SEATTLE â€” A funny thing happened on the way to the merch tent ...
This week I'm going to take you through some of my more bizarre, err, engagements over the years.
My first professional gig of any duration was playing in a cabaret (hotel) band called Whitticombe Faire in Leeds, England. The singer boasted that I was the 37th drummer to grace "his" stage when I won him over at the audition. From then on every other show with them was screwed up in some way or other.
I should have seen the signs when two of the band quit the first night I went to watch them on New Year's Eve in Scotland. My first show would have been miming on guitar, had I not refused to do so the next day.
At any rate things, started to get really hairy in Norway. One show at the Batsfjord Royal Hotel, took place a week after a menage a trois gone awry. The wronged party proceeded to commit a double beheading on the steps of the establishment making national headlines. The atmosphere seemed tense in what looked like a roadside cafe and, sure enough, a never ending brawl took place during our third of four sets that night.
More Scottish mayhem ensued on the Tennent's Highlands and Islands tour with the Hollowmen. We entered the small town of Forres, home of the cult new age community Findhorn. Choque, our guitarist, noticed a rather nice looking Shell gas pump on the way in and disappeared right after soundcheck. The rest of us retired to our guest house, built for a family of midgets in the fifteenth century.
Consequently, Brian, our other guitar player knocked himself out on the ceiling while descending the stairwell. On arriving at the gig he took solace in the arms of a Findhorn runaway, who proceeded to attach colored metal plates to his torso with duct tape. So on we went, with Choque missing and Brian reading from his own hymn sheet.
The set started disastrously, and Brian seemed to be suffering some kind of amnesia, and at the back of the crowd I saw this pristine glass antique Shell…Read more...