The "favorite gigs" thread got me thinking... sometimes the worst gigs turn out to be type 2 or 3 fun, and make the best stories.
Anybody who's gigged at all has some of these stories. Tiny "stages", janky power, worthless PAs, drunk audience or band members, gear failures, etc. At one point in my life I was going to create a Web site to curate this kind of story; everybody's got a few!
Here are a few of mine.
Cinco de Mayo main stage, Portland, OR, Saturday afternoon ca. 1997
I was playing lead alto sax with a well-known band, which always had a prime spot at Portland's Cinco de Mayo festival. The leader hired extra players since it was a high-profile gig, and we had a couple rehearsals ahead of time with them. We all showed up before our time slot... except the bass player/lead singer. This is 1997; nobody had cell phones, but somebody found a payphone and tracked him down as we edged closer to our downbeat time. Our time arrived, still no singing bassist, so the leader went out on stage and started telling jokes in Spanglish. Let's just say he was a better bandleader than comedian, and this did not engage the audience. Meanwhile, somebody grabbed the bassist from the previous band, and he agreed to go on with us to start our set with some instrumentals. We're still buying time till our front man can get there, so I just stepped up and took a long solo on a cumbia number. I totally ran out of ideas, tried to cue the tenor sax player to take it, and we totally fumbled on the handoff. We're just limping musically at this point. We did a couple more instrumentals, and then our bassist arrived sweaty and breathless, bass slung over his shoulder. He had to take the bus, and fortunately the PA an mons were good enough for him to just plug in DI. That was the last gig I played with that band. My only regret was not going out on a higher note (I had a lot of fun with that band previously).
Some dive, Eugene, OR, Saturday night summer 1990
Fresh out of the Midwest college circuit, we booked ourselves at a club in Eugene without knowing anything about the scene there. It turned out to be a townie bar, far from the the college scene, and they did zero promo. It was a hot summer night, and the bar had its doors wide open. Our deal was we supplied the door person and would keep 100% of the door, no guarantee. My girlfriend took the door, and was confronted by incredulous regulars who refused to pay cover, and others who just walked in the back door. There were dogs wandering in and out all night. During our third set, some drunk kept yelling "PLAY SOMETHING GOOD" between every song. Not sure we made enough to cover gas to and from Portland that night.
Laughing Iguana, Des Moines, IA, Saturday night summer 1989
Another non-college bar, booked just to fill in dates between college town gigs. Our previous booking had been cancelled due to a stabbing there the previous night. We should have taken that as a sign. It was a typical sweltering summer night; the event stage was on the second story and the AC was out (if they ever even had AC). It was a decent room, but very few people ventured up the stairs due to the heat. There was one woman who did, and as she danced, she gradually stripped to lingerie. We kept playing, she kept dancing, and at some point between songs she approached me and handed me a book of poetry by Herman Melville. She hoarsely whispered in my ear: "I have laryngitis." She pulled a photo of a kid out of the book. "This is my son. He's dead." She also gave me a ring in a ring box. I was advised by superstitious people to burn all of it, but I think I kept the book.
There are many others of course, but let's here yours!
Anybody who's gigged at all has some of these stories. Tiny "stages", janky power, worthless PAs, drunk audience or band members, gear failures, etc. At one point in my life I was going to create a Web site to curate this kind of story; everybody's got a few!
Here are a few of mine.
Cinco de Mayo main stage, Portland, OR, Saturday afternoon ca. 1997
I was playing lead alto sax with a well-known band, which always had a prime spot at Portland's Cinco de Mayo festival. The leader hired extra players since it was a high-profile gig, and we had a couple rehearsals ahead of time with them. We all showed up before our time slot... except the bass player/lead singer. This is 1997; nobody had cell phones, but somebody found a payphone and tracked him down as we edged closer to our downbeat time. Our time arrived, still no singing bassist, so the leader went out on stage and started telling jokes in Spanglish. Let's just say he was a better bandleader than comedian, and this did not engage the audience. Meanwhile, somebody grabbed the bassist from the previous band, and he agreed to go on with us to start our set with some instrumentals. We're still buying time till our front man can get there, so I just stepped up and took a long solo on a cumbia number. I totally ran out of ideas, tried to cue the tenor sax player to take it, and we totally fumbled on the handoff. We're just limping musically at this point. We did a couple more instrumentals, and then our bassist arrived sweaty and breathless, bass slung over his shoulder. He had to take the bus, and fortunately the PA an mons were good enough for him to just plug in DI. That was the last gig I played with that band. My only regret was not going out on a higher note (I had a lot of fun with that band previously).
Some dive, Eugene, OR, Saturday night summer 1990
Fresh out of the Midwest college circuit, we booked ourselves at a club in Eugene without knowing anything about the scene there. It turned out to be a townie bar, far from the the college scene, and they did zero promo. It was a hot summer night, and the bar had its doors wide open. Our deal was we supplied the door person and would keep 100% of the door, no guarantee. My girlfriend took the door, and was confronted by incredulous regulars who refused to pay cover, and others who just walked in the back door. There were dogs wandering in and out all night. During our third set, some drunk kept yelling "PLAY SOMETHING GOOD" between every song. Not sure we made enough to cover gas to and from Portland that night.
Laughing Iguana, Des Moines, IA, Saturday night summer 1989
Another non-college bar, booked just to fill in dates between college town gigs. Our previous booking had been cancelled due to a stabbing there the previous night. We should have taken that as a sign. It was a typical sweltering summer night; the event stage was on the second story and the AC was out (if they ever even had AC). It was a decent room, but very few people ventured up the stairs due to the heat. There was one woman who did, and as she danced, she gradually stripped to lingerie. We kept playing, she kept dancing, and at some point between songs she approached me and handed me a book of poetry by Herman Melville. She hoarsely whispered in my ear: "I have laryngitis." She pulled a photo of a kid out of the book. "This is my son. He's dead." She also gave me a ring in a ring box. I was advised by superstitious people to burn all of it, but I think I kept the book.
There are many others of course, but let's here yours!
And you lived to tell the tale, so I think that counts as type 3 fun.
