Hi everybody, i was just looking at my old college essay. (750 words on a humorous experience). I'd forgotten about this, it was pretty funny. Any and all gig from hell memories are encouraged.
Here ya go.
Like most teenagers, I had a predilection for spending exorbitant amounts of cash as quickly as possible. Badly in need of some money, and quite possibly a lesson in microeconomics, I took every gig that was offered to me. The community service coordinator at my school was putting together a fashion show, and wanted it to be a jazzy night under the stars. He wanted a trio, and I was offered the gig, however, I was hesitant to accept. I had recently broken up with my girlfriend (who was the star of the show) and I didnt wish to be around her. Additionally, the drama department of my high school was running the show, and they were a group that was notoriously difficult. I had exactly 48 cents in my bank account and I needed to drive my car, I had no idea what a jazzy night under the stars was, but I accepted.
The night of the fashion show I showed up early and offloaded my gear. The director of the show ushered us into the smallest area possible, and looked puzzled when I told her I would need an electrical outlet. This had all the makings to be a gig from hell, but I smiled and pressed on. There was a dinner before the actual fashion show, and we were to play during the dinner, the intermission and afterwards. We set up, the pianist passed out charts, counted off, and we set to work. When it came time for my solo, I buried my face in the chart and started to work through the changes. However, mid-solo the fashion show director dropped a binder on my stand on top of the chart and tapped me on the shoulder. The song crashed to a halt, and she began to pontificate on the intricacies of fashion shows and how she would like us to maintain eye contact with her at all times so that she could cue us. It was obvious that she was fairly new to working with musicians, but that was fine, money was money and I was in quite the financial bind.
The fashion show started and we put our instruments down and took a break. After the intermission, the models began to elegantly float down the runway in prom dresses, accompanied by a bass heavy techno beat. After the prom dress exhibition, something odd happened. The next fashion exhibition was supposed to be Mardi Gras clothing, so the director of the show decided that it would be a good moment for the band to play When the Saints Go Marching In. However, we the band, were not told we needed to play this and were not prepared to do so. As the last prom dress floated off stage we heard And now the band will play When the Saints Go Marching In! a spotlight flew from the MC to me, as I was the only one standing. I was in a darkened ballroom, with a spotlight in my face being asked to play a song I did not know I was to play. So like most sensible teenagers I choked out the ever articulate response of Wha..Huh No. The crowd laughed, most assumed it was a staged comedic moment. The director picked up that she had messed up and quickly introduced the next fashion line.
By this time I was sure the gods of fiscal responsibility were lambasting me with a hard-hitting lesson on the values of saving. The fashion show ended and everyone began to file out. I packed up my brand new, fully carved upright, the one thing that I had saved up for, and slowly trudged towards the loading dock. As I got closer and closer to the door, I heard a distant voice calling my name. I knew it was my ex girlfriend but I did not wish to turn around. I took a few more steps and finally turned around. She pointed out that something was wrong my bass. Indeed, something was wrong with my bass, the neck, for reasons unknown, and completely separated from the body, and was drooping in the gig bag. With a look of horror I tore open the gig bag and was greeted with wild bass strings and splinters. I cradled the broken neck with jagged bass strings hanging off of it in my arms as the fashion show director walked by and asked the only sensible question, Is it broken?.
Here ya go.
Like most teenagers, I had a predilection for spending exorbitant amounts of cash as quickly as possible. Badly in need of some money, and quite possibly a lesson in microeconomics, I took every gig that was offered to me. The community service coordinator at my school was putting together a fashion show, and wanted it to be a jazzy night under the stars. He wanted a trio, and I was offered the gig, however, I was hesitant to accept. I had recently broken up with my girlfriend (who was the star of the show) and I didnt wish to be around her. Additionally, the drama department of my high school was running the show, and they were a group that was notoriously difficult. I had exactly 48 cents in my bank account and I needed to drive my car, I had no idea what a jazzy night under the stars was, but I accepted.
The night of the fashion show I showed up early and offloaded my gear. The director of the show ushered us into the smallest area possible, and looked puzzled when I told her I would need an electrical outlet. This had all the makings to be a gig from hell, but I smiled and pressed on. There was a dinner before the actual fashion show, and we were to play during the dinner, the intermission and afterwards. We set up, the pianist passed out charts, counted off, and we set to work. When it came time for my solo, I buried my face in the chart and started to work through the changes. However, mid-solo the fashion show director dropped a binder on my stand on top of the chart and tapped me on the shoulder. The song crashed to a halt, and she began to pontificate on the intricacies of fashion shows and how she would like us to maintain eye contact with her at all times so that she could cue us. It was obvious that she was fairly new to working with musicians, but that was fine, money was money and I was in quite the financial bind.
The fashion show started and we put our instruments down and took a break. After the intermission, the models began to elegantly float down the runway in prom dresses, accompanied by a bass heavy techno beat. After the prom dress exhibition, something odd happened. The next fashion exhibition was supposed to be Mardi Gras clothing, so the director of the show decided that it would be a good moment for the band to play When the Saints Go Marching In. However, we the band, were not told we needed to play this and were not prepared to do so. As the last prom dress floated off stage we heard And now the band will play When the Saints Go Marching In! a spotlight flew from the MC to me, as I was the only one standing. I was in a darkened ballroom, with a spotlight in my face being asked to play a song I did not know I was to play. So like most sensible teenagers I choked out the ever articulate response of Wha..Huh No. The crowd laughed, most assumed it was a staged comedic moment. The director picked up that she had messed up and quickly introduced the next fashion line.
By this time I was sure the gods of fiscal responsibility were lambasting me with a hard-hitting lesson on the values of saving. The fashion show ended and everyone began to file out. I packed up my brand new, fully carved upright, the one thing that I had saved up for, and slowly trudged towards the loading dock. As I got closer and closer to the door, I heard a distant voice calling my name. I knew it was my ex girlfriend but I did not wish to turn around. I took a few more steps and finally turned around. She pointed out that something was wrong my bass. Indeed, something was wrong with my bass, the neck, for reasons unknown, and completely separated from the body, and was drooping in the gig bag. With a look of horror I tore open the gig bag and was greeted with wild bass strings and splinters. I cradled the broken neck with jagged bass strings hanging off of it in my arms as the fashion show director walked by and asked the only sensible question, Is it broken?.
), one of the members of my band told his that he had a great gig. This "gig" was actually a contest where we'd as he put it "play a large venue on a huge stage with 50 ft stacks for a huge crowd in a stadium" and that "the prize was a large sum of money (can't remember how much) and that there would be a lot of "famous people" at the event". The rest of us thought that this would be a good gig since we needed exposure and bread, so we all agreed and signed up.
.
) we disbanded and went our seperate ways, though only me and that christian guy (the keyboardist) actually continued to play music. So I ask myself now "Was that actually worth it?"
