What's the worst place you ever played?

[cozmik_cowboy]

As mentioned in another thread...here's mine.
There was a joint somewhere in southern Ohio - I don't recall the name of it, or even what little town it was closest to - that actually had chicken wire around the stage.  Of course, as soundman, this did me no good, though it did save the band from some bottles.  
Worst one I can recall particulars would have to be the Stabilizer in West Lafayette, IN.  The stage was pallets set on milk crates in a corner - 6 of them if I recall, for a 5-piece.  There were no aisles - tables full of drunk college kids crammed wall to wall to stage.  The first time I worked there, there was a suspended ceiling, from which our light guy hung his instruments, but during the show the crowd tore it down.  A guy at a front table reached out & poured a beer on the guitar player's feet; as I (as stage man) was wiping it off his pedals, the soundman grabbed the hand of the guy who was swinging a bottle at my head.  Only way off & on stage was through the crowd; fortunately they assigned a bouncer to guard the stage while the road crew drug the band through.  And we went back. Repeatedly.  And the soundman & I worked it several times with another band, this one an 8-piece - same set-up.  Sick thing is, I miss that stuff.
 
Peter

[tmoney61092]

Somewhere Else Tavern in Greensboro, North Carolina. dirty, too much of a metal place for anyone to enjoy some more talented music, tiny, sound guy was a total jackass, and had my bass turned down so much you couldn't even hardly hear it as if he wasn't even listening during sound check. it's a good place if you're JUST getting started but i wouldn't suggest it to anyone looking to make some money. we had a gig there, about 75-100 people, got paid $50..... i suggest Greene Street in Greensboro, North Carolina because they often have pretty big bands come through and have good sound quality.
 
~Taylor

[811952]

Some big club in Columbia, Tennessee in late '83.  The police arrested anyone who so much as spoke to the band (cops were in the club in case of trouble).  We were pop/punk/alternative, and Columbia had had MTV for one solid week at that time.  
 
John

[slawie]

Our band (back in the day) played the (edit) club house for a celebration of one sort.
As I recall it was the birthday of one of the prominent members.
We arrived in our van in the early afternoon and planned to set up, sound check and go out get something to eat.
After the sound check we went out to the van only to find that it was encapsulated in a sea of really nice motorcycles. None of us dared asked for them (Motorcycles) to be moved so we could get out and invariably returned to the stage.
The biggest, hairiest, most mean looking and downright scariest dude I have ever encountered
came up to us and asked if we were hungry and in a unanimous reply we chorussed YES. He led us out the back of the place and on an enormous spit was the largest spit roast in the entire world. What looked like a very large Steer or  hippopotumus was spinning away roasting over an open fire (hades). (BTW we did not ask for salads)
So we had our fill of meat and decided that if we were not able to get out we might as well start playing. This was a good decision because the crowd appreciated the early start although we were reminded that we were contracted to play until 2:00am.
 
During the second set a female biker person/lady? was giving me the eye and as there was no stage she was right up close at eye level to me. She stared at me for 4 songs while provocatively dancing and grinding her way around my mike stand and at times my leg. During a song she then made a suggestion of somewhat an intimate nature referring to herself and me. I was really not that attracted to her suggestions although her  no teeth smile thing did make me wonder?!
I was just nodding and smiling then turning to the band and telling/pleading with the guys Let's play another song. My interaction with the smiley girl was the source of some amusement for them.  
Who says that Bass players don't get chicks?
 
The rest of the band were really encouraging her actions by their comments and the guitarist pushed me out onto the dance floor with me almost falling into her arms. So I kind of had to stay and dance with her for that song. Her whispering in my ear did not relent and seriously my ear and half my face was dripping with her saliva. Luckily for me I had the next song to sing in the set it was Roadhouse Blues
smiley girl screams Oh I love this song! and I thought this is not doing much in the way of discouraging her actions. Half way through the song smiley girl walked to the back of the room to this man-mountain and starts talking to him with much animation and gesticulation. I thought to myself for sure I'm dead. At the end of the song Mount Everest yells out Hey bass-boy my girlfriend want to f@$k you. I thought man I'm so double dead. Then he makes a beeline (if that can be possible for someone so huge) for the stage steps up beside me and suggests/insists, You, me and my girl will get together at the next break. Oh my God I'm triple dead! That set lasted 85 minutes. By this time I think the rest of the band was a little more compassionate to my cause.
At the end of the set smiley and Mount Everest cam up to the stage to collect me and I convinced them that it would be better if we hooked up after the show so that we could have more time. The stalling worked and I was schemeing my retreat/escape from the place.
 
We played until the 2:00am supposed end of the show and instantly were requested for encores. How do you refuse 250 odd bikers and hangers on? The encores lasted til 3:30am and by this time we were absolutely exhausted and looking to pack up and get the hell out of there.
I was scanning the room for smiley girl but could not see her anywhere then Mount Everest made his way toward the stage. He came up to me and said, You guys really rock and made the night a kick-ass event, we decided to give you a little bonus. They paid us double for the gig and included a few chemical rewards.
As he was walking away I thought I was in the clear then he stops in his tracks, as if he remembers something, turns around and heads back towards me. He says, Man my girlfriend has passed out so maybe we will hook up next time you guys play here. We want you to come back
 
Needless to say we never played there a second time for some strange reason we would be already booked when they requested a date for a return show.
 
slawie
 
[moderator's edit: club member suggested removing name of organization; original poster agreed and suggested form of edit]
 
(Message edited by davehouck on November 01, 2010)

[bigredbass]

Played _________'s in Sulfur, Louisiana (that Loozie-anna), 2nd shift, from 2AM to 7AM.  We were advised that under no circumstances could we get to the stage though the club, nor would we want to . . . . there was a massive steel door with 2 deadbolts and a board across the door.
 
This was a pickup gig, I was subbing for a friend (hah!).  I go through the door, to find the stage is fenced in.  Not that chicken-wire stuff, but good old chain link, just like around your back yard.  Floor to ceiling.  All you can see through the dark is the beer lights over the back bar.
 
Anyway, after the usual setlist for this kind of joint (Skynyrd, Hank Jr., you get the picture), they ALL start fighting.  What I can see looks like one of those saloon fights in a cowboy movie.  And they're BOUNCING off the fencing!  Either as the result of a punch, or some of them are bouncing into it to fly off back into the room to punch even harder.  Five minutes later, house lights up, more cops than I've ever seen who close the place at 4:30.  Got paid in full anyway, and N E V E R  went back.
 
But then again, there was this place in East Texas that had a Pit Bull for a bouncer . . . .
 
There's No Bidness Like Show Bidness ! !  
 
J o e y

[mike1762]

We were a Hard Rock/Heavy Metal band in the vein of Black Sabbath, Dio, Metallica, etc.  We signed with a new agent and were booked for a series of gigs in the mid-West (we were from the Atlanta area).  The first gig was somewhere in Colorado.  We made the 32hr drive... in the process spending as much on gas (we traveled with a 22' equipment truck and a Winnebago) as the gig paid.  We get to the club and start sound-check.  The club owner is looking at us kind-of confused.  Is this the material you guys play?  Your agent told me you were Top-40.  We didn't play ANYthing you would consider Top-40.  The first night it didn't matter... nobody was there anyway.  We started learning songs off the juke-box so that we had about a sets worth of pop-rock songs by the weekend.  As such, our audience had ballooned to 10-12 people by Friday night.  At various points in the night, all 10-12 people would be involved in a fist-fight with one-another (women included).  We finally managed to scare them all away after recreating the live rendition of Heaven and Hell (Black Sabbath).  We had the whole production with a single red spot-light shining into the singers face with pyro going off as he delivers the line: I want to go to HELL!!! With YOU and YOU and YOU... AAAaaarrrrgggghhhh.  Needless to say, the rest of the bookings were canceled and we made our way way back home (but not before having a truck kick-up a rock and bust out the windshield on the Winnebago).  That's when we made the decision to stop playing covers and do our own stuff.

[2400wattman]

Alabama......

[oddmetersam]

In the early 70's I became the bass player in Osiris, a band with the (now deceased) younger brother of the Dead's Pigpen. We played a gig near Palo Alto where some down on their luck guys living in a warehouse decided to pool their meager resources and put on a gig there so they could charge money and pay their rent.
 
So, you got two bands and all the beer you could drink for $3. This was even advertised on local radio, so a horde of hell raisin' party animals showed up. During the opening act, I was hanging out with our conga player in the front room when this completely red faced guy bursts in, shouting I want my money back! You promised all the beer I could drink and you've run out already!
 
Before the promoters could calm him down, he slugged one of them, knocking him out cold. As if on cue, like a Mel Brooks movie, everyone in the room seemed to suddenly turn to the person next to them and just started swinging haymakers. Chairs were being overturned, glass was shattering, the (few) women were screaming and the opening band even stopped. Momentarily, that is, then they cranked up even louder as if to provide a soundtrack for the action!
 
My bandmate and I slowly backed up against the wall, trying to be invisible before we were spotted and sucked into the vortex of flying fists and stomping work boots. Being the only two black people in a melee of 300 or so, we were kinda sticking out like sore thumbs so we just knew we were doomed (and with just a single punch we both would have crumpled like $2 umbrellas in a hurricane).
 
But just before the conflagration reached us, the cops finally showed up and restored order. They carted a fair share off to jail as they left and just when things were getting back to normal, suddenly a crazed maniac from across the room points and shouts to another guy standing right next to me something along the lines of, Jasper B-------! You **%^^&* snitch! You put me away for 4 years! I vowed if I ever found you I'd GET you! NOW I'VE FOUND YOU!!!!
 
As he's saying this he's practically foaming at the mouth and starts to move towards us. Literally 3 or 4 guys grab him and one shouts to the snitch (who's just standing there, transfixed), Don't just stand there, you fool. We can't hold this guy, forever. Run!.
 
Which he did...
 
When we finished our set and were packing up, one of the bloodied, swollen-eyed promoters claimed the milk urn they'd used to collect the gate had been pilfered during the embroglio and so they couldn't pay us. Being naive, I was prepared to believe him and just chock it up to the experiences of playing in a band. But our 2nd guitarist stepped in with a profanity-laden threat that if we didn't have our money by the time we were finished packing, the promoter's other eye was going to be fist-dotted much worse than the first.
 
Needless to say, we even got paid a bonus!

[terryc]

We in the UK are far more choosy when it comes to gigs LOL..I have never played any rough places so I have been lucky.
Those stories you guys told are so entertaining..keep 'em coming.
The best one which gets my vote is slawie's..the thing is when he says;- You, me and my girl will get together at the next break I cannot imagine which way around he means!!!!

[afrobeat_fool]

Back in the early 90's I was playing a lot of Raves and hip-hop events. Mostly we would break out some J.B's grooves, Headhunters, etc... The majority of these were held in boarded up wearhouses, old tentaments, and a few closed schools. They ran all night and a guy could make good money and hook up with chick's.  
  On one particular night after my gig at the Opus, I arrived at the Event in an old wearhouse. There were a lot of heavy brothers with prison Tat's and mean attitudes already there and the kid running the event said it could be a rough night. We got off to a good start with a DJ playing with the band. Rappers were working the crowd and everything was cool. The second set turned into a Cutting session with the rappers. Still fine. Between the second and third set, while the band was getting groovy in the Green Room aka alley, some action was hitting in the Hall. We didn't know, and it was over.
  So... we are playing and it's almost light, when some of the antagonists, who were booted between sets, came back. And started shooting the place up. It was bad. 5 or 6 people got hit. My Amp got hit. So you can figure how close I was to getting shot. The police came. Many kids went to jail on possession charges, and we never got paid. The worst part was the cops never made an arrest on the shooters.  That was my worst night playing music.
 
 
Nick
 
(Message edited by afrobeat_fool on October 22, 2010)

[elwoodblue]

!!! Holy crap Nick,
..that's a close call.
 
Great stories everyone, I'll echo Terry, ...keep 'em coming .

[hifiguy]

Once played a hotel bar in the far northwestern reaches of Minnesota.  The only business in town, apparently, was a huge plant where they made snowmobiles.
 
We were there for four nights and the place was half-full two nights and packed the other two.  The only two requests we got over the whole gig were for Garth Brooks and Ozzy.  I think we amassed a total of 30 seconds of applause over four nights, three sets a night.  But they drank.  Lordy Lu, did they drink.  
 
At the end of the last night, I was talking with the singer, a long time veteran of gigs all across the country. The only thing I was able to say about the experience was Jimmy, I've never seen dead people smoke before.

[benson_murrensun]

These are all great stories! I thought my gig was bad! My story doesn't involve violence... just bad weather. In the mountains above Leadville, Colorado, 4th of July weekend, and it starts to snow in the afternoon. Colder and snowier, colder and snowier, and we are out on a flatbed trailer shielded by a blue tarp, which was in tatters. It was a biker gig (these are my peeps) and I had arranged it, so I had no intention of bailing no matter how cold it got. I put on my insulated coveralls, a knit hat and some cut-off gloves. But when I stepped up to the mike to sing and my lips stuck to it, I had had enough!

[richbass939]

Before I started reading this thread, I thought I had a story, but now ........ never mind.
My vote goes to Slawie .... holy crap.
Rich

[cozmik_cowboy]

I'll have to disagree, Rich; Slawie's is impressive, but Nick had his freakin' amp   shot!!!!!!  Damn.  I've seen firearms at a gig, but (am glad to say) never heard them.
 
Peter