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We are lucky there are actually people who play this music in bands on this
list. Since I would like very much to play in a band some day, I was curious
if any of you would share your stories about playing live. The best shows?
The worst shows? Audience reactions? Club owners, good or bad? Ever play for
an audience who just didn't get it? Ever win an audience over who had no
idea what this genre was about? Ever have a bad night or a really good one?
Most satisfying moment...worst moment? That kind of crap. Thank you sir, for
your story.
BN
PS Dana V are you still out there? Haven't heard from you in a while.
Brian Neal wrote:
>
> Most satisfying moment...worst moment? That kind of crap. Thank you
> sir, for
> your story.
Got two stories for you..
Back in the 90's, I ran soundboards for a band called The Web, and
somehow we'd got booked into this biker bar, in Newport Delaware -
Truly, the last place you'd ever expect to find a biker bar, much less
bikers to inhabit it. However, on the night in question, the place was
packed with sun-bleached, stubble-chinned, (for want of a better term)
rednecks in biker gear. I was having that scene from the Blues Brothers
rolling in my head, where they wind up at Bob's Country Bunker. I was
informed by the waitress that my jean jacket would have to be removed,
as "Colors" weren't allowed to be displayed in the bar. (I later was
informed that the band logo on the back was mistaken for a gang logo - hooboy)
In the middle of the first song, this one grizzled biker, named Leroy,
struggled to his feet, threw a fist into the air and demanded we play
some "expletive" Lynrd Skynrd. I know his name was Leroy, because the
waitress spent most of the rest of the song bitching him out, by name.
"Shut up, Leroy! You're drunk!" and "Don't make me have to call the
police again, Leroy!"
Leroy continued to be rowdy, and later left the establishment, in the
company of the local constabulary.
The other story is a little funnier, and we referred to it as the
Steve's Extended Solo. The Guitarist was this tall blonde guy named
Steve Small. Angluar face, Roman nose. Looked like King Arthur, without
the moustache. And one of our pre-gig mental preperations was to watch
"This Is Spinal Tap" at his place, safe in the knowledge that whatever
happened, we were still having a better night than some bands.
Anyway, Steve was quite taken with the radio transmitter Nigel Tufnel
used in the film. He thought it would be great to get one of those
wireless rigs so he could run around with it, not tripping over wires.
And... eventually he did.
There's a little club in Wilmington Delaware called The Barn Door. It's
callled this, because it's really really tiny. It's the sort of
after-hours club bar where you could expect to see businessmen having
one for the road before they went home to the wife, or trendy socialites
out for a night on the town.
The place is about ten feet wide - little more than an alley. The stage
spans the entire back of the club, and has about the same general
surface area as a large garage door. To get to the bar's bathrooms, you
have to walk up to the stairs at front center of the stage, and cross it
to this little hallway at the back, where the restrooms and the rear
exit were.
So, playing here often involved moving out of the way of patrons heading
to the restrooms. We'd played here a dozen or so times, and always gone
over well. It was a comfortable atmosphere for us.
On this night, Steve presented his master plan for the Wireless rig. At
the start of th second set of the night, when things had slowed down
enough to make it plausable, he started into an extended guitar solo,
stepped down off the stage, walked down the entire lenght of the club,
and went out the front door, still playing.
The band broke for drinks and cigarettes, as Steve continued to do his
solo, as he walked down the street, around the corner and started around
the block to the rear entrance, planning to make his big entrance from
the rear door, whereupon the rest of the band, who had returned from
their smoke and drink would join him for the close of the song.
Steve continued to play, and ten minutes went by. Fifteen minutes. This
was turning into the longest guitar solo we'd ever heard. We were
beginning to get worried, knowing that at any second, the sound would
probably be cut off as Steve surrendered his guitar to muggers, or had
to stop to explain to a police cruiser why he was playing a guitar solo
in a back alley.
After twenty minutes with no Steve, our drummer, Chris, thought he heard
this faint tap-taping coming from the direction of the back door, so got
up from his drums, went back and opened it.
There was Steve, red-faced with annoyance. Some time after the band had
left the stage, and before he got to it, some kind patron had gone back
to the restroom, found the rear door ajar, and closed and locked it.
Steve got to the door and couldn't get in. It was too dark out there for
him to conceivably navigate the alley a second time, so he stood out
there, plucking away at his strings, doing one-handed finger-tapping
while shaking and rattling the knob, and finally kicking the door,
waiting for someone to hear him and let him in.
With the door finally opened, Steve stepped thru, vaulted into the
middle of the tiny stage and the band belted out the last few bars of
the song to a completely empty house.
The bartender was really impressed, tho.
We ended up cutting all but the last song of the second set, due to the
length of Steve's solo. That was also the last we saw of the wireless
rig. We later switched to Monty Python and the Holy Grail as a pre-gig opener.
-c*
