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Strangest gigs?

#161
One of the most interesting gigs I've played was at a rock club that wanted to have a "beach party" only instead of sand they had laid sod through the whole bar. Our soundman hated all the sod as it changed the sound by draining out the highend. At that same gig the band judged a wet t shirt contest. I remember the bar owner telling me that she had removed the blades from a lawn mower and she wanted to push the mower through the bar - I sure a running lawn mower in a bar would mess with a few of the drunk people's heads. She never got a chance to take out the lawn mower as the place was jammed packed and she did not have the room - nice problem to have
 
#162
Great thread... Fun topic to bring back up!

I think most of these have been covered earlier (some in this post), but here are the weirdest ones I can think of:

1. The show where we were background music during an art gallery show about sex. It was a normal gig while we were playing, except for the huge paintings that were anatomically explicit. It basically turned into an orgy after we were done. The girl I was dating freaked out when a few random sex acts were being performed out in the open. Apparently it got worse/better. She made me leave early, so all I got to hear was the stories from the others in the band.

2. The nudist resort gig. Actually pretty mellow and normal gig, except everyone (and I mean everyone) was naked. One girl seemed to really like us and let us know by giving us a show. The resort didn't like that, and stopped her quick.

3. The condemned house. They were going to tear it down, so while we were playing, people were using power tools and such to take out the walls. It got out of hand. The strippers freaked out and ran out the back with the bouncer. An angry mob of college students chased them with hammers and power tools, demanding more boobies. It was OUT OF CONTROL.

4. The medical marijuana festival gig. That was physically a tough one to play... So many things burned, so much peer pressure...

5. A gig at a bowling alley just off the main highway. A wildfire broke out, shut the highway down, and stranded us (the band) and thousands of travellers. A string of strange events happened including the guitarist and I faking to take some sort of pill so as not to offend a biker named "Ghost," some coked-out hillbillies in an "after party" at a trailer park asking me not to defecate in his yard and only urinate, and getting woken up in a biker's apartment by a fighting/%#@%-ing biker and his girlfriend at 6:00am. Weirdest night ever.

The sad thing is that I LOVE the weirdness. Maybe I need a therapist...
 
#165
thunderstation said:
We played the city's psychiatric hospital in the 70's - twice - for the patients.
Click to expand...

Wow... Must have been weird. It's my understanding that back then, being a mental patient had lots more social stigma to it back then as opposed to now. As such, I heard that those in institutions were generally the most troubled segment of society. "One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest" comes to mind. Was that an accurate portrayal of things back then?
 
#166
I don't think I have that many really wierd stories. My first gig was memorable, and maybe a little wierd. We played in a former church and the draperies caught on fire. (Important note: Tube amplifiers have little very hot things called 'tubes' in them. Tubes should not be allowed to come in contact with reeeeeeeally old cloth wall hangings. Just trust me on this one before someone decides to make your dance area bigger by scooting the amps all the way back against the walls. ) My girlfriend/keyboard player was the daughter of a preacher whose congregation had bought an old church with plans of tearing it down and building their new church in that location. Then their two richest congregation members both died and all of a sudden the church was too poor to consider construction. We practiced in the sanctuary of the unused church building. All was cool until people came to listen to us and started a fire. Well, okay. 'Fire' is a slight exaggeration. But the wall hangings started smoldering and smoking and the Fre Department came.

We did a private party at the amazing house of a rich couple. The house was the most impressive one I had ever seen. We set up in the living room facing a wall of two story-tall windows, with a huge landscaped lawn and a pool in front of us. What no one had told us was that the hosts were some kind of nudists/swingers. At some signal I never noticed, people began peeling clothes off during our set. That was kind of shocking, but it graduated to REALLY shocking when some of them started doing the nasty right in front of god and everybody. The good news is that the ones who were foing it right there in that room were not where we could see them without trying. The bad news is that we could see nearly everybody else just fine. Now, ordinarily, one would assume that since we were all hormonally crazed young men, we should have been all thrilled and joining the fun. That's what would have happened in a porno movie. But in real life there is a major difference from the movie version: these people were UGLY. There are people out there who should only be naked after making sure there are no cameras to see them. There are people who should only be naked after making sure there are no eyes to see them. And then there are people who shouldn't be allowed to be naked, even in the shower. This party was mostly attended by THOSE people. But we soldiered on and finished our set. The host gave us an awesome tip on top of our already-more-than-we-usually-made pay, making that by far the most lucrative party I ever played. We ended up nearly tripling our usual rate. I think he payed us extra just for not freaking out and running away.

Soon after I got out of the Navy, I saw an ad on the bulletin board at the music store I frequented. A guy needed most of a band to help him out for one show. It seems that he had recorded an album by himself, playing all the parts. Then he gave a copy to a friend who worked at a local public/independent radio station (KNON! None of the hits! All of the time!)
The friend liked it started giving it some play, and the next thing you know the listeners had picked Tunde and his 'band' to open for a big show the next month. Except there was no band. Just Tunde, with his wife and her sister singing backup. And the gig was to open for someone who was apparently huge in his homeland. So the three of us learned his songs pretty quickly and did the gig.

Now the surreal part: The entire 2500 or so member audience except for one couple, was Nigerian. All of them. And in traditional tribal finery so that you could see what tribe a whole section of audience was because they all wore the same colors and didn't mix. It was like looking at a bunch of high school marching bands sitting in bleachers. And they didn't clap till after we were completely done. Apparently that is somehow rude. In stead, to show that they liked us while we were playing and between songs, they sent little old ladies, likely the oldest people in the crowd, up on the stage with money. At first, one tiny frail woman in red tribal dress came up with a double handful of bills and rubbed her hands together as if she were washing them so that money showered over Tunde while he was singing. Then another frail old woman, this one in green, stuck a bill to the forehead of each person in the band. Then the competition was on and people in alternating colors would come up while we were playing and shower, anoint or pelt us with money. Apparently no tribal group wanted to be out done by any other tribal group. Most of it was $1 bills but still it was cool. I beet I got $100 in ones just from the Yoriba in the crowd. But I think they are Tundes' tribe so they were partial to begin with.

But remember this was in stead of applauding, until we had finished our last song. Then they went nuts. Then the headliner, Sonny Okosun came on. His music is called Ozzidi (sp?) and you should get some. It is kind of James Brown meets Bob Marley with a little Highlife thrown in, very cool party music. The crowd clearly loved him and they did the money-instead-of-applause thing to him too, so I felt better about the lack of audible response till the end.
 
#167
Ubersheist said:
Wow... Must have been weird. It's my understanding that back then, being a mental patient had lots more social stigma to it back then as opposed to now. As such, I heard that those in institutions were generally the most troubled segment of society. "One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest" comes to mind. Was that an accurate portrayal of things back then?
Click to expand...

I actually worked there (in the locksmith shop) the patients weren't treated as bad as 'Cuckoo's nest" - except that they found the night crew overmedicating the patients.
Obviously they were a "troubled segment of society" because of their mental state.- but both times we played there - we were very well recieved (we actually got paid the 2nd time)
the patients and the staff were very congenial to each other.
that being said, I wouldn't reccomend it for a vacation stop.
 
#168
Nothing truly "strange" by the standards set in this thread, but some of mine are:
Playing a double bachelor party in a waste management garage. Four strippers, multiple trash trucks, no mob.

Playing a Christmas party in the lounge at an old rehersal studio. Eight strippers, two bands and what I'm fairly certain were a number of people "wit connections".

Having a beef and beer, billing it as a "Fan Appreciation Night", charging $25/couple and selling out of tickets. "So, you're charging us to be appreciated?" Yep. "Dig it. I'm in!"

Opening another Christmas gig with Feliz Navidad and watching the entire kitchen staff come running out dancing and clapping.

Being told we wouldn't be back because we brought in too big of a crowd. FWIW, we ROCKED the joint the night, floor was packed start to finish, most of the dinner crowd stayed (See John. Start with the mellower stuff while they are finishing and they'll stick around.)

Being told by management, while playing at a "college town" bar, to turn down repeatedly, then being told we sucked because all anyone could hear were the drums.

Playing a few family events in the middle of nowhere, seemingly. The house was more like a ski lodge, the property was huge, the far end was dotted with teepees, there were probably four generations of people just partying, drinking, smoking.........we set up in the corner of a large patio and looking out it was so dark you couldn't see anyone until (not unless. UNTIL) they lit up. Probably the closest I've EVER come to feeling like a hippie. And it weren't all bad, either.
 
#170
1. Fashion show in a parking lot next to abig store.
2. Lock-up for delinquent minors mostly 18 and under.
they really liked us.
3.Mental facility. Every one was really nice. Ironically I met and dated two beautiful volunteers, together, at the same time. :)
4. Not a gig but an audition at topless club/bar. No one at the club but dancers started ....well, dancing during the audition! We were all under 18 except singer. Blame the manager....!
 
#171
I really don't think I can top some of the better stories in this thread - I've certainly got nothing on a par with turning up at a swingers' party or finding the host's dead mother in the adjacent room. But I do have one that sticks in my mind. Unfortunately I wasn't on bass for this gig - I was playing acoustic guitar for a singer-songwriter that I'd been working with. She was a little, erm, eccentric as it was, but seemed to be quite good at getting gigs. And by gigs, I mainly mean 2-3 song slots at open mic nights.

So when she called me and said she'd got a gig at yet another open mic night, I probably rolled my eyes and asked for the details, before she explained that this one would be a bit different, because she'd been asked to play an opening and closing set for the night. Well, this is a bit better, I thought, and rocked up one Tuesday night to the venue: a small barge on the river.

We settled down, I grumbled silently to myself about the lack of decent beer on the boat (and then into my wallet when I found out the price of what beer they did have), and decided which songs to play. We got up, played the set and settled down for the rest of the open mic to begin. The audience seemed to have enjoyed us: this was at least a good start.

The first act was a poet, reading a couple of her compositions aloud. Fair enough, I thought, open mics aren't just for music, a bit of variety's always good. I should add that I've got very limited patience with spoken-word poetry. I like poems if they're funny, but if they're not, I get bored quite quickly.

The second act was also a poet. I started to have a bad feeling about this gig. Looking around the room, a horrible thought suddenly dawned on me: I'm the only person here with an instrument. There are no other musicians here. I'm trapped on a boat. At a poetry evening. And I've got to stay on call to do the closing set. Oh GOD HELP ME.

And they went on. Oh, how they went on. Quiet, meaningful poems with quiet, meaningful pauses and thoughtful stares into the middle-distance. It was all I could do to focus on my crap, overpriced beer and not throw myself overboard in despair. Because this was just an open mic night, we weren't even getting paid for this one.

And that, dear TBers, is how I got trapped at a poetry evening.
 
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#174
Two guys I had known for a while played rhythm guitar and bass, respectively, but for an upcoming gig they needed a lead guitar and drums.
(there was the first sign something bad was coming... who schedules a gig without a complete band?)
So they learn I kinda-sorta play guitar and my brother plays drums, so they ask "Can you play with us just this once?" Things had been slow with our main band, so we say sure.
They send us a list of some songs they want to play, all classic rock covers. George Thorogood, Stray Cats, CCR, that kinda stuff.

As primarily a bassist, I was having difficulty learning the guitar parts to these songs, especially the guitar solos, but I threw myself into it. After 3 weeks of practice, I had it nailed.

Due to various problems, we weren't able to all practice together until the day of the gig!
When we get there, I proudly tell them I could play it all, even 'Stray Cat Strut'.

At which point they proceed to tell me "Oh, by the way, we changed all the songs to the key of G. It makes it easier to sing."
 
#178
I played a gig in NYC once at a place called the Red Warehouse. In Greenwich Village, if memory serves. It was completely unmarked. When I walked inside, I was confronted by a bridge-like contraption, with a ramp going up maybe two feet, then across, then back down, with hand rails on either side. It was about six feet wide, and maybe three feet across, and had a space in it where a human being could lie down and be walked on by anyone entering the club. Next to this "bridge" was a sign proclaiming "The Human Doormat". And there was a guy lying in this thing with a lot of padded protective wear on and maybe safety glasses or some kind of face shield. This was about 10 years ago so the details aren't clear. I declined to walk on him, and opted to step over, but there were a lot of hot girls in high heels grinding their heels into him, and he seemed to be having a pretty good time. Now, I'm an open-minded guy, so who cares, right? Well, as I was getting ready to put my gear onstage, a truly skeezy looking fellow in a T-shirt that read "NY City Fetish Ball" proceeded to roll himself into a carpet at the front of the stage, forming a sort of "human stepstool" for us to use to get onstage. He was told to move, in no uncertain terms.
 
#180
Bassist4Eris said:
I played a gig in NYC once at a place called the Red Warehouse. In Greenwich Village, if memory serves. It was completely unmarked. When I walked inside, I was confronted by a bridge-like contraption, with a ramp going up maybe two feet, then across, then back down, with hand rails on either side. It was about six feet wide, and maybe three feet across, and had a space in it where a human being could lie down and be walked on by anyone entering the club. Next to this "bridge" was a sign proclaiming "The Human Doormat". And there was a guy lying in this thing with a lot of padded protective wear on and maybe safety glasses or some kind of face shield. This was about 10 years ago so the details aren't clear. I declined to walk on him, and opted to step over, but there were a lot of hot girls in high heels grinding their heels into him, and he seemed to be having a pretty good time. Now, I'm an open-minded guy, so who cares, right? Well, as I was getting ready to put my gear onstage, a truly skeezy looking fellow in a T-shirt that read "NY City Fetish Ball" proceeded to roll himself into a carpet at the front of the stage, forming a sort of "human stepstool" for us to use to get onstage. He was told to move, in no uncertain terms.
Click to expand...

10 years ago on the NYC Fetish Ball website a few people posted in a thread about the bass player who ruined their whole night by not playing along. :smug:
 

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