Longest post ever. My bad.
From around 2004 to 2016 I was hooked up with a booking agency that used to book bands I was
in, and also occasionally book me to support/back-up touring artists and local singer-songwriters. I
had a couple of sketchy gigs, but nothing like the one I am about to share. It was a hodge-podge band
thrown together to support a Roots/Americana/Blues singer who also played a Harmonica. I had played
with him before. He was fairly easy to work with, and fun. Not a lot of complicated material, and since he
strummed an acoustic and played harp I didn't have to carry many songs and could just fill and noodle.
I enjoyed the previous times I played with him, and was looking forward to this outdoor party that the
agency booked him for.
I spoke with the bass player for the gig (who was also paid to bring PA and run sound) a week or so beforehand.
He told me about this Motorhome he had and if I wanted to meet up and ride with him. He said rather than
drive home after the gig he was going to spend the night in his Motorhome and then drive back the next day.
"Hey, it's Summer!" I thought. This will be fun.
It was 70 miles south to the gig, and he lived on the way there, so I went to his place and loaded all of our gear
(and the PA) into the Motorhome. The PA was not the best and knowing "outdoor" gigs tend to require more
power/wattage I was kind of concerned. Too late to look back now so I knew we had to roll with it. My suspicions
were confirmed when "Tom" told me that he told the agency he would also haul the PA and run sound for an extra
$100.
Ok.
So we roll south on two lane highway and ask him if he knows where he is going. He says, "I kind of know where it
is at." Comforting. Another reason I seldom ride with other's at the last minute.
He has some scribbled directions on a piece of paper and NO ADDRESS. None! He says, "I guess it is just in the woods
someplace." So over the hill after the Big Oak tree on the left we turn right down a sandy road. In a Motorhome. He
says there are "supposed to be signs." I can't tell you how many times I thought that Motorhome with the dualies in
the back was gonna bury itself in the sand. It must have been 5 miles to the West of "we aren't gonna make it."
Somehow we did, though. We found the signs, and also a bunch of Harleys. We found the entrance to a piece of property
owned by a notorious and legendary Biker Gang. A conveniently concealed fact that the agency told none of us about,
as we would all find out later.
Tom and I were the first to arrive. The two-track trail leading back into the woods was NOT made for a Motorhome.
There were people all along that trail with their bikes and tents pitched in openings. There were burned out and
shot up old cars and trucks. Even a trailer or two that came there to die.
We still gonna spend the night, Tom?
We get back in the woods with the Motorhome and see an opening, a partially covered stage, and a few outbuildings
were people are BBQ'ing and making food. Ok, maybe this won't be so bad. We park, get out, and go look for someone
in charge to tell them "We are the band." As if it is not already obvious.
We see this rather large man with a shaved head commanding what looks to be the "bar." We go up and introduce
ourselves, as I notice that he has swastikas tattooe'd on him and is wearing a T-shirt with Hitler on it.
So, where's the food?
Actually, I am queasy to my stomach. I am obviously not going to confront anyone surrounded by their "family" and
in their 'playground." This gig is going to SUCK!!!
In spite of his attire he is friendly enough and tells us to help ourselves to the food. Yells to someone to help us with
power to the stage, by calling out someone who has a "nickname." Everyone here has a nickname, I find out. He puts
a wristband on us (how professional!) and tells us to "have fun."
By this time the drummer and singer-songwriter show up. The singer-songwriter is PISSED THE f**k OFF! I can tell.
I am trying to hush him up. He just wants to leave. "f**k this s**t!" He is purposely talking loud and I am afraid the
folks in the Bike Club are going to overhear him. I also have the thought that, "People have died here. People have
never left here."
Since I have played a few shows supporting him, and he seems to like me, I am able to get him to calm down, I tell him,
"Hey, we came all this way, and I don't think we are just leaving without a fight (or some repercussions), so let's just do your
show, get paid, and leave."
He agrees. So we set up on this pavilion with bouncy plywood that looks like it has been there for 30 years with all
the wear and tear that being outside brings. There is a generator about 200 feet behind the stage that the dude with
the nickname (again, the all have nicknames like "Ace" and "Spike" and "Bulldog") puts some gas into and fires up
so we can get some power and do a soundcheck. There is a single extension cord running from the generator to the
stage and it is supposed to power an entire PA, and our guitar and bass amps. I just cross my fingers.
We get all set up and have an hour to soundcheck before we play. The bass player's amp immediately takes a s**t.
No sound. Nothing. (Now I know it got toasted due to the sh*tty power situation). So we are suddenly trying to figure
out a way to run his bass through the PA solely. All of this gets the singer-songwriter going again, "This isn't f*****g
worth all the hassle."
This time I am less able to calm him down and he literally starts tearing his s**t down.
We are going to die! We are all going to die!
The entire time he is tearing his gear down I am talking to him. "We have to see this through. They are expecting us
to play now. You can't just leave and then not put us all in danger."
I am practically begging him to reconsider.
He does. He puts his s**t back on the stage. We fire up, figure out a way to get the bass player's guitar through the
PA, and for the rest of the night when he plays a note the lights on the stage dim and flicker. We expect everything to
fail at any moment. Fun way to play the gig. :)
We actually make it through our sets, the singer seems to get into it a little (after some massaging with marijuana in the
Motorhome!!) and we end the night with the only issue being the generator running out of gas mid song. Not our fault!! :)
By the end of it everyone is ready to pack the f**k up and get out of there!! All except Tom the bass player who is still
going to spend the night here.
I mean, he has the Motorhome.
During teardown the drummer slips on the steps leading off the pavilion stage, and later tells me that he broke his
wrist when he fell.
The singer-songwriter and drummer leave. Tom and I stay in the Motorhome, don't mingle with the crowd, and inside his
Motorhome listen to round after round of gunfire, loud voices, and visions of our impending death. Alcohol and a stray
bullet. What a way to go??
I don't sleep. At the crack of dawn the Club is still partying. I go outside to what looks like a warzone, people are passed out
around the massive firepit with ash from the bonfire on them, and I am waking Tom up to get the f**k out of here.
Tom's like, "I slept great. Wanna stop and get breakfast somewhere."
Sure, Tom. Sure. :)
That was like, 40 years ago. (Damn I'm old!)
