Gig/Band Horror Stories
Mark Salmon
across this old post -- oh, crap, I lost the link.
Anyway, the story was by Stephen somebody (I'm new here, sorry), about
how he moved his gear off of a stage at a gig to make room for the
next band's drummer. Then he tried to help the drummer move his
equipment onstage, and the new drummer yelled -- general "get your
hands off my equipment" and "you're not insured to touch these" rants
-- at him. So Stephen waited until the drummer was set up, then went
onstage and yelled "Get your drums off my rug!"
Loved the story, forgot the link.
So here's the deal -- I know most of you have horror stories or funny
stories like this, whether it's with bandmates, other bands, gig
promoters, instructors -- whatever. I'd like to hear 'em.
I'd share one, but I don't really have one yet. (Unfortunately.) Which
is why I want to hear yours.
Ms
Stephen Mulholland
"Mark Salmon" <poetic_...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:df153ab8.02020...@posting.google.com...
> Was digging through the archives of this newsgroup on Google and came
> across this old post -- oh, crap, I lost the link.
>
> Anyway, the story was by Stephen somebody
That was me. Here's the whole story (just to bore the rest of you:)) -
>Besides, some of these drummers are narrow-minded premadonna assholes
> that think they're the shit
You don't say! Years ago, I encountered one of those prima donnas. I'd
just finished my set with the band at a university ball, and another band
were coming on after us. We couldn't use the same kit, me being left-handed
made that too awkward. So, I got my kit off the stage as quick as I could,
and went to help the other guy lift his kit on. I lifted his floor-tom, and
he rounded on me about touching his drums, throwing me an absolute diatribe
of abuse, and finishing off by telling me I wasn't insured to even touch his
drums (which were just a plain ol' kit, nothing special). Fair enough, says
I, and walked off the stage. I watched him set up his kit, get everything
absolutely right, make all the minor adjustments, checking out cymbal
position etc...Then the other guys in his band came on to the stage, did the
tuning up thang, and just as they were about to start, I walked on to the
stage, towards the drummer. "What the F*** are you doing?" he screamed at
me. "You're on my carpet. Your equipment is on my carpet. You're not
insured to use my carpet. Get this stuff the F*** off my carpet", I told
him. And I made him take his kit off my carpet. Was I an asshole?
Probably. But I don't care. He deserved it.
Stephen
Frank
I was playing a wedding, and there was one of the most elaborate cakes on
the dance floor. This thing was about six layers, and had lights on it. The
cake must have cost at least a grand, maybe two. Since there was lights on
the cake there was an electrical cord running across the dance floor. (You
can see where this is going). I remember saying to myself, somebody better
tape that cord down.
OK, so we're playing our first set, the usual light-jazz while everyone is
getting ready to eat, and our agent (who happened to be at the gig for some
reason), starts to cross the dance floor. I'm watching him, and assuming he
sees the cord. Then if it's in slow motion, he trips on the cord, and pulls
the whole cake down with him! He tries to catch it the best he can, but it's
no use, the cake is destroyed all over the dance floor. Half of the band
kept playing, while the rest of us where in total shock.
As you can imagine, the entire wedding party and all the guests looked like
they where going to charge the band. Damn agents!
-Frank
"Mark Salmon" <poetic_...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:df153ab8.02020...@posting.google.com...
Soulbelly
i *love this book. if you ever find it, buy it.
peace,
nick
http://www.cdbaby.com/soulbelly
http://www.trueline.com/endorse/amoroso.html
"...herds of wild felt hogs roaming the countryside" - muffinhead
-----
i'm a little teapot
short and stout
here is my handle
here is my other handle
holy crap i'm a sugar bowl
Soulbelly
soulbelly newsletter a few years back.
this is a completely honest recollection of the worst gig of my life. it's
quite long. anyway, here ya go.
Have you ever looked forward to something so much, only to see it spiral into
the most unbelievably horrible experience of your existence? The following
account is completely true; if anything, it's been censored a bit. It's also a
bit long, so go get yourself some food. Maybe a beverage.
I was scheduled to help out a friend of mine some time ago, by subbing for him
in his band, over 2 nights that he couldn't make it. The gigs were originally
to be in Phoenix, AZ. The pay was good and in my household diapers and kat
litter are of supreme importance, so I figured it would be cool all around. I
was to have my own hotel room and a ride to get me to the gig and back home.
What's more, I wouldn't have to deal with my own drums; I was to use my
friend's really nice kit, and the band had a guy who set up and tore down all
the equipment. Definite plus, because I've been known to sweat some.
So, on the Friday morning I'm supposed to leave for Phoenix, I get a call from
the band's manager, Ken, telling me that the Phoenix gigs have been canceled,
but would I be interested in doing the same thing in Sacramento, CA? The hitch
is that I have to drive there myself (an almost 7-hour trip by car). I say
"sure, OK."
Stupid me.
So after a fairly uneventful (read: boring) drive in a truck with waaay too
many miles on it already, with one too many stops for food and pee pee breaks,
I get to the club, only to find that there are no drums. They've been left in
Phoenix. How convenient.
After about 20 minutes of frantic phone calls and throwing around a phone book
like it was a diseased chicken (I'm not gonna keep calling, you do it!), the
manager or the roadie or somebody finds a rental service. The rental service
delivers what is possibly the crappiest drumkit we've all ever seen, sets it
up, and then attempts to charge the manager $200. After some argument, we
realize we don't have a choice, so we keep it. After all, we have to go on in
like 8 seconds.
A sequencer is an interesting piece of electronic equipment. It plays sounds at
specific times during a song (recordings of background vocals, keyboard parts,
sound effects, etc.), so the band can basically sound bigger than they really
are. The trick is that I have to play with headphones, listening to a metronome
clicking away, so that when the sounds come up, they'll be in the right place.
Click. Click. Click. Tock. Tock. Tock. Needless to say, the Excedrin was out in
large quantity that evening.
So, when the click dies smack-dab in the middle of a song (because of course
it's gonna, I mean, why not?), I frantically try to get the attention of the
sound man, because I know I'm not a perfect time clock so I know I'm gonna go
off a bit and I know the sequenced sounds will come up at the wrong time and
everyone's gonna look at the idiot drummer who can't play along with a simple
click click click because nobody except me knows that the click isn't tocking
anymore. The sound guy is picking his nose or staring at chicks or something;
either way, he doesn't notice me (and do you know how difficult it is to wave
at someone and play the drums at the same time?) so, after a few seconds I stop
trying, assuming that the sound guy knows and that the sequencer's probably
down too.
Uhh... nope.
The sequencer keeps on, well... sequencing. All kinds of sounds come up, like,
at all the wrong times, because of course, I'm not a perfect time clock and I
speed up, er, some. It's live ok? The whole band looks at the idiot drummer who
can't play along with a click
because nobody except me... you know the rest.
So, we manage to eke out the rest of the 1-hour set (did I mention that Mr.
Click decided to kick the bucket during song #3?), and then another, because we
couldn't be let off that easily. At the end of set #2, the club manager or
promoter (whatever), Mel, walks up to us and he's pretty pissed, because he
basically thinks we suck. After a rather impassioned explanation from Ken (with
multiple use of the F word), Mel's pissdom turns to pity, and he asks us if
we'd like to go to his house for food. "Sure, OK."
Stupid us.
We arrive at the House. Let me first say that there are two ways to decorate a
home with a 70's vibe: the cool 'retro' beanbag and lava lamp and incense thing
that makes people feel comfortable, and the slippery plastic sofa cover-meets
the Brady Bunch living room-meets your great grandma's apartment that smells
like dust and yarn and arthritic cat. This place is solidly adorned in mode #2.
You would never guess it by Mel's homage to Miami Vice attire. But anyway.
Mel is a big, loud funny guy with a hearty laugh. Until he walks into his
house, that is. See, Mel's married to a four-foot-six 986-pound land mass named
Esther. Esther apparently hates the fact that she's married to Mel. Actually,
she apparently hates everything, and she makes it clear to him, in front of us,
all the time. She's also insane, and I don't mean that in an insulting way.
This woman has a twitch that shakes her whole body. She also likes cleaning;
she does it the whole time we're there. Don't know why - everything's
plastic-wrapped. She follows us as we go to the bathroom and so forth, cleaning
the carpet behind us. Cleaning the furniture. Cleaning everything. And she's
loud. Really loud. And I'm a half-deaf drummer.
So, she brings out this stuff that one might call food. If they were in a
prison camp or something. Actually, she refers to it as spaghetti. Now, I'm an
Italian, raised by a woman who makes pasta from scratch. To refer to this bile
as spaghetti is an insult to all I hold dear. To put it best, it's Campbell's
tomato soup with spaghetti noodles swimming around in it. And the noodles are,
let's say, not fully cooked. Actually, some of them are still straight. I'm not
kidding.
As we're politely trying to force this chum down our throats, Esther starts
trying to make conversation with us. That is, when she's not cleaning
everything in sight or degrading her husband. And here's what the beast says:
"Yuh know, I'm so glad that none a yoo ur niggers. Uh hate when Mel brings them
niggers home."
And on. And on.
This woman uses the 'n' word more times than I've ever heard someone use it in
my life. Apparently, since we're all white, we're all racist. I've met more
ignorant, but not lately.
So, by this time, I'm pretty distressed. It's 2 a.m., I'm 400 miles from home,
with a bunch of people I don't really know, sitting in a house that would make
an excellent David Lynch story, eating food that no one should have to suffer
the misfortune of tasting. Ever. And, I have to look forward to sharing a room
with some band member I don't know, since my private hotel room is now a closet
with 2 beds at the Sloppy Pig Motel.
I. Wanna. Go. Home.
At about this time, Esther asks us if we want some more to eat. Don't know why
- our bowls are still full cause we can't stomach the stuff. Except Mel, who
hasn't said a word and is wolfing like it's his last meal. And yes, she serves
spaghetti to us in bowls, obviously because the sauce is red water. We politely
say no thank you, at which point the huge volcano erupts and starts yelling at
us about how we're ungrateful towards her hospitality and we're all a bunch of
nigger lovers anyway. She then walks into the kitchen, still yelling. When she
walks out, like, 4 seconds later, she ever-so-sweetly asks us if we'd like some
desert. Can you say Sybil? If there's any doubt to this woman's level of
freakdom, it's long gone now.
So Ken turns to Mel, who hasn't said a word this whole time, and starts talking
to him about all the hideous things that happened to the band at the club.
"Hopefully we'll have it all ironed out for tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night?"
"Yeah. You know, when the band plays again."
"What are you talking about? I only booked them for one night."
So this raging argument ensues. Mel is a liar. No. Ken is a bad businessman.
No. Mel is a liar.
At the same time, the band has decided how we're gonna get out of this
freakshow nightmare.
"Hey Nick, wanna go get drunk with us?"
Not "Hey nick, wanna go to a club?" Not "Hey Nick, wanna go get some real
food?" Not "Hey Nick, wanna go with us to get our stomachs pumped?" It's "Hey
Nick, wanna go get drunk with us?"
Here's where I come to a complete understanding of the term The Last Straw.
I walk up to Ken in the middle of his knock-down-drag-out with Mel, and I say,
"Ken, I'm leaving."
"OK, Nick, I'll talk to you in the morning."
"Nononono... I'm LEAVING. I'm going to the room, I'm getting my stuff, I'm
packing my truck, and I'm going HOME."
"But, Nick, it's 2:30 A.M. and you're 7 hours from home."
The whole band is laughing. They feel for Nick, the poor schmuck. At this
point I don't care how far I am from home; I'm getting there. I have snapped.
So, I go to the store, by some Vivarin and any soda I can find that has
caffeine. Can't find Jolt, unfortunately.
So I'm on the 101, driving home. It's now 3:30, and even though I've done
everything short of injecting caffeine directly into my bloodstream, I'm
falling asleep at the wheel. I have the windows rolled down (it's around 45
degrees outside), the A/C on, and the radio up extremely loud (although where I
am the only stations that come in are Mariachi music), and I'm still falling
asleep at the wheel.
zzzzzzzzzzzz...
OmyGodomyGodomyGodi'mgonnadie!!!!!
zzzzzzzzzzzz...
OmyGodomyGodomyGodi'mgonnadie!!!!!
I do this for about 2 hours (duh), until I decide I can take no more, and I
have to find a bed.
Only by this time, it's 5:30, and all the motels are full or their offices are
closed. I keep looking for about an hour.
At 6:30, I find one that's open and has vacancy. I stagger in, my mind
swimming. The guy behind the bulletproof glass tells me that if I check in now,
I have to be out by 10 A.M. I start to blubber like an idiot. "Oh please, oh
please. All I want is to sleep." He takes pity on the poor fool and says,
"Well, technically, if you check in at 7 AM, you don't have to check out until
10 the next day. It's 6:30; I'll give you a break." I would kiss this man if we
weren't separated by 3 inches of armored glass. Motel 6 forever.
I walk into the motel room and fall on the bed. However, there is so much
caffeine in my body that my heart is racing. I don't fall asleep for about half
an hour. The last thing I remember before drifting off is wondering what city
I'm in.
10:20 AM. The phone rings. Some 16 year-old at the counter. "Sir, you were
supposed to check out 20 minutes ago. Is there a problem?" I groggily tell her
about the guy who gave me a break that morning. She says that they have no
record of that, and that I have to leave. Now.
The nervous breakdown approaching, I yell into the phone, well, actually, I
don't remember exactly what I yell into the phone, because I'm still half
asleep. I would kill this girl if we weren't separated by 150 feet of phone
line. Motel 6 never. I hang up. She apparently talks to the guy, because she
never calls me back. I, however can't sleep anymore. I roll around until 12:30.
I jump in the shower (no hot water), I pack up and leave. It's now 1:30 P.M.
So I'm on the 101, about 100 miles north of Santa Barbara. Home is only about 2
1/2 hours away. I'm driving along, happy as a clam, when the 101 comes to a
complete stop. And stays that way for 3 hours. There's a forest fire, and
traffic can't move. I see all the smoke in the distance. and the planes
dropping red stuff on it. There's a dirt divider between the northbound and our
southbound lanes, and people by the dozens are 4-by-ing through it to turn
around. Cars are getting stuck. People are pissed. The northbound lane soon
gets crowded, and no one goes anywhere. The news says that traffic is backed up
for over 5 miles. Somebody just kill me now.
After a while, the atmosphere begins to get festive. Everybody's out of their
cars. Cooking with hibachis on their car hoods. Playing Frisbee with their
dogs. It's like the parking lot of a Grateful Dead show, only no tie-dye
salespeople. At about the 2 hour and 30 minute mark of this colossal traffic
jam, I decide that I really have to pee. I'm parked in the fast lane of a 2
lane freeway. To my right is a hill that descends about 20 feet, then there's
lots of trees, then there's ocean. Other people are doing it, so I decide to.
I get out of my truck, and start down the hill, on which I promptly trip and
tumble end over end down the remainder. I get up, brush myself off and keep
walking. I don't care anymore.
I'm relieving myself against a tree when I start to hear honking. Then yelling.
More and more and more. I, uh, finish up, walk up the hill and find that people
are honking and yelling because everyone in front of my truck has moved ten
feet, but my truck, of course, hasn't. These people are so tightly-wound that
they're pissed that they can't move 10 lousy feet. So I get in my truck, move
10 feet, shut it off and wait for another half-hour before we finally get
moving. Now, I'm allergic to everything. To have to drive through this
smoke-filled, ash-encrusted wasteland makes my nose and eyes feel like I've
been sleeping on a pillow made of house insulation. I finally get through it,
and I limp my way the 2 and a half hours home. I think (aloud) "what else can
go wrong?" "Mr. Amoroso, your apartment burned down and your cats committed
group suicide." I'm supposed to have gotten home at 5:00 PM or so. I pull into
my garage at 8:30.
What have I learned from all this, you ask? Absolutely nothing. Except that if
I ever have such a bad experience, I want to have it with my band.
And I'll never go to Sacramento again.
Glenn Dowdy
"Soulbelly" <soul...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20020205150003...@mb-mq.aol.com...
> here's mine. i'm sure many have read it before. i wrote it up for the
> soulbelly newsletter a few years back.
>
> this is a completely honest recollection of the worst gig of my life. it's
> quite long. anyway, here ya go.
What heads did the rental kit have?
Glenn D.
Soulbelly
>
>Glenn D.
it was a pearl kit with stock heads.
-sTu-
"Soulbelly" <soul...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20020205150003...@mb-mq.aol.com...
-sTu-
I was asked by a friend to sub in for the rhythm guitar player for just 1
gig. This was to be the first time I ever played in front of a crowd. I had
one week to learn as much of the set list as possible. I already knew about
ten of the songs and I vaguely learn maybe another 20 during that week.
So we get to the gig. They inform me that the beer is free for the night.
It's part of the payment. I immediately head to the bar and have a couple of
beers to calm myself down. We go out on stage for the first set. I about
piss myself but I make it through. I have another couple of beers and whisky
chasers. The second set goes off rather well. I start feeling rather good.
Have another beer. The third set comes along. I am now much calmer (see:
buzzed and haven't eaten most of the day) walk on stage. Plug in my guitar.
Turn and walk the 10 feet to my spot on stage. Look out at the crowd of 30
or so. Then proceed to puke my lungs out. While we are playing the final set
the waitress is mopping up my puke right in front of the stage. The smell
keeps the entire bar now maybe 10 people (staff included) away from the
stage.
It took me another 5 years to get the courage to get on a stage again. This
part of the reason why I went back to playing drums. I can puke off the back
of the stage and nobody will notice. :-)
BTW - I don't drink and gig anymore.
--
-sTu-
...and I'll never go to Sacramento again.
- Nick of rmmp
Mark Salmon
> here's mine. i'm sure many have read it before. i wrote it up for the
> soulbelly newsletter a few years back.
(speechless)
Ms
Pete Pemberton
>
> it was a pearl kit with stock heads.
>
>
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
LMFAO!!!!!!!
>
Glenn Dowdy
"Pete Pemberton" <bfpem...@fuse.net> wrote in message
news:u60p70j...@corp.supernews.com...
Glenn D.
Soulbelly
>>
>>
>
>
>
>LMFAO!!!!!!! LMFAO!!!!!!!
yep.
i hate pearl drums for a *reason*, people. :-)
David Crigger
glenn...@agilent.com wrote on 2/5/02 12:12 PM:
Nick - What a wonderfully horrible story!
Glenn - LMAO!
DC
Bill Ray
once had but after all the other stuff....DAMN!! Yours takes the grand
prize, Nick.
I gotta say....the Blues cruise completely forgave all the bad gigs I've
ever done. Hands down.
--
Best Regards,
13612
Bill Ray
www.billraydrums.com
"David Crigger" <d...@davidcrigger.com> wrote in message
news:B885E943.166B2%d...@davidcrigger.com...
rad
stop picturing a guitar player hurling off the stage while he's playing and
the rest of the band keeps jamming!!! Now THAT's entertainment!!!
LMAO
-sTu- <NOSPA...@indy.rr.com> wrote in message
news:xGY78.24472$Hu6.4...@typhoon.neo.rr.com...
Steve Vallee
wished your apartment burned down and your cats committed group suicide!
Pete Pemberton
> i hate pearl drums for a *reason*, people. :-)
>
> peace,
> nick
I cannot hang with that! But dang, what a story! Wow! You poor bastage.
PP
jtr...@home.com
Playing in a wedding band. Doing the first set of waltzes, cha-chas', and polkas, when Aunt Mary decides to have a fatal heart attack while cuttin the rug to a polka. The band stopped playing while EMS tried to revive her. She was DOA. After about an hour the couple decided to go on with the reception. I knew were bad...but what a killer band...lol...true story
tripps
Jay Kahrs
>here's mine. i'm sure many have read it before. i wrote it up for the
>soulbelly newsletter a few years back.
>
>this is a completely honest recollection of the worst gig of my life. it's
>quite long. anyway, here ya go.
>
>Have you ever looked forward to something so much, only to see it spiral into
>the most unbelievably horrible experience of your existence? The following
>account is completely true; if anything, it's been censored a bit. It's also
>a bit long, so go get yourself some food. Maybe a beverage.
clipped...
Damn. That sucks. Like, really sucks. I've never had a real bad gig on drums
other then a musical trainwreak. Like, where the bass player and I can't decide
where the 1 should be.
I do have a really good recording horror story though. Almost as good as Nicks.
If anyone wants to hear it let me know because it's slightly OT.
---
-Jay Kahrs
Owner - Engineer - Producer
Mad Moose Recording Inc.
East Rutherford, NJ
http://www.madmooserecording.com
Pete Pemberton
> If anyone wants to hear it let me know because it's slightly OT.
Bring it!
Billy Rhythm
> >What heads did the rental kit have?
> >
> >Glenn D.
>
> it was a pearl kit with stock heads.
Oh my freaking word! That was some funny stuff. You have to add that
last bit about the heads. I was dying here at work. Really.
Mark Salmon
> If anyone wants to hear it let me know because it's slightly OT.
Let's hear it!
Ms
-sTu-
--
-sTu-
...and I'll never go to Sacramento again.
- Nick of rmmp
<jtr...@home.com> wrote in message news:3C6161BD...@home.com...
Jay Kahrs
>> If anyone wants to hear it let me know because it's slightly OT.
>
>Bring it!
Ok, my studio horror story. This might be worse then Nick's gig from hell but
not by much if at all. Grab a snack and get comfy.
Last August I started looking for a new home for the studio. Through one of my
engineer friends/clients I found out that a local SSL room had an empty B room.
I had worked at the place a few times and knew the chief engineer, Rick but not
the owner. After going down to see the space I started talking price to the
owner. He started out asking $3000 + utilities for 2650 square feet, but, about
1800 square feet was office space and a lounge. About two months of negotiating
ensued and we ended up reaching an agreement to $2000 for the control room,
live room, iso booths, one office and half of the 950 square foot lounge.
While I was working the deal out for the rent I got a call from the owner
asking me if I could engineer a session in his room on the SSL. It was going to
be a one-day gig, 10 hours. I was supposed to transfer a song from Adat to 2",
do some overdubs and maybe mix if there was enough time. He asked me how much I
wanted and I told him my minimum was $25 an hour. The owner, Barry said that he
told the client he could have the room for $500 which was just under half the
normal card rate so he couldn't pay me $25 an hour for that session. I said
"Fuck it, I want to help you out and we'll be starting a solid business
relationship once I get moved in so how about $15 an hour?" He said that was
fine and the session was going to be that Sunday, which was about 4 days away.
I told him I wasn't that familiar with the room and the console so I wasn't
sure I'd be up to it, but I'd take the manual home and tear through it and that
I would need an assistant there. Barry said he'd have one of his two guys there
by 11am and I also had Rick's (the chief engineer) phone number. I picked up
the manual and was ready to go. Side note, SSL's are pretty complicated to run
unless you know them. The whole console is run off a central computer, the
complete opposite of an old Neve, API, Trident or Quad 8. Not hard to pick up
but it'll take more then 10 minutes to figure it out.
I showed up at 10:30am for an 11am start and the producer guy was already
waiting in the parking lot. I fumbled with the keys for a minute or two while
making small talk and eventually got us inside, shut the alarm off and started
a pot of coffee. Just to set the stage for things to come, there was one set of
lights that I couldn't find the switch for. I started turning on the power amps
and things like that and couldn't find the switch for the amp that powers the
highs of the mains. So, first call to Rick, he tells me where the power switch
is. "Great. Thanks, go back to sleep, I've got everything under control". The
producer who's name I forget, we'll call him Chris had a partner who was
bringing the Adat with the song on it. His partner, Steve (forgot his name too)
finally showed up around noon. While waiting for Steve to arrive Chris and I
were in the control room talking when the owner called around 11:30 and asked
me how things were going. I told him the assistant wasn't there yet but it
wasn't a big deal because we were waiting for the other guy to show up. He had
me get a check from Chris for the studio, myself and a reel of 2" tape and
that's where things started going south.
For those of you who don't know, 2" tape isn't exactly cheap. My cost in bulk
is about $135 to $150 per reel and you get either 15 or 30 minutes per reel
depending on the speed. Chris and Steve said they were going to bring a reel
with them. The owner said he didn't want used tape on his machine for some
reason. Used 2" tape isn't a problem and can't cause any harm to the machine or
the heads. Needless to say I was the middleman in a conversation between Chris
and Barry until the voices got raised on both ends and then I handed the phone
over to Chris. A few minutes later the phone was back in my hand and I was told
to write an invoice with $250 for a reel of tape (!!!) and $500 for the day,
which didn't make Chris all that happy. While Chris was writing the checks out
he asked me how I wanted my check made out which threw me for a loop because
the studio was paying me. Turns out Barry told him I was getting $300 for the
day and they were going to split my cost and he was giving me a check for $150.
"Umm... sure... k... whatever. Make it out to Mad Moose Recording Inc. Thanks."
Now Steve shows up with the Adat machine and tape. I put the reel of 2" up and
start printing tones and tweaking the alignment. I get the Adat up and patch it
into the first 8 channels of the console. I press play and we can hear it, but
it's not going to the 2" deck. I look over the console and it looks like it's
in the right mode. Now it's 12:30, man I could use that assistant, where the
hell is he? Remember he was supposed to be there at 11am? K, well he's not here
and I can't look panicked. Rule #1, never show fear. I picked up the phone and
woke up Rick again who goes over the console with me. Turns out I forgot to
press one button, press it the whole desk lights up and wow, audio is going to
the 2" deck and coming back into the console, success!!!
At this point the artist shows up with a session drummer and a few hangers on
that consisted mostly of family. The producer and I spent a few minutes
cleaning up the sounds and then I bounced the song over to 2". With that out of
the way we move onto the first overdub which is a snare drum. The producer
wants a simple 8th pattern played throughout the song and wants a deep marching
snare sound. Well, the only snare that Mr. Session drummer brought was a 3x14"
maple piccolo. Hmmm... Deep marching snare tone, that's going to take some
work. Why didn't the producers talk to the session drummer before the gig? Why
didn't the drummer bring a few different snares? Whatever. I went to the other
room and grabbed a handful of mics to try. I ended up going with a D112 because
it added lots of low end to the drum and I still had to EQ in more to make
Chris and Steve happy. Now that they have a tone they like I start getting a
headphone mix together and run into a small snag, it's 1pm where's that
assistant? Kinks worked out by 1:15, the drummer goes in and plays his part.
About 20 minutes later we have a take and Steve and Chris want to hear reverb
on the snare. Still no assistant. Good thing he's not my employee.
Big snag, I can't get any signal into a reverb for some reason. Aux send 3 to
PCM90 input, nothing. Fuck. This starts about 15 minutes of me playing with
stuff and I finally get signal to the PCM90 but I'm not getting the outputs.
The assistant FINALLY shows up around 2pm. Hey, three hours late but at least
he's here now and the gig will be saved. Or so I thought, turns out he can't
get the reverb to work either. He checks my patches and says, "Well it's
patched right and the channel on the console is setup right. I dunno what's
wrong with it". Some fuckin' assistant, he's been getting a paycheck from them
for about a year and he can't a damn reverb up. Agh!!! At this point I'm trying
to stay calm but I know I'm visibly sweaty and loosing it. The three cups of
coffee I had weren't helping the situation.
About 5 minutes later the phone rings and it's Barry, the owner. Ever get that
sinking feeling in your stomach, like when you got sent to the principles
office? And you just know what's coming next, but it happens in slow motion? He
says he got a call from outside the studio from Steve and he said I didn't know
what I was doing. My reply was "Well, when you asked me to take the gig I said
I wasn't familiar with the console and the room. I couldn't even find all the
fucking light switches for the lounge. The assistant got here 15 minutes ago
which makes him at least 3 hours late, what do you expect?" Silence... I get
off the phone with Barry and Steve said they were packing up and leaving. I
said I couldn't blame them because I wouldn't have dealt with me for as long as
I did. At this point Barry calls again and asks me if I can reschedule them
with Rick. I said I'd try and asked him where the calendar was. Turns out they
don't have a booking calendar in the studio. Rick has it at home with him.
"Well, ok then I'll see what I can do". I spoke to Chris and he laughed in my
face and said "Tell Barry I said "Fuck You" because he screwed me once. He said
you were a great engineer and you're lost, not your fault but I can't trust him
now". So, I call Barry back and relay the message, now I have an unhappier
Barry on my hands while the assistant is watching all this unfold and asks me
what's happening. I returned all the checks and they left. I stayed inside for
about 15 minutes until they had left the parking lot. Then I packed up my
monitors and went home leaving the assistant there to clean up.
Needless to say the deal for my renting the empty B room hadn't been sealed yet
and after that fateful Sunday afternoon I decided I didn't want to rent that
space. About a week after I told Barry I didn't want it he called me up and
tried sweet talking me into it again. I sat on it for another week or so, got a
better deal and singed the lease. I ended up breaking the lease after about
three months for various reasons. What I went through on that Sunday afternoon
was almost a weekly occurrence at this place. Between deposits, connection fees
and gigs that were lost and cancelled for reasons beyond my control I lost
about $10,000 in two and a half months. Because I didn't have any money left
for a new building I ended up moving the studio into my parents basement to try
and recover. Oh, and during this whole thing I ended up breaking up with my
girlfriend of five years.
Yeah, that whole thing sucked. Things I learned from this;
Always trust your gut. It's usually never wrong. There are way too many weasels
in the music business. Make sure your landlord isn't one of them. When moving a
business, have a fall back plan. And lots of money. Make sure you're fall back
plan includes lots of money. Having friends with big cars and trailers that owe
you a favor is a good thing when you need to move out of a place rather
quickly.
Stephen Mulholland
> soulbelly newsletter a few years back.
>
> this is a completely honest recollection of the worst gig of my life. it's
> quite long. anyway, here ya go.
<snip>
Other than that, though, was it an OK night?
Stephen
Stephen Mulholland
>
> I was asked by a friend to sub in for the rhythm guitar player for just 1
> gig. This was to be the first time I ever played in front of a crowd. I
had
> one week to learn as much of the set list as possible. I already knew
about
> ten of the songs and I vaguely learn maybe another 20 during that week.
>
> So we get to the gig. They inform me that the beer is free for the night.
This always makes me mad! :) I never drink at a gig, but the other guys do.
I think there should be some union ruling that the guys in the band who
don't drink get an extra 15% in wages. Some of you union guys get on to
that, would you? :)
Stephen
Stephen Mulholland
"rad" <cbr...@san.rr.com> wrote in message
news:E%388.1970$oC3.1...@typhoon.san.rr.com...
> Omigod!!! That is the funniest thing I've ever read on a newsgroup. I
can't
> stop picturing a guitar player hurling off the stage while he's playing
and
> the rest of the band keeps jamming!!! Now THAT's entertainment!!!
Here's another one...
We were playing a gig in a place called Spuds in Portstewart, here in
Northern Ireland, many years ago. I was afflicted with the most awful
diahhroea (sp?) and had to run off the stage every few songs to go to the
toilet. This went on all night. Towards the end of the night, I was about
to make another dash, and several of the "wittier" members of the audience
launched toilet rolls at the stage - a couple of tables had got together,
and grabbed all the toilet rolls. About 20 rolls unfurled on their airborne
passage toward me. I think it was the world's first tickertape welcome for
a dose of the squirties.
Stephen
BlueM0ZARK
squirties>
"the squirties"...that's a good one
I've heard these also used -
The Arkansas Quick Step
The Backyard Trots
The Hershey Squirts
any more good ones?
Soulbelly
>The Arkansas Quick Step
>The Backyard Trots
>The Hershey Squirts
>any more good ones?
i've been known to "take the D train" from time to time.
peace,
nick
http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/soulbelly
http://www.trueline.com/endorse/amoroso.html
"...herds of wild felt hogs roaming the countryside" - muffinhead
-----
You are now a 12th level Moron with an armor class of "Duh." ~ craig
BlueM0ZARK
Bum Gravy
Nestle's Splat
The chunky sputters
Trouser chili
ryanm
message news:085a8.34907$as2.5...@news6-win.server.ntlworld.com...
>
> We were playing a gig in a place called Spuds in Portstewart, here in
> Northern Ireland, many years ago. I was afflicted with the most awful
> diahhroea (sp?) and had to run off the stage every few songs to go to the
> toilet. This went on all night. Towards the end of the night, I was
about
> to make another dash, and several of the "wittier" members of the audience
> launched toilet rolls at the stage - a couple of tables had got together,
> and grabbed all the toilet rolls. About 20 rolls unfurled on their
airborne
> passage toward me. I think it was the world's first tickertape welcome
for
> a dose of the squirties.
>
and yes, the big d. I made it through almost the whole gig, but had to cut
the last set short by 2 songs. Apparently I blacked out from the fever,
which was about 104, and almost fell into the drums. So we broke 2 songs
early and I sprinted for the bathroom to let loose from both ends and then
go home to pass out. No fun at all, but the bar booked us again that night,
so I must've done allright.
ryanm
Mell Csicsila
"Stephen Mulholland" <stephenmu...@OBVIOUSyahoo.co.uk> wrote:
> This always makes me mad! :) I never drink at a gig, but the other guys
> do.
> I think there should be some union ruling that the guys in the band who
> don't drink get an extra 15% in wages. Some of you union guys get on to
> that, would you? :)
You are the union. You want it, you go for it!
--
Mell D. Csicsila
email: mcsicsil (AT) kent (DOT) edu
web: http://home.sprintmail.com/~mdcsicsila
Dave
heads. Does that mean that my tuning efforts are useless? Answer is
"NO" because I am a new drummer and couldn't make the best drums sound
good. Honestly, I don't think they sound THAT bad. But, of course, I'm
sitting BEHIND them. Maybe I should stick a mic on them and record
sometime. :)
Excellent story, though. I think the contest now is to see who can
come up with the LONGEST story, not the worst. :D
"Glenn Dowdy" <glenn...@agilent.com> wrote in message news:<10129505...@cswreg.cos.agilent.com>...
Glenn Dowdy
"Dave" <dmh...@telocity.com> wrote in message
news:8c2e3543.02021...@posting.google.com...
> Hey! I resemble that remark. I happen to own a Pearl set with stock
> heads. Does that mean that my tuning efforts are useless? Answer is
> "NO" because I am a new drummer and couldn't make the best drums sound
> good. Honestly, I don't think they sound THAT bad. But, of course, I'm
> sitting BEHIND them. Maybe I should stick a mic on them and record
> sometime. :)
>
Glenn D.
Dave
Ok, how's this? Sorry, I'm not that experienced at this newsgroup
stuff. I was just trying to slip my reply in where it fit, not all the
way at the bottom with 20 posts above it.
Anyway, I'm still playing my Pearls. :P
Dave
Glenn Dowdy
> >Top postin', Pearl playin' macker smacker...
> >
> >Glenn D.
>
>
> Ok, how's this? Sorry, I'm not that experienced at this newsgroup
> stuff. I was just trying to slip my reply in where it fit, not all the
> way at the bottom with 20 posts above it.
>
> Anyway, I'm still playing my Pearls. :P
Not a problem. See, Polis, even Pearl players can learn to bottom post.
Glenn D.
Pete Pemberton
>
> >Top postin', Pearl playin' macker smacker...
> >
> >Glenn D.
>
>
> Ok, how's this? Sorry, I'm not that experienced at this newsgroup
> stuff. I was just trying to slip my reply in where it fit, not all the
> way at the bottom with 20 posts above it.
>
That's when to snip!
> Anyway, I'm still playing my Pearls. :P
>
> Dave
Sorry about yer luck! ;-)
PP
Dave
Man, if I knew I would get slammed THIS bad, I would have went ahead
and got the Tama Rockstars. The only reason I changed my mind was I
didn't want to spend over $1000. The Pearls were just under with a 10"
tom. Would it make you guys feel better if I change the heads? :)
Dave
Glenn Dowdy
> Man, if I knew I would get slammed THIS bad, I would have went ahead
> and got the Tama Rockstars. The only reason I changed my mind was I
> didn't want to spend over $1000. The Pearls were just under with a 10"
> tom. Would it make you guys feel better if I change the heads? :)
>
Nah, but just keep cc:ing Pete when you have something good to say about
Pearl.
Glenn D.
Pete Pemberton
> >
> Nah, but just keep cc:ing Pete when you have something good to say about
> Pearl.
>
> Glenn D.
>
>
>
Sure, if you eventually want your email address blocked. Please do not copy
posts to my mailbox. I will read them here.
Thanks!
:-)
PP