buttons on the mixing consule, so I slapped his hand to stop! OMG what was I thinking!

Luckily he just stopped, then I asked him what he thought of the gig… Great he said

On the way out they trashed everything in their path!

Our roadies (all stood hiding in a doorway) said they had my back if it kicked off!  Hmmmm

And to top it all… we got locked in the car park! So slept in cars and lorry until someone strangely opened the gates at 4am

Mind you one of the roadies got a blow job in the lorry!  Lol  (and yes from a girl fan)

 

Not a night I would like to repeat!

 

[Guest aDx]

oh just thought of another one!

Another gig in  Norwich (in a pub

Setup gear (a lot of stacks! loud)

Then have a drink (i get off my face on Snakebites (cider and lager)) so on gig I then try to knock my speaker stack over!  The roadies are holding it up as it would have gone thro a huge glass window!

then after we decide to go to the disco in the pub, where one of our roadies chats up a local girl...  The local chaps do not take kindly to this, so we are ushered out quickly

it gets better tho as a lot of fans and the road crew get into the back of the truck.  On driving home we come across a car at an angle in the middle of the road!  and with that a police car pulls up!

So.... everyone in the back jumps out thinking we are at hotel!!!   eek!  while drummer tells everyone to get back in I go to help the 2 policemen (a very drunk slurring mess)  We move the vehicle and they drive off! Result!

At the hotel the singer and the guitarist smuggle a girl into their room.... next day (not happened as she told them she only wanted to kip for the night) they threw her out of the window!!!  (on ground floor)

We got her some breakfast tho and gave her a lift to town

Soooo spinal tap!!  lol

I had had enough at this point and band didnt last long after

[Monkey Steve]

21 hours ago, EliasMooseblaster said:

Don't Tell The Bride

Yep, that awful program off BBC3. One of my bands should have been playing in the background of an episode years ago. It's not the kind of telly that I'd normally touch with a 60-ft remote control, but it would have been a telly appearance for a band playing originals, on a relatively mainstream channel, and so it seemed like a potentially good opportunity when first touted to us.

It turned out our singer knew somebody who had put in a successful application to lay on a UFO/Roswell-themed wedding for his (very patient) betrothed, and decided he wanted us to play during the reception. Suits us, we thought, we can cheekily squeeze our more accessible material in between the standard covers. One of the things about programs like this is that they do like to pack out the venues, so every Tom, Richard and Harry was invited to make up the numbers. Even if being barely visible in the final TV edit didn't do wonders for our career, we'd have easily had 100+ impressionable punters to play to.

Naively, we even pressed ahead with it when the groom told us that he'd blown all the budget on this ridiculous setup and had no money for the band. Sound familiar?

One of the other things about programs like this is what an absolute logistical mess they are to film: the first take is never good enough; the cameramen missed certain angles that time; something's stopped working, bear with us; FFS Terry why didn't you hit 'record'?; and so on. Nothing runs to time. We were asked to drive up to an old airfield somewhere near Ipswich for filming. We knew we wouldn't be needed until after the first dance, but they asked us to get there for something like 10am anyway. Both the singer and guitarist had done TV before, and warned the rest of us that this was the reality of it: a lot of waiting around.

Every so often, information would trickle through. They're just doing one last take of the vows; can you be ready in an hour? This becomes worse than standard waiting around - every so often somebody drops in to make sure you're on tenterhooks. Sorry, they need to reshoot a couple more snippets; we'll be back for you in another half-an-hour.

Eventually, we were invited into the venue to soundcheck. It was an old wind tunnel - an aircraft hangar with some very effective acoustic treatment lining the walls and the roof. That's a weird sonic experience if ever you've had one. Our guitarist played some riffs to soundcheck while I walked maybe 100m from his amp to see how things would sound in the middle of the audience. It sounded exactly the same as when I was on the stage. Very impressive, but also incredibly sterile-sounding - you don't realise how much you miss room ambience until it's gone!

Anyway, the soundcheck complete, they served a meal, about three hours later than planned. At least we got a good lunch out of them. We sit through the speeches. The couple finally have their first dance, and we get ready to play as soon as they've finished...until a producer wanders over and tells us they just want to reshoot a scene from earlier. Also, can the DJ put some music on so they can get some shots of the guests dancing?

The latter request seemed odd to us. Surely the guests could dance to our music? And surely they'd continue to dance when the DJ took over after our set?

It all became apparent after the first dance: after a day of filming, all the guests are knackered. The DJ piped in some music but even he couldn't corral more than half a dozen people up to the floor. Most of the assembled party looked like they just want a quiet cup of tea and/or a nap.

The camera crew make do with what they can get, and we're given the all-clear to start playing. As we hit the opening bars, we look over to see the camera crew packing up and walking brazenly out the door. We are not going to be on television, we all realised. And the 100+ punters manage some polite applause from the comfort of their seats, but are too tired to give a rat's fundament.

We decide to call it quits after five or six songs. The DJ fares no better as we load all our gear out of the hangar and into a van hired at no small expense to ourselves. The best man tries to call a half-arsed apology to us as we leave. We drive home, ruing the day we ever agreed to appear on Don't Tell The Bride.

severely off topic, but linked to how badly TV is run behind the scenes, a friend of a friend was on MasterChef a few years back, and didn't make it past the first show because of the mismatch between how slick it looks on screen and how badly it's actually run in the studio.  If you watch it it looks seamless - the contestants cook, the time ends, they present their dishes and are judged accordingly.  In practice they cook their dishes, and while there are a few shots that are set up, that's OK.  then the time finishes and the crew start getting a vast array of shots of the finished dishes, the cooks looking relieved/anxious/pleased/infuriated/etc, the judges looking serious.  this takes forever, and in her case well over an hour.  Dishes that have risen fall, meals that were intended to be served hot are served stone cold.  In this particular case what wasn't aired when the show was broadcast was the contestant's rant at the judges that their criticisms would not have been made if they had actually tasted her dish when it came out of the oven bang on time and ready to be eaten...she thinks that this probably didn't help when they chose to send someone home that week.

Edited September 20, 2018 by Monkey Steve

[HengistPod]

Thinking about biker gigs reminded me of another one, again 20-odd years ago.

This time, they'd set up a marquee beside a hotel out in the countryside near Peterhead, which was eventually closed down for actually being a brothel. The stage was an array of pallets placed on the grass at one end of the dubious-looking tent. Not covered-up pallets, mind, just pallets. Once our drummer had scavenged a sheet of hardboard on which to set up his tubs, we got started. After adjusting our volume upwards to drown out the generator in the corner, everything was going pretty well and much fun was being had by all concerned.

Then the rain came on and, before too long, a howling gale started blowing in off the North Sea. It soon became apparent that more stringent pegging-down efforts had been required. What started with a flappy corner of canvas up at the far end soon became an entire collapse of that end of the tent. As we played on - and over the course of maybe 3 tunes during which frantic efforts were made to re-erect poles and guy-ropes - it gradually fell in, burying bikers, tables and beer kegs. Fortunately, our end stayed standing. Before long, though - and given that we were now playing to a sagging wall of canvas filled with flailing bikers having a great time of it -  we were forced to bring an abrupt end to proceedings and swiftly throw the gear in the van via a human-chain of soaking and muddy motorcyclists before the whole thing collapsed.

I drove past the next day and noted that somehow they'd managed to burn the marquee where it fell.

[Cosmo Valdemar]

23 hours ago, aDx said:

Did a gig with a metal band in Norwich supporting Dumpys rusty nuts

They used our PA

Did a soundcheck, then a  group of Hells angels turned up and sat at the back of the hall

We played then Dumpys started. Midway thro their set they did  a song about british bikes being better than Jap ones.

The angels didn’t like this and one rode his bike (Kawasaki) into the middle of the hall and did a donut (spinning back wheel into a circle) and parked it up.

N0-one went near the bike!  Lol

When all was done we were packing up when suddenly the Angels went beserk!

Smashing each other with chairs, tables and fire extinguishers, also kicking each other in the heads!

I was sat at mixing desk not daring to look round when a HUGE man in a boiler suit and shades tapped me on the shoulder.

He then started to push buttons on the mixing consule, so I slapped his hand to stop! OMG what was I thinking!

Luckily he just stopped, then I asked him what he thought of the gig… Great he said

On the way out they trashed everything in their path!

Our roadies (all stood hiding in a doorway) said they had my back if it kicked off!  Hmmmm

And to top it all… we got locked in the car park! So slept in cars and lorry until someone strangely opened the gates at 4am

Mind you one of the roadies got a blow job in the lorry!  Lol  (and yes from a girl fan)

Not a night I would like to repeat!

Funnily enough, my first though when reading this thread was when my old band supported Dumpy's Rusty Nuts... Luckily it wasnt anywhere near as horrendous as your experience!

Edited September 21, 2018 by Rich

[Raymondo]

35 minutes ago, Cosmo Valdemar said:

Funnily enough, my first though when reading this thread was when my old band supported Dumpy's Rusty Nuts... Luckily it wasnt anywhere near as horrendous as your experience!

At the risk of turning this into a Dumpy's Rusty Nuts love fest... When my band supported them in the mid Eighties, at The Mardi Gras rock club in Nottingham we were allowed to use their p.a.

Their gear filled the trailer of an artic but their roadies unloaded and set up in record time. Heaven knows how many thousands of Watts the thing gave out ( maybe should post this in the volume killing venues thread😉) but it was fabulous. 

They gave us a proper sound check, their engineer mixed for us and were generally lovely supportive people.

A brilliant gig ...sorry ..back to your horror stories.😀

[Steve Browning]

I could mention (again) the gig where the guy in the audience died but that was more his worse gig.

[HengistPod]

1 hour ago, Raymondo said:

... at The Mardi Gras rock club in Nottingham ...

I certainly saw Dumpy's there at least once, though would have been late-1986 at the earliest. Perhaps I also so your band on the occasion you mention, though more likely I was still in the Salutation or Trip (thus at least heading the right direction) at support-band sort of time.  I loved the Mardi Gras.

[Muzz]

80s, but not the good 80s; the kinda naff, spandex-driven 80s...

We're the By Jovi band I've alluded to in the Audition From Hell thread a while ago, we'd achieved a functioning drummer, and decided to embark on a UK Tour in installments...basically, we'd been through the back of Kerrang, listed the pubs/venues that other folk were playing, and phoned them up. The furthest North was a place in Stirling, which, of course, we couldn't manage to hang another gig off, so we were going to have to drive up and back in a day. Oh good. 

Singist blags a Merc van off his Dad, which was certainly big enough for all the gear, if a little elderly. Guitarist turns up with his mate, whose reputation had preceded him as a Proper Roadie. As he and I are the only driving license holders in the entourage, it's decided I'll drive up and he'll drive back, as I've spent the morning in work, and I'm clearly going to be far too fatigued with playing and then fighting off the attentions of adoring fans and almost certainly herds of groupies to drive back. Off we go. 400 yards later Proper Roadie demands a comfort break, an event which he repeats at depressingly frequent intervals during the 250-mile journey, hinting at early-onset incontinence issues. The trip is made even more depressing by the realisation that the van's 50mph top speed isn't quite enough, even with all the windows down in the rain, to expel all the carbon monoxide which the broken exhaust is depositing into the cab. The van's also doing about 8mpg, but at least that means we get to stagger out, coughing and wheezing and doing that wafting thing, at every services between Manchester and Stirling.

By teatime we're at the venue, all is suspiciously quiet, and the total lack of any of the posters we'd sent should have set warning bells ringing. The landlord, who in hindsight had been just a bit too keen to get us to play this particular weekend (I might add here we were doing this for a fee based on 'Either what you can take on the door, or 10% of the bar, boys' i.e. nowt from the landlord himself) welcomes us with a beaming smile and cheerful predictions that 'the place'll be rammed very soon, boys'. Predictions he seems happy to repeat throughout the evening, despite increasingly overwhelming evidence to the contrary. 

And so, chanting the hopeless mantra 'Well, we're here now, we may as well...' we set up and soundcheck. Proper Roadie, his heavy lifting duties discharged for the time being, returns from the bar beaming and holding a pint "This Drybrough's Heavy* is good stuff. I'll just have a couple, I'll be right as rain by the time you're finished." I should really have paid closer attention, but right then we were more tasked wondering where the the adoring fans were all meeting prior to turning up en masse. We settle down to a couple of hours of taking it in turns to wander outside to look up and down the street, eyes peeled for any signs of the crowd, before eventually deciding that we'll go on and start, because then the siren-song of, erm our songs will inevitably draw the punters in...

I might add at this point that in the three hours we've been at the venue no-one, and I mean no-one, has even looked in the door, and the sole other occupant is the landlord, who has disppeared to his back room, and has taken to just popping his head round the door every now and then, giving us a two-thumbs-up, pulling another pint for Proper Roadie (I did say I should have been paying closer attention) and disappearing again.

After some tense negotiation, we decide that a door take might scare off the potential punters, and we'll settle for 10% of the bar take, relying on some last-minute hard-drinking Scottish rock fans to take the edge off the diesel bill to get home. Off we go, all staring at the door, willing the punters in. Nothing. Not a Scottish sausage. Another scout of the postcode in the break reveals a deserted neighbourhood, with nary a punter to be seen. Spirits are low, with the exception of Proper Roadie, who is very happy indeed, about something or other. As I've said before, I wasn't paying much attention...

Then, in the middle of the second set, two ladies wander in and up to the bar. Our somewhat listless performance jumps up several gears, anticipating the late surge of fans, and many unwise shapes are thrown for their benefit. Perhaps understandably, given the desperately pirouetting, lungeing and eyebrow-waggling idiots on stage all trying to catch their eye, they drink up quick and leave. Are they rushing off to bring all their friends? No, they aren't. We finish the second set, not even able to face playing an encore to ourselves, and start to break the kit down. The singist, always a man of infinite resource when there's things to be lifted which might be heavier than his mike stand, volunteers himself to seek out the landlord. He returns holding aloft our earnings for the day, the princely sum of 15p. He shows us a piece of paper on which the landlord has helpfully detailed the important financial transaction: '2 x halves of lager @ 75p each = £1.50 x 10% = 15p. Cheers boys.' We look up. The landlord is once again absent. 'Read it again' says the drummer, squinting like Peter Grant looking for the catch in a new contract... 'We could raffle it' says the guitarist, ever the optimist/cretin.

It is by now gone midnight, and we've the really big PA boxes to shift, and now, far, far too late, I'm looking for Proper Roadie. He is eventually found out in the beer garden slumped in a pool of...let's just say 'his own making' and leave it there. Drybrough's finest (or at least Heaviest) appears to have snuck up on him somewhat. We take an arm each, and without getting too close at any point, give him a cursory rinse under the outside tap before depositing him damply in the back with the gear.

And so it's down to me to drive us all home, dispirited, unadored and possibly even more tragically, un-Groupie'd. I've been awake for twenty hours so far, have participated in loading up, out, setup, played, and loaded it all back again. With added Comatose Proper Soggy Roadie. And now another six or seven hours before bed. Showing splendid soldarity in the face of adversity, everyone is snoring by the end of the road, and only my lung-busting coughing is keeping me awake. Somewhere in the Borders and the Wee Small Hours I succumb into the arms of Morpheus and we have a refreshingly exciting 150-yard off-road excursion up an embankment of a dual carriageway, eventually thumping back onto the road with miraculously little damage, although Proper Roadie in the back sounds like he might have to have a stand removed from a body cavity when we finally get back home. I pull over at the next layby and kill the engine. Some more tense negotiation reveals the fact that the drummer has a Provisional license, and is willing to consider a spot of Deserted Dual Carriageway Driving. We convince him it'll be good practice. As his de facto supervising license holder and guiding presence, I immediately get into the back bench seat and go to sleep, albeit in a supervisory and possibly guidey manner.

We got home just after lunch the next day. Proper Roadie never roadied for us again. We never did find out why Stirling was deserted on a Saturday night.

Oh, and I've just rememberd the Battle Of The Bands thing we did at the (then kinda big) Willows Variety Centre in Salford, hosted by none other than the brother of Johnny 'What's Another Year' Logan, erstwhile Eurovision Song Contest winner (where's the Hobnobbing With The Stars thread?), who made a point of telling us he was wearing the very jacket that Johnny won in...his breathless pause for gasps of awe came and went without remark, which seemed to disappoint him. We came third to a children's steel band and a vent act. That wasn't a great afternoon but, like facing a firing squad, at least it didn't take long.

* For the Caledonian Quaffing Cognescenti, this'll date it a treat, given that Google tells me Drybough & Co were Borg'd and shut down by Allied in 1987...

Edited September 20, 2018 by Muzz

[chris_b]

I've done some shockers.

Irish clubs in Willesden and WMC clubs all over the place (I had to buy a black bow-tie for those gigs!) and US EM clubs in Germany. I even played in a friends Dixieland Jazz band for awhile.

It doesn't stop. Last week I did an awful gig in a West London Bingo hall the size of T5.

Don't feel sorry. . . . I got well paid for all of them!

[Raymondo]

21 minutes ago, HengistPod said:

I certainly saw Dumpy's there at least once, though would have been late-1986 at the earliest. Perhaps I also so your band on the occasion you mention, though more likely I was still in the Salutation or Trip (thus at least heading the right direction) at support-band sort of time.  I loved the Mardi Gras.

It was '85/86 when we played there. The band is called SYZ and still gigs today. there have been many many lineup changes and sadly the Dumpys gig was my last with them.

They went on to release a single "Rock and Roll Children" which never troubled the charts but is quite a collectors piece now.

They are listed in a book about the NWOBHM and have fans all over the world. I've met a few that travelled from Scandinavia to meet up with a few members of the band in Nottingham, it was a humbling experience ,lovely  people dedicated to rock music.

I never made a penny playing with them but loved every minute. The band leader is a mate from college and we had started a band together in 1974.

[skankdelvar]

33 minutes ago, Muzz said:

80s, but not the good 80s; the kinda naff, spandex-driven 80s...

 Outstanding work, Sir. Cap doffed.

[uk_lefty]

1 hour ago, Muzz said:

He is eventually found out in the beer garden slumped in a pool of...let's just say 'his own making' 

In a pool of his own making.

I will be using that regularly. Perhaps in the next half hour if this train doesn't get a shift on.

[Happy Jack]

4 hours ago, HengistPod said:

This time, they'd set up a marquee beside a hotel out in the countryside near Peterhead, which was eventually closed down for actually being a brothel.

I'm well impressed with the idea of using a marquee as a brothel.

[Insert 'loitering within tent' joke here.]

 

[kevin_lindsay]

I played a gig in a Glasgow bar a couple of years ago. The first set went down well, but one odd looking guy aged in his 60s stands at the side of the band facing the audience while nodding along to the tunes.

He then disappeared.

Second set starts, and about 10 mins in to it, the nodding sidestage man appears in the same place, only now he's holding a black padded holdall. He then proceeds to unzip it mid song, and produces a saxophone!! Which he then parps along to the tune we're belting out. At the end of the song he shouts,"YES, YES, YES!!!!", packs up his horn and vanishes.

At the end of the night we ask if anyone knows will the random player was - no one had the faintest idea who he was!!

 

Another oddity was being roped in to dep on bass for a "Christian rock band" (yeah, I know!!) on a gig in Aberdeen. Hours of driving to the gig, to be faced with a crowd in a church hall consisting of sheltered teens and early twenties types who look like they've never been allowed out in public on their own before. 

Lots of shuffling from them during the band's set. About 20 mins in, they form a large circle facing each other, ignoring the band.  Then, one by one they start doing forward somersault rolls from one side of the circle,  across the floor, to the other side. And so it continues. Oddest thing I've ever had to play through. 

[Norris]

Here's another I recalled...

1985. I'm going a summer season at Butlins Skegness (rock and roll!) with the Billy Walsh Showband. Anybody that was around the Leicester area in the 70s & 80s will have most likely done their stint with him - may he rest in peace.

We played 6 nights a week and dossed around all day. Lovely lifestyle for a 19 year old with no other commitments. Saturday was changeover day, so was our night off, when the 3 of us "young lads" would do a pub crawl in Ingoldmells and surrounding area. 

One week he announced "Good news boys, I've got us a gig on Saturday night". That went down like a ton of bricks. The "do" was a posh party in Derbyshire iirc - full dinner suit. So the Saturday comes, we grab the gear from the backstage storage area and pile into the ancient Transit van for a lovely 3 hour journey to the gig. 

Having set up the stage we get suited & booted - and that's when I realise I've left my dicky bow behind. I had a go at fashioning something from a chunk of vinyl butchered from the rear of the Transit driver's seat and gaffa tape - it looks appalling! So I end up with a borrowed dicky bow. It looks like a giant velvet vampire bat is attacking my throat! (Remember it's the mid-80s, full streaked mullets, slim-fit DJs, etc. - I'd rather have worn the vinyl abomination than this throwback to the 60s!)

It turns out that the party is full of Billy's mates. While we three "lads" are still glowering at losing our night off, the guests are busy buying Billy brandy after brandy - his favourite tipple. We have to buy our own beer out of the pittance we are being paid.

Retribution was realised in the last song of the night. It wasn't supposed to be the last song though. Billy had stood up at the end of the number, stumbled under the combined weight of half a bottle of brandy, and accidentally knocked his keyboard over. It tumbled off the stage, crashed onto the floor and laid there groaning loudly in its death throes.

Luckily that was the last "filler" gig he booked for us. He probably made a nett loss after getting his keyboard repaired too

[paul_5]

2 hours ago, Norris said:

...accidentally knocked his keyboard over. It tumbled off the stage, crashed onto the floor and laid there groaning loudly in its death throes.

I'd call that a positive conclusion to the festivities.

 

[BassTractor]

23 hours ago, kevin_lindsay said:

At the end of the night we ask if anyone knows will the random player was - no one had the faintest idea who he was!!

By the sound of it, that was Evan Parker.

[itsmedunc]

Around 1990 we played at a local club. Loads turned up. Our then drummer Kev decided to smoke a load of weed, take loads of amphetamine and then drink a shed of ale. Needless to say, he collapsed and fell off his kit half way through. When he finally recovered, he blamed it not on the cocktail he had consumed but on the order he had taken it in 😂 That narrowly pipped the gig where all of us (bar our now different drummer) got that drunk that we couldn't play at all. By the way, that sober drummer was Ged Lynch who is currently on tour with Peter Gabriel and Sting!

I've learned a lot since! 

Edited September 21, 2018 by itsmedunc

[project_c]

I’ve got one from back when I was a DJ during the rave days in the early 90s, this is really embarrassing.

I used to play at illegal parties in disused warehouses and squats, rickety old buildings, dirt and broken glass everywhere etc. One night, just before my DJ set, I’m up on the rooftop of a particularly dirty burnt out building, chatting up some girls and trying really hard to look cool, going on about my DJing skills and impressing them with some very boring ‘rave’ stories. I look at my watch and tell them “it’s time for me to hit the decks, ladies”, and with a wink and a smile, I turn the wrong way, trip and fall off the roof.

I fall about 25 feet and land on my àrse with a loud crescendo. It’s chucking it down with rain, and I land on a pile of wet cardboard boxes filled with garbage. One of the girls is screaming, the other one is pointing at me and pìssing herself laughing. Somehow I am unharmed and there’s not a scratch on me. It takes me a good 20 minutes to find a way to climb back into the building, and I then spend the rest of the night drenched, with a huge brown muddy wet patch on the àrse of my bright yellow ‘rave’ trousers, stinking of garbage and hiding from the hot girls on the roof.

[janmaat]

Another one from the category "the worst and the best".

I played in a Psycho-country band, usually on the art circus, such as gallery openings, but did also pub gigs and festivals. - One day an artist / musician friend calls as he had booked his own band / performance act (of which we knew nothing) in a certain pub in south London and asked if we'd support, we agree... It turns out that pub just has a policy of "allowing" people to play there. No PA, no support, TV was on, we even had to pay our own drinks!

We do our set of dark cabaret country stuff, singer all in clown make-up, me on the home-built bucket bass, Billy the fiddler on violin, accordion... The pub is packed with arty followers and fans of the other guy, but nobody could hear a note from us... Everyone loves us but hates the venue... We finish early and pack as quickly as can and head out.

While we're thus outside, the other act comes on - which turns out to be a noise performance that consists of trashing old instruments and furniture, which happens to be pub furniture, plus throwing random stuff at the audience, which commences to throw stuff back... Damage... So while we're outside packing our gear it kicks off inside, stuff gets smashed and everyone having a great time except for the pub manager, who calls the cops...

Cops arrive... Manager explains the situation "These guys' act consists of trashing stuff and our pub got trashed!!!" - Answer the cops: "And you booked them!? Didn't you check out their act beforehand?! No?! So that's entirely your own fault - you get what you have booked!!! You cannot book a violent performance and be surprised about violence can you?!"

Funny situation us with all that makeup in the copper's flashy blue light - they asked me "did you play there too" and I was "yeah earlier I just left..." Was OK

It turned out everyone had for long thought that place needed to be trashed. Story proves that sometimes art can indeed make a difference. Needless to say, that pub is since not as it used to be.

When we had stored our gear safe we strolled to another pub nearby for a number of pints. Pints were cheaper there than in the first venue. Plus, there were intact windows.

[ern500evo]

Worst gig ever was a band showcase, or at least that’s what it was billed as, at a Country Club/ hotel type place. We were told there would be travelling expenses plus food and drink for all the acts. Arrived at venue to be told that travelling  expenses info was incorrect, not really an issue as it was only half an hour or so away from us. We were a originals rock band, all hair and Ibanez guitars (as was the thing back then), we then get told we were on between the magician and the Neil Diamond impersonator, alarm bells are starting to ring. Go to the backstage room, here’s the free food and drink, a huge bowl of stale crisps and a crate of out of date light ale! Get through the gig, being largely ignored or frowned at, and as we’re packing guitars away in the backstage area, the organiser comes in and says “well done lads, you finished second, Neil Diamond won”. Feeling very deflated by now, our guitarist pipes up to try and cheer us up and says “ah well, he was very good, at least we came second” at which point our drummer walks in and says “turns out only three acts turned up, and while we were getting ready backstage, the magician tried to saw his assistant in half but the table broke and she fell off the stage and fractured her wrist, and we only beat him by one vote”! Luckily no one else wanted the light ale so at least we could drink enough to see the funny side of it all!