Ever been in a band? Anecdotes?
Discussion
I played in a band when back in school, however from what i remember that was more a case of annoying a mates neighbour with lots of out of time noise 
I would love to play in a band again now that i can play guitar to a half decent standard. (I'm still no guitar god)
Are there any good ways of getting yourself into a band?
I don't have any mates now who even like heavy rock/metal which is my favourite to play!
I would love to play in a band again now that i can play guitar to a half decent standard. (I'm still no guitar god)
Are there any good ways of getting yourself into a band?
I don't have any mates now who even like heavy rock/metal which is my favourite to play!
In a band by the name of Cayenne, supporting Nina Simone in Ronnies mid 80's.
We were doing 90 mins, then she did 90 mins, then us, then her. Finish about 03:00
She throws a hissy fit (and a chair at Ronnie) and storms out saying she's not being paid enough.
So we have to do 4 sets of 90 mins (6 f
king hours!) to a crowd expecting to see her (and having paid loads of dosh). Nightmare. In the breaks we were trying to find tunes we all vaguely knew so that we could fill in the time. I seem to remember Autumn Leaves and River Deep, Mountain High ended up being played.
...and on another occasion - that scene in Spinal Tap when they get lost under the stage. They stole that from us!
We were doing 90 mins, then she did 90 mins, then us, then her. Finish about 03:00
She throws a hissy fit (and a chair at Ronnie) and storms out saying she's not being paid enough.
So we have to do 4 sets of 90 mins (6 f
king hours!) to a crowd expecting to see her (and having paid loads of dosh). Nightmare. In the breaks we were trying to find tunes we all vaguely knew so that we could fill in the time. I seem to remember Autumn Leaves and River Deep, Mountain High ended up being played....and on another occasion - that scene in Spinal Tap when they get lost under the stage. They stole that from us!
Roofless Toothless said:
Another bass player, then. 
I think you have trumped my moments of glory with your exploits. I have heard the like about Simone before. It doesn't cost much to be civil, does it, whoever you are.
I see there are some videos on YouTube. I'll give them a look in a while.
I left the band in 1986... though I just looked and they are still playing some of the same tracks! (Samba de Patrice) I think you have trumped my moments of glory with your exploits. I have heard the like about Simone before. It doesn't cost much to be civil, does it, whoever you are.
I see there are some videos on YouTube. I'll give them a look in a while.
GetCarter said:
In a band by the name of Cayenne, supporting Nina Simone in Ronnies mid 80's.
We were doing 90 mins, then she did 90 mins, then us, then her. Finish about 03:00
She throws a hissy fit (and a chair at Ronnie) and storms out saying she's not being paid enough.
So we have to do 4 sets of 90 mins (6 fking hours!) to a crowd expecting to see her (and having paid loads of dosh). Nightmare. In the breaks we were trying to find tunes we all vaguely knew so that we could fill in the time. I seem to remember Autumn Leaves and River Deep, Mountain High ended up being played.
...and on another occasion - that scene in Spinal Tap when they get lost under the stage. They stole that from us!
Used to spend rather a lot of time there. Saw her 1982 (I think) but don't recall any backing on that occasion.We were doing 90 mins, then she did 90 mins, then us, then her. Finish about 03:00
She throws a hissy fit (and a chair at Ronnie) and storms out saying she's not being paid enough.
So we have to do 4 sets of 90 mins (6 f
king hours!) to a crowd expecting to see her (and having paid loads of dosh). Nightmare. In the breaks we were trying to find tunes we all vaguely knew so that we could fill in the time. I seem to remember Autumn Leaves and River Deep, Mountain High ended up being played....and on another occasion - that scene in Spinal Tap when they get lost under the stage. They stole that from us!
I once took acid on stage at Glastonbury. The main stage. Prime billing. We timed it so that we’d be just starting to come up half way through the last track.
Nobody told us we had to play live on national television directly afterward. I had no idea - no-one tells you anything.
It was ‘shaky’ but I actually played surprisingly well I thought. All I can really recall from my internal perspective was thinking John Peel was my friend’s dad. They looked alike.
We then stole several bottles of champagne from somewhere (think Jools Holland’s production unit - that’s my memory but he’s on C4? fk knows!) and went an insane rampage (more acid and other things) around Glastonbury until rescued by Ian Brown of all people. He looked like Krishna. That’s how fked I was.
The ‘talent’ I was with then ended up muddily wrecking the NME tourbus. Thinking it was our own. Ours had left hours before. Then it got worse.
The ‘talent’ for it was just the two of us, had got into a bad trip where he felt I was a doctor trying to catch him and sedate him. Of course the more I chased him, the more he ran.
After tiring of this, I finally found the chauffeur charged with driving us back to London. He gave me some Scotch. I was ok. The ‘talent’ appeared after an hour or so (God alone knows what he had gone through) and we went back to our hotel in Bayswater. Covered from head to toe in Glastonbury mud and really in quite a bad state.
I managed to get from there to my house in Tooting in clothes borrowed off the bass player. Got showered, changed, shaved, smoke a bit, ate - all together sorted myself out.
I then got back to the hotel in a taxi, began drinking very, very heavily. Cue some scary fury from industry execs and managers about where the ‘talent’ had got to. He was in his room. Covered in mud. Tripping heavily. Chinese whispers, paranoid confusions, bad karma.
I went to the park. Saw it had finally stopped raining, smoked a strong joint and fell asleep in a deckchair, which I had no money to pay for.
The ‘talent’ somehow escaped from the hotel and was not seen again for a few days.
We missed next night’s gig at Roskilde.
I’ve left out the worst bits.
Nobody told us we had to play live on national television directly afterward. I had no idea - no-one tells you anything.
It was ‘shaky’ but I actually played surprisingly well I thought. All I can really recall from my internal perspective was thinking John Peel was my friend’s dad. They looked alike.
We then stole several bottles of champagne from somewhere (think Jools Holland’s production unit - that’s my memory but he’s on C4? f
k knows!) and went an insane rampage (more acid and other things) around Glastonbury until rescued by Ian Brown of all people. He looked like Krishna. That’s how fked I was. The ‘talent’ I was with then ended up muddily wrecking the NME tourbus. Thinking it was our own. Ours had left hours before. Then it got worse.
The ‘talent’ for it was just the two of us, had got into a bad trip where he felt I was a doctor trying to catch him and sedate him. Of course the more I chased him, the more he ran.
After tiring of this, I finally found the chauffeur charged with driving us back to London. He gave me some Scotch. I was ok. The ‘talent’ appeared after an hour or so (God alone knows what he had gone through) and we went back to our hotel in Bayswater. Covered from head to toe in Glastonbury mud and really in quite a bad state.
I managed to get from there to my house in Tooting in clothes borrowed off the bass player. Got showered, changed, shaved, smoke a bit, ate - all together sorted myself out.
I then got back to the hotel in a taxi, began drinking very, very heavily. Cue some scary fury from industry execs and managers about where the ‘talent’ had got to. He was in his room. Covered in mud. Tripping heavily. Chinese whispers, paranoid confusions, bad karma.
I went to the park. Saw it had finally stopped raining, smoked a strong joint and fell asleep in a deckchair, which I had no money to pay for.
The ‘talent’ somehow escaped from the hotel and was not seen again for a few days.
We missed next night’s gig at Roskilde.
I’ve left out the worst bits.
I've followed my dad onto the toilet circuit, the difference is he did it semi professionally & I've always been in it for the indifference.
One he told me that sticks in my mind saw him depping in about 1973. In those days, you could be on the Musician's union list - still can for all I know, so he'd pick up paid gigs here & there when someone or other dropped out. So there he is, standing in on guitar for some mob & he's finding it all a bit dull, so starts adding a few fills & runs to keep himself entertained.
This doesn't go down well with the keys guy & there are distinct feelings of dagger eyes going on. Dad thinks whatever, I'm only here tonight & then they strike up one he doesn't know, so dad leans over & asks the guy:
- What key is this, mate?
- Mind your own fking business,
One he told me that sticks in my mind saw him depping in about 1973. In those days, you could be on the Musician's union list - still can for all I know, so he'd pick up paid gigs here & there when someone or other dropped out. So there he is, standing in on guitar for some mob & he's finding it all a bit dull, so starts adding a few fills & runs to keep himself entertained.
This doesn't go down well with the keys guy & there are distinct feelings of dagger eyes going on. Dad thinks whatever, I'm only here tonight & then they strike up one he doesn't know, so dad leans over & asks the guy:
- What key is this, mate?
- Mind your own f
king business,Eddie Strohacker said:
I've followed my dad onto the toilet circuit, the difference is he did it semi professionally & I've always been in it for the indifference.
One he told me that sticks in my mind saw him depping in about 1973. In those days, you could be on the Musician's union list - still can for all I know, so he'd pick up paid gigs here & there when someone or other dropped out. So there he is, standing in on guitar for some mob & he's finding it all a bit dull, so starts adding a few fills & runs to keep himself entertained.
This doesn't go down well with the keys guy & there are distinct feelings of dagger eyes going on. Dad thinks whatever, I'm only here tonight & then they strike up one he doesn't know, so dad leans over & asks the guy:
- What key is this, mate?
- Mind your own fking business,
Ha.One he told me that sticks in my mind saw him depping in about 1973. In those days, you could be on the Musician's union list - still can for all I know, so he'd pick up paid gigs here & there when someone or other dropped out. So there he is, standing in on guitar for some mob & he's finding it all a bit dull, so starts adding a few fills & runs to keep himself entertained.
This doesn't go down well with the keys guy & there are distinct feelings of dagger eyes going on. Dad thinks whatever, I'm only here tonight & then they strike up one he doesn't know, so dad leans over & asks the guy:
- What key is this, mate?
- Mind your own f
king business,Reminds me...
When playing salsa (the sort where the bass never hits a bar line), I looked down to see the Sax player (a dep) crawling around on the stage - I shouted down to him "What are you doing" ... he replied "Looking for ONE!"
Edited by GetCarter on Wednesday 10th January 09:32
I am resurrecting this thread I started a few years ago because I have just discovered a (to me) amazing thing on the web site of the auction house Christies.
It is a ticket from a gig my band, Esther's Tomcat, played at the PJ Hall in Bangor in 1969, where we backed Fleetwood Mac. If you look at my original post, there is a photograph of the band on stage that very night. But perhaps more astonishing is that in 2013 somebody paid £1375 for this thing!
I remember the night very well, as I was a keen follower of the London blues scene through the early to middle sixties, a member of the Marquee Club, and also (bless) of John Mayall's fan club! I saw most of these musicians on the way up through the ranks.
The dressing room behind the stage was a large classroom full of examination desks. (PJ Hall is part of Bangor University College.) What gobsmacked me about FM was that with mathematical accuracy they positioned themselves as far away from each other as possible in the room. They barely spoke a word to anybody. I wandered round trying to have a chat, but it was obvious none of them were interested in talking. The atmosphere was funereal.
What the ticket does not say is that the supporting band - us - happened to have as its drummer the Entertainments Secretary of the college, so we got to support quite a few of the acts that were currently big on the university circuit, including Pink Floyd and Joe Cocker. They were just the opposite of FM, though, especially Cocker, who sat and chatted with us for half and hour after the show. Pink Floyd arrived late (we had played everything we knew twice by the time they arrived) but still gave us greetings and compliments as they ran on from the wings.
All however, are put in the shade by our night with Adge Cutler and the Wurzels, the first sight of whom was a brown corduroy trousered backside barging in through the band room door, the owner of which was the lead half of a pair carrying between them a crate of brown ale. What a show that was!
It is a ticket from a gig my band, Esther's Tomcat, played at the PJ Hall in Bangor in 1969, where we backed Fleetwood Mac. If you look at my original post, there is a photograph of the band on stage that very night. But perhaps more astonishing is that in 2013 somebody paid £1375 for this thing!
I remember the night very well, as I was a keen follower of the London blues scene through the early to middle sixties, a member of the Marquee Club, and also (bless) of John Mayall's fan club! I saw most of these musicians on the way up through the ranks.
The dressing room behind the stage was a large classroom full of examination desks. (PJ Hall is part of Bangor University College.) What gobsmacked me about FM was that with mathematical accuracy they positioned themselves as far away from each other as possible in the room. They barely spoke a word to anybody. I wandered round trying to have a chat, but it was obvious none of them were interested in talking. The atmosphere was funereal.
What the ticket does not say is that the supporting band - us - happened to have as its drummer the Entertainments Secretary of the college, so we got to support quite a few of the acts that were currently big on the university circuit, including Pink Floyd and Joe Cocker. They were just the opposite of FM, though, especially Cocker, who sat and chatted with us for half and hour after the show. Pink Floyd arrived late (we had played everything we knew twice by the time they arrived) but still gave us greetings and compliments as they ran on from the wings.
All however, are put in the shade by our night with Adge Cutler and the Wurzels, the first sight of whom was a brown corduroy trousered backside barging in through the band room door, the owner of which was the lead half of a pair carrying between them a crate of brown ale. What a show that was!
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