|
|
Post by cynical1 on Feb 12, 2009 22:24:28 GMT -5
 Anybody who's been playing for a while in a band has some horror story to tell...it's either the venue, a particular gig...or something that happened on the way to the gig. Let it out...share your pain...and let us all have a good laugh at your expense... EXAMPLE:There was this genuine dive about 50 miles south of Chicago called the Sollitt Tap. A real biker bar if there ever was one. Not much to look at, but you could always get a gig there if nothing else was happening. We always put a beer mug out for donations. Most of the time someone just stole the mug... (Sollitt Tap paid $100.00 for Friday and Saturday, 9:00 PM - Close...granted, this was back in the 70's...but hey, your first beer was free...) One night this really burly biker walks up just before we start the set and asks "You guys know any Trower?" We answered in the affirmative. So, he asks "You know Caladonia?" Yes we did. So he drops $10.00 in the mug and sits down. We play the song and move on to the next one. Before we get to the third song he's back. He belts out "Hey, play Caladonia". We explained that we just did. He explained, in quite colorful and convincing language, that we need to keep playing it...reminding us that he dropped $10.00 in the mug...and would be happy to drop us too... Believe it or not, you can actually extend Caladonia for almost 45 minutes... \EXAMPLEGet it out...you'll feel better when you do... Happy Trails Cynical One |
|
|
|
Post by newey on Feb 12, 2009 23:56:34 GMT -5
Or, perhaps, on the way back from the gig . . . In about 1977, I was "volunteered" to run sound and haul equipment for the resident house band in our college dorm. They had a gig at a sorority dance and needed the help. Since they had no van, living in the dorm, they marshalled a bunch of their friend's cars to haul gear. I was tasked to haul the PA (2 cabs, 2 monitors, mixer and amp) plus about half the drum kit, in a 1968 VW Beetle. Thus loaded, including the monitors piled in the passenger seat, the VW's suspension adopted a splay-footed attitude most disconcerting when viewed curbside. But I made it to the gig ok and got everything set up. The band was a bit mismatched to the crowd, their mix of covers ranged from Zep's "The Rover" to the Ramone's "Sniff Some Glue" which really wasn't what the sorority girls wanted to hear. But as alcohol fueled the proceedings, things loosened up a little. At about 3 a.m., I had the VW packed up and ready to roll back to the dorm. This was about a 2-mile trip across campus. 3 a.m., overloaded VW, need I say it? I get pulled over by the campus police. At first, they want to know where I got all this equipment. I explain, and they seem to buy the tale. Next, they're convinced I was drinking, so I'm made to walk the line, recite the alphabet backwards, etc., before finally convincing the cop I'm sober. Finally, they gave me a ticket for "obstructed vision" while operating a vehicle. Cost me $35. I didn't drink anywhere near that amount of free beer at the gig- which explains why I was sober several hours later after all my roadie chores. Wasn't my car, wasn't my equipment, wasn't my driving, and I lost money, a commodity in short supply at that time of my life.  |
|
|
|
Post by ashcatlt on Feb 13, 2009 0:49:42 GMT -5
Thankfully, most of my horror stories were attached to brain cells which have long since been put out of my misery. I have vague memories of some really rough nights trying to mix punk bands... Truthfully, though, I think my audiences have more horror stories than I. That and club owners. When we played the Dixie Tavern (our New Orleans debut) we opened for a bunch of hardcore punks from Texas. They told us we had balls! At some point during the night a can of paint was dumped over in the storage room where all the bands' equipment got stored. I knew nothing of it until the next day when I noticed that one of my mics was covered in the stuff. It still is. We told all the other bands where we lived and that they should come if they needed a place to sleep or wanted to party for a while afterward. We'd been home for a little bit when a knock came at the door. One of the bands had followed our directions to reclaim their guitar! Seems they had a fake leather gig bag that looked way too much like one of ours. They were pretty understanding in that they didn't beat us up. We're no longer welcome at the Dixie Tavern. Then there was "Lorenzo's Tractor Unplugged". We finished off the night at a cafe called Urban Ground on Superior St in Duluth. The owner of the club was three blocks down at the mexican restaraunt. People there were complaining to him about the horrible racket that was disturbing their dinner. This is "unplugged" remember. One of the "instruments" I brought for that gig was an old metal trash can full of empties and a broomstick. Unfortunately, the bottom of the can had sort of rotted out, and it did not stand up to the abuse. That took a minute or two to clean up! |
|
|
|
Post by ashcatlt on Feb 13, 2009 0:58:22 GMT -5
Wait! I remembered another one.
Shortly before Katrina asked me to leave, I was playing in a bar just off Bourbon. This french junkie chick came up to me and ask if she could show me how to play guitar. She was very insistent. I tried to be polite when I asked her "Can I finish this song first?"
|
|
|
|
Post by andy on Feb 13, 2009 19:15:29 GMT -5
The worst one which sticks in the mind for me was a support gig on a good sized tour. The band, to remain un-named, unfortunately weren't the 'nice guys with a successful band' types, more the 'I'm a rock star, who does that make you?' types. After our punctual arrival and preparation for soundcheck, the headliners arrived an hour and a half late and proceeded to jam for a bit and re-write a section of the show, well into our soundcheck time. There was some hassle with the tour supports gear too, so by the time we hit the stage for 'soundcheck' we were late for showtime. Quick line check in front of the crowd, and then into the set. Fine, at least we get to put out a slick set in front of a good crowd... but, hold on, our last song is going to run over time! I'd have thought that after the hour and a half of waiting for nothing, the hour and a half of jamming and set-tweaking, the time held up with the other bands battered old amps, two and a half minutes of grand finale wasn't too much to ask. But as the intro builds up into the tiny break before the big riff hits (  ) , that break lasts a long time. One by one we look round to see the stage manager gripping the drummers wrists held above his head, sticks in hand, about to make the big cymbal crash to bring us all in. The guy marched onstage to physically prevent us from going one second out of the alloted time! 'Cause after all, "this tour's a tight ship, and we don't like no messing about with the bands time". Sorry for yet another Brit-double-negative ChrisK, but I'm a-quotin'! It was hard not to feel put out. To make matters worse, things got even more touchy. I can't defend our singers decision to let a young girl repeatedly cross the barriers and come into the artist area, but for that same 6' or more, bearded, vested, cargo panted, really quite scary stage manager to scream in the face of, and drag to the exit, a ticket holding, 5' something young fan was bordering on an arrestable offense. We played the next town on that tour. We didn't feel we had much to appologise about, and neither did anyone else. However, we did get a telling off from the tour manager for letting slip to the local promoter, a regular of ours at the time, that the stage manager might turn out to be a 'bit difficult'. And we will never work for that tour agent again, by their decree. Those gigs felt pretty bad. |
|
|
|
Post by lpf3 on Feb 13, 2009 19:30:44 GMT -5
Not so much a horror story ,still one of my favorites .
We were playing at a bar called J.T.'s in Barstow , Ca. , when one of the patrons died . Just gave up the ghost right there sittin' at the bar . And no one told us so we just kept playing until we noticed the paramedics . We just kinda stopped playing one at a time which made it almost cartoon-ish . Well , the paramedics finished , they covered the guy up & rolled him out and the club owner was walkin' around slappin people on the back , saying " Killer band huh? " Last but not least , this was one of those gigs where they had a D.J. play during our breaks so there was constant music . He immediately got up and played Clint Black's " Killin Time " ! The whole thing was weird / embarrassing /morbid / hilarious .
.....hope this story doesn't bother anyone .....
-lpf3
|
|
|
|
Post by gfxbss on Feb 13, 2009 19:54:36 GMT -5
one of my horror stories is from about a year ago. my band had just started playing out about 4 months earlier. also, a week before we had added a new guitarist who insisted he was ready for the show.
the show was @ one of the few all ages venues in town called "The Harrison House." about 15 seconds into the set, our drummer drops a stick. This happens and i understand. however, the rest of the band decided to stop playing, with one exception, me. after this, we realized that the crowd wasnt exactly suited for our type of music, or our energy. this was with the exception on one kid. after one of our songs, our lead singer thanks the kid and then proceeds to tell the crowd that " they !@#$ing suck." during the next song we see movement and thought that our lead singers inspiring words had broken through to them, and they were getting into it. about 3 min and a lot of pushing later, we realized that the movement was about 55 of the 60 people in the room rushing the door at once.
on the bright side, the venue keeps asking us to come back....
Tyler
|
|
|
|
Post by mlrpa on Feb 16, 2009 12:16:15 GMT -5
This was the nightmare gig that shattered the camels back.
We were asked to do a charity gig. Now, that in itself doesn't sound too bad, right? But the gig was in a prison. A MAXIMUM security prison. We figured "what the heck, it'll be fun." Yeah.... right.
(A quick background note here: Everyone in the band, including the drummer, was a multi-instrumentalist, and had multi instruments and amps and such.)
So we get to the prison a couple of hours ealy, and have to have the guards check ALL of our gear for "countraband". Guitars, basses, keys, and drums were opened up and checked. Same with the amps, and mixers, and of course our tool box wasn't allowed in. That took nearly an hour and a half.
So we get escourted to the main hall. A 3RD story hall. And wouldn't you know it, NO elevators. So we had to walk up 3 flights of stairs, carrying our gear. My gear alone was 1 500 watt pa head with 2 cabs with 2 18" speakers and 2 cabs with 4 10"s, my bass and backup, 2 guitars with 2 amps, and the bass synth with all the pedals and the like. Linda, the lead vocalist and guitarist, and keyboards, had more gear.
Another 2 hours later, we finally get set up, and whilst sitting there, cursing out Ricky, the sound guy who set this gig up, and smoking our cigs, the riot bell goes off. So we are locked in this 500 seat hall, for ANOTHER 2 hours, then get told by the Lt. in charge that the gig was cancelled.
That was the gig that made us realize that it wasn't fun anymore. The band broke up shortly afterwards.
|
|
) , that break lasts a long time. One by one we look round to see the stage manager gripping the drummers wrists held above his head, sticks in hand, about to make the big cymbal crash to bring us all in. The guy marched onstage to physically prevent us from going one second out of the alloted time!
