Weird Gigs No. 5,6, & 7

When I heard recently that some musician friends were stiffed out of part of their pay by a Seattle club, it got me to thinking about similar (though not always money-related) situations that I have experienced. The very stuff that Weird Gigs are made of!

Read ‘em and weep…

Weird Gig No. 5 – Welcome back, boys!

The Cozy Corner was a tavern located in Clinton, Washington at the south end of Whidbey Island. I had booked back-to-back weekends there for my band Nitelife. After the first Saturday we left a good portion of our equipment at the club, include the PA system, drums, and a Hammond organ, so that we wouldn’t have to load the stuff in the following weekend.

I recall that it was pouring rain when the band boarded the Mukelteo ferry the next week for the brief trip to Whidbey Island. When we pulled into the empty Cozy Corner parking lot, we looked at a totally dark club – it didn’t look like anyone was expecting us. Sure enough, there was a large padlock chained to the front doors, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. We drove up to the next bar and made several calls to the owner (now that I think of it, that number was probably ringing inside the empty Cozy Corner), but couldn’t reach him. So, we headed back to the mainland with no gig and hoping that our equipment was still in the club.

I don’t recall exactly what the problem was, but I think that the owner either hadn’t been paying his taxes or rent. Maybe both. Anyway, he finally called me and we had to make one other final trip to the forlorn Cozy Corner the next week to retrieve our equipment. Actually, I guess this story has sort of a happy ending – at least our equipment was still there!

Weird Gig No. 6 – No, you do the math…

Nitelife and another Seattle band were hired to play for five nights at the Hibble & Hyde’s nightclub club in Pioneer Square sometime in the mid ‘80s. Located just down the sidewalk from Doc Maynard’s, Hibble & Hyde’s was unique because the bands played until 4:00 AM there. This particular gig was "special" because it was a lead up to a new Blue Monday jam that was supposed to begin the following Monday night. The two bands alternated sets during the week, and we were supposed to split the cover charge receipts. If I recall correctly, the cover charge was around $5.00 a person that week.

The gig was a raucous success, with full houses several nights. We knew something was up when the manager couldn’t be found on Saturday night and we were told that he would pay us before the gig on Monday. Both bands showed up on Monday and waited for the manager to make his appearance. Nitelife was scheduled to host the Blue Monday that night, but we left our equipment in the cars just in case we decided to make an early departure. This turned out to be an excellent idea, because the ten musicians that had played five nights from 9:30 PM to 4:00 AM finally received…drum roll, please…$75 each! Say, that’s what, $150 a night! Needless to say, Nitelife did not play the Blue Monday gig, nor did we ever play Hibble & Hyde’s again. The manager went on to have quite a long and checkered career running clubs in Pioneer Square and Ballard. Go figure.

Weird Gig No. 7 – No barbeque for you!

In the late ‘80s, my band, the Bluestars, was hired to play this barbeque joint in Spokane, Washington just before Christmas. This was quite the road trip for us, so we rented a trailer and roared over to Eastern Washington in the guitar player’s Buick Skylark.

By the time we reached Spokane a snowstorm had started and continued through the weekend. This had the usual effect on attendance at the club that weekend, but I wasn’t worried, we were getting a guarantee – no more door gigs for me. After the gig on Saturday night, we loaded up our stuff in about 18 inches of snow, and I went back to the club to get our money. But guess what? No one could find the manager, of course. So I had it out with the bartender, and he reluctantly gave me enough money to pay three of the four band members in full. Fortunately, we had a room for the night, and we sulked back to Seattle the next day.

Two weeks later the club owner called me and said that he felt bad about the gig, freakin’ snowstorm, crappy attendance, blah blah blah, and that he wanted to make it up to me. Not by sending me money, of course, but by booking us another gig at his club! Oh, what an excellent idea. We then booked a date that I didn’t bother to put on my calendar. On the day of that new gig, the nitwit called me at home at 9:00 PM, wondering where the hell the band was. “Honestly,” I told him, I guess it just slipped my mind.”

Weird Gig No. 4 - Harp Attack!!

The Midnight Movers recently played a memorable gig at a bar located in a small town across the Sound from Seattle. We had played there one other time to a small but enthusiastic crowd, so we thought we would try it again. Besides, the owner had recently remodeled part of the place so that there was now an actual stage there, unlike our previous visit when we played underneath the stairs in a corner of the restaurant.

We arrived at the joint and set up. The new stage was a good size, but there were only two duplex electrical outlets and no stage lights (unless you count the three small lights that blinked off and on in a box on one of the back walls). A large neon beer light was thoughtfully installed next to the stage where it introduced a persistant 60-cycle hum into my PA speakers.

We played to about eight people during the first set, including the owner, who happens to be a big harmonica music nut ("I've been playing harp for 35 years, but not professionally"). After a few songs he began loudly suggesting that we "have a little fun" and have him join us on the stage to play harp. I don't know what came over me, but I invited him up with us.

I figured I should play a tune along with the Big Guy, so I asked Eric, one of our guitar players, to sing a song. Eric called off a song in the key of A. The Big Guy couldn't see the keys of his harps for some reason (Earth to Mike - WARNING! WARNING!), so he asked me to pick out an A harp for him. I figured that this meant that he was going to play in first position, so I told him that I would play in third position. This information did not seem to make much of an impression on him. I gave him my vocal mic to blow into.

Poor Eric started the song and our guest began producing a torrent of feedback by playing incorrectly into the vocal mic. No problem, he just kept playing anyway. I jumped offstage and turned the mic down. Our boy was playing up a storm, relentlessly producing many, many notes and broken chords, all in the wrong key, played in a sort of mangled cross harp (second) position.

When the song ended, he insisted that we play one in the key of C, because that was his favorite harp key. My mind went blank, I couldn't think of a tune in C. But I did know this - if I called a song in the key of C, he would actually be playing in the key of G (sort of). What the hell, I sang another song while he wailed away in the wrong key again. Have you ever tried to sing in tune under these circumstances? I don't recommend it.

Implements of Distruction?

Oh yeah, the customers! The remaining few watched this...event with that "deer in the headlights" expression, then fled the scene of the crime before the set ended. Our guest artist wanted to "talk harps" with me on the break, but I chose to drink shots of Wild Turkey in the bar instead, while New Country and Metallica tunes blasted away on the stereo.

Weird Gig No. 3 - The Aryan Nation & Monkopotomus

By Polly O'Keary

These Weird Gig tales were written by NW bassist/singer/songwriter Polly O'Keary (left). She fronts the band Polly O'Keary & the Rhythm Method, appearing soon at a nightclub near you.

Wanna Play a Party?

I started out in Eastern Washington when I was 17, and that region at that time was not noted for its hip embrace of diversity. I had a black drummer back then, a great guy named Dave Bell. We were doing an outdoor festival in a park in Omak and after our set a biker with a long black braid came up and said, "You guys are great!" It’s those pats on the back that keep me going, so I decided I liked him. I soon changed my mind.

"Hey, you guys want to play a party? I can you get you $500!" Great! But I'll never know what the guy was thinking as he went on: "It’s an Aryan Nations get together, you guys will have a great time, there’s a barbeque, all you can eat, and a keg, free beer…" I just stood there, unable to find words.

The Short Career of "Monkopotomus"

The mother of all weird gigs was a pickup gig I played when I was still working with Colonel up north in a band called Colonel and Doubleshot. I was gigging my way through college and I was always broke, so I’d do pick-up work with just about anybody, so long as they played blues.

I got a call one Wednesday from a friend that worked at Manna Music in Bellingham, saying that some drummer had been in that day looking for pick-up musicians to fill in at a gig in Blaine. I thought that was weird, a drummer with no other players whatsoever, but whatever. I called the guy. He said he was traveling through from LA, where he’d played with just about everybody including David Bowie.

He needed a guitar player and a bass player to do a gig at a club that was just getting started with music. He promised $100 a player. I was broke, so I called Colonel and we agreed to meet the guy at his hotel the following night to talk about the gig. When we got there the room smelled absolutely horrid. Between the guy’s feet and the god-awful malodorous hound he had, the air was barely breathable. We stayed just long enough to pencil out a set list on the back of an envelope, mostly Stevie Ray Vaughn stuff and standards. We figured we had enough material to do the gig and agreed to meet the following night at the club.

Right before the gig the next night, the guy called to ask if I’d pick up his rented drum set at Manna Music. Now irritated, I swung by to load the stuff, only to find it hadn’t been paid for yet. I told them I’d bring the guy’s money the next day and headed north. I got there and loaded in at seven for a nine o’clock gig. The drummer was there and extremely tense. "This band’s name is Monkopotomus," he said. "It's a cross between a monkey and a hippopotomus. Cool, huh? Now, what’s your band’s name?" "Colonel and Doubleshot," I replied, non-plussed. "Not tonight, it isn’t" he said. "Its Monkopotomus. Now what's your band's name?" I could see I wasn't going to get out of it."Monkopotomus, whatever, Jesus," I said.

Colonel was going to be there soon, and he is well known for his temper. I started to have a bad feeling. Colonel showed up a few minutes later. Once we’d set up, the drummer announced to us that we were going to play a song every fifteen minutes until the start time, an hour and a half away. I said I didn’t think that was a good idea, given that we barely had enough material to get through the night as it was, and went to the bar for a much-needed brew. The man then got on the microphone and started doing what he thought was stand-up comedy. He tried to get everybody to chant "Monkopotomus" to no avail, then started razzing the local high school basketball team.

About then, the clubowner drew Colonel into his office. A moment later, Colonel came out and pulled me aside. "The club owner said we’re not getting paid," he said. "She said this guy came in a week ago, asked if he could do a gig here, said he’d promote it, and said we’d take a dollar a head for everyone who shows up." I looked around. There was no way this club could hold 300 people even if this guy was a promoter like Bill Graham. But we decided to see the gig through, mostly because neither of us had ever walked out on a gig in our lives, which was a point of pride. Also, someone was going to have to pay for the drum rental.

At that point the guy came over and demanded again that we play a song to "warm up the crowd," which at that point was four old guys in ball caps, drinking Miller Lite at the bar and pointedly ignoring us. We grimly said we could use a sound check and struggled through an old Bonnie Raitt tune while the guy’s tempo wandered all over the map. We still got a nice round of applause. In light of the horror of what the audience had just heard, I wondered if any applause I’d ever gotten in my life had meant anything.

I went and hid in the women’s bathroom, where I thought I’d be safe. The drummer barged in after me, begging that we play every fifteen minutes. I snapped. "Man, I don’t know where you came from, but I suggest you let us do this the way we do it, God damn it. Now get out of the bathroom." He relented, went back to the mike and started in on the stand-up attempt again while I sat down by Colonel and desperately chugged a second beer."Shut up!" someone yelled. He gave up, plopped down at my table, put his hand on my leg and asked me to give him a ride to his hotel room to "get something." "Listen, fucker, get your hand off her leg," Colonel said. "Sorry, dude," the drummer said, holding up his hands.

I figured the only way to defuse the situation was to start playing so no one could talk. It was only eight, but no way was this gig going to last till midnight anyway. We walked up to the stage. "Hey, can we not play any fast shuffles?" said the drummer. Well, that was half the set list gone. "And I promised somebody we’d start out with ZZ Top," the guy continued. "I only know one ZZ Top tune and it’s a fast shuffle," I replied. "Take your pick, ZZ Top or no fast shuffles." "No fast shuffles," the drummer decided. This was the guy who the day before said he could play any tune Stevie Ray Vaughn had ever recorded.

We got ready to play "Sweet Home Alabama." Just as Colonel counted it, the guy shouted "ZZ Top," and started flailing away at his cymbals. Colonel put down his guitar and leaned over the drums. The whites of his eyes were visible all the way around. "Don’t ever do that again," he said. "If you do, I’m going to walk right out of here, right now." The guy put his sticks down and nearly broke down and sobbed. "Alright, okay," he said. "There’s 300 people coming. I’ll do whatever you say. Please don’t go." "I’m not kidding, I’ll split, and you can tell everybody what a dick you are," Colonel continued, gathering steam. I nervously eyed the gear, half of which I owned.

"You sit there and shut up," I said to the drummer. "And you, Colonel, don’t say a word to him. Nobody talk to nobody. Let’s just play a god damn tune. You want ZZ Top, it’s a fast shuffle. You want ZZ Top? Just nod your head." He nodded. I called "Tush" and counted it in. He came in too fast, immediately slowed down, and started hitting his cymbals so hard the air off the ride moved all the hair on my arms three feet away, then crashed to a halt. Colonel put his guitar down again and spun around. "Look, you fuck…" "I’m sorry!" he wailed. "I told you I can’t play fast shuffles! Let’s play something else! There’s 300 people coming! I paid a hundred dollars for the posters!" I set my bass down and shut off the PA in the nick of time before the obscenities Colonel began to utter got picked up on the mikes.

It was clear Monkopotomus had played its last note. "I’ll sue you!" the drummer said. "I’ll sue you, motherfuckers! For breach of contract!" "I’ll kick your ass," said Colonel. "I’ll do it right now." The guy, who had a good six inches on Colonel, fled for the door. "I’m calling the cops!" he bellowed and vanished. Meanwhile, word of our plight, including the cost of the drum rental, had circulated among the 10 or so people there. They formed a line and started pressing money into our hands. "You guys were good," they said. "Sorry it didn’t work out." We gratefully accepted the donations and split. I brought the drums back to Manna Music the next day and told the story to the horrified delight of the staff. They didn’t charge us for the rental. We counted the donations. $300. We made more than we would have had the gig gone well.

Weird Gig No. 2 - Blues eyes cryin' in the rain...

By Brian Butler

Note: This story, written by Seattle guitarist/singer/songwriter Brian Butler (left), was originally published on the Caldonia web page around 1996. Funny, both of the Weird Gig stories published on Jet City Blues so far are related to county fairs - what does it MEAN?!

South of Seattle near the foothills of the Cascade Mountains lies the small town of Puyallup. That's where this weird gig story starts. Normally an uneventful hamlet, the town roars to life each September when the Puyallup Fair cranks up and dominates the life of its citizens. In a far corner of the huge fairgrounds, past the bungee-jump and the dime-toss, is a performance arena built somewhat like an early Western fort. It was there some fifteen years ago that the Brian Butler Blues Band started its peculiar descent into weirdness.

Live music shared equal billing with the chainsaw artists who were noisily engaged in turning Douglas fir into totem-like poles depicting bears, salmon, eagles, and other wildlife figures. Before the last note of a band's set slipped beyond the range of hearing, the mighty chainsaws were fired up and for the next 45 minutes, primitive art-making was king.

During one of the breaks in our show, a lanky fellow in his fifties (we'll call him Jack) approached, and, talking loudly over the din, expressed a desire to hire the band. "We have get-togethers where we always hire country-western bands, and I'll tell ya, even drinking doesn't make them sound better. I'm in charge of hiring the band for our next party and I wanna hire you guys!" His association was a group of CB enthusiasts (Citizens Band radio). "No sweat", I thought, "just another gig."

Jack needed a little more support from his colleagues before he took the big step and hired a blues band, so he brought a group of friends to our next gig in the area - the Engine House No. 9 in Tacoma. The four couples seemed to enjoy themselves that night, talking boisterously while the number of empty beer pitchers accrued on their table. The final sign of approval came at the end of the night, when one of the women in a fit of wild laughter, fell over backwards in her chair. Jack and I confirmed the date and dough and the gig was on.

On the chosen night we rolled south to the countryside outside of Gig Harbor. The parking lot of the meeting hall was a forest of antennas. This being a CB club, each vehicle bristled with a soaring communication appendage. Inside, the activities were getting started. Folding tables lined the perimeter of the dance area and machinery for making plastic badges was set up on them. The CB folks wore vests and denim jackets covered with these badges or "handles", the use and display of names and aliases being a ritual of the members. We noted all of this while we rolled the gear in and set up on the stage.

We started playing and whipped into our proven, crowd-pleasing blues as the audience watched impassively from their chairs. When the third or fourth song was over, a woman sporting a huge cowboy hat yelled out, "Play some country!" These people were used to country music and that's what they wanted. We went into a huddle and scratched out a list of all the country songs we vaguely knew, padded with country's second cousin, classic rock songs.

The next song that crowd was up; stretched across the dance floor and they were two-steppin', natural as can be! I remember playing "Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain" several times that night. We enlisted audience members to help us sing a couple of numbers and somehow we limped through the night. We entertained that crowd and they went home happy, although they probably stripped Jack of his entertainment planning responsibilities.

The final surprise came when we were paid. There were a couple of twenty-dollar bills and the rest was in a huge bag which Jack proudly dumped out on the table; quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies-more change than a Carson City slot machine!

We need more Weird Gig stories! Do you have one that the readers of Jet City Blues might enjoy? If so, write it up in an MS Word document and e-mail it to Mike Lynch at slapbackslim@yahoo.com. Thanks!

Weird Gig No. 1 - Beware the Hipnotizer!

By Mark Dufresne

Note: This piece was originally published on the old Caldonia web page around 1996. Mark Dufresne (left - photo by Michael Kurgansky), a Seattle resident since the late '70s, is currently employed as the lead singer for the band Roomful Of Blues.

You know, there's just nothin' like trying to play blues and R & B at a good ol' county fair. First you park your auto in the mud about a mile away from the gate. Then you put your amp on a school bus that takes you to the gate. Then you walk another half mile with the amp to the stage. Not the medium size stage across from the main stage, but the tiny-ass
one between the bovine pen and the dog kennels, nestled next to the honey buckets, which are routinely vacuumed during your show. Nice.

You find the stage covered in tissue paper. Strange? Well, you're sharing the stage with the Hipnotizer. It's part of his act, I guess. He's a nice guy, however. His show gets about 200 folks each time. Our show gets about two folks that stay and gawk. People come and go while we're playing, wondering what the hell were doing there and frankly we are also wondering what the hell were doing here. We play three one-hour shows and head back to Seattle from Enumclaw. We did this for three days. By the third day my old dishwashing job was beginning to seem pretty damn rewarding again.

While taking a little break, Laura and I had a brew across the way from the stage where The Shoppe (a professional State fair cover band from Dallas-they played 18 shows over 12 days) was playing. On their break we saw an Elvis imitation show complete with decline-period cape, jewels, and lamb chops. There were possibly 200 or more folks in attendance witnessing the entire 1975 MGM Grand Elvis Vegas act. The amazing part was - no band! Yes indeed folks, Karaoke Elvis, or as I prefer to call it, Hellvis! We then returned to the hypnotist and his 200-plus audience who eagerly ran away when we hit the stage so they could enjoy the llama exhibit next door.

Above: Unknown country band - Skagit County Fair, Mount Vernon, WA (late '80s).

In fairness, we were paid well for this ordeal so it was hardly the worst gig ever. But check this out; a month later we went to play the county fair in Mount Vernon. We get to the stage that was supposed to have a sound system, and there was none except for two small Peaveys mounted on the side and a 50-watt power amp. On the stage was a pile of tissue papers again. I made the sign of the cross.

This time it was not the man in Enumclaw who out-drew us, but a young, personable 22 year-old woman. She out-drew us 200 to two, and she was the daughter of the hypnotist in Enumclaw. Apparently, the wife was also in the game and was working another fair elsewhere.

Above: One man band - Skagit County Fair, Mount Vernon, WA (late '80s).

So remember, if you work one of these fairs and a cowpoke comes and asks you what kind music ya'll play, tell 'em "Both kinds, rhythm AND blues."