(A true story and cautionary tale…by LDW)
“ Oh they loved us! They really loved us! That was a Fa-a-antastic gig!”
Good? Yes.
Raucous, certainly.
A bit rough at the edges, hmmm.
But “faaantastic” , No.
Still the new drummer was happy as Larry, and his enthusiasm, boundless.
“So a couple of my mates were there. They reallyreally loved us! They want us to play their wedding!”
Now that got our attention. Wedding gigs – all kinds of ways to mess up and be remembered as the people who ruined the special day.
“We don’t really ‘do’ weddings. We don’t know the right kind of stuff.”
“Oh but they’re my old mates, came to see us specially. We’re exactly what they want!”
“Yes but what would they want for a wedding? First dance, slow numbers…”
“No, no, just the set we played tonight”
“ That’s a bit in-your-face for a wedding?”
“That’s it though that’s exactly what they want…”
“Well I suppose we could consider… look when is it anyway?”
And so of course we got the gig, but we never did meet the”old mates” first hand. It was all done through the drummer and his irrepressible determination never wavered.
Just the set we’d played – which on reflection, seemed odd. Thrash 60’s is not exactly your normal wedding fare. Still they had a DJ (first dance and slow numbers?) they were happy to pay, and as the saying goes, he who pays the piper, gets to call the tune. So we rehearsed, until the day came.
The Peoples palace (Glasgow) –the Winter gardens. A giant Victorian glass dome. Quite literally a huge greenhouse filled with trees, ferns, orchids, and acres of marble floor stretching away. And in one small corner, tables, a DJ, and a band setting up shop.
“Testing, testing”…”testing,esting,sting,ting,ing”
“Oh dear god,”…”r god, od,d,esting, ting, ing”
“What the f”…”od,ding, ing, what, at, ting, ing, uck,k”
Gain up, gain down, re-verb off, Bass up, treble down, other way. Speakers forwards, back – sideways. Made no odds. We were still playing inside a giant echo chamber.
And while we struggled with the sound, another issue was arising.
Gradually the guests began to arrive, Grannies, Aunties, Elderly cousins, Great-grand parents – old people, and lots of them. Our set list was looking less and less suitable by the second, and the “pays the piper” adage was looking more and more like a bad excuse.
“1,2,3,4 and…(3,4,4,nd) ”
We were trying to sing while listening to the words sung five seconds ago (again). That is, when we could hear any words over the guitar feedback, which was a live thing in torment.
Startled children began to cry, people dropped their drinks, conversations stopped, hearts skipped a beat, and grown men quailed. Our solitary drummer, impacted like the massed bands of the Edinburgh Tattoo, all a few seconds out, either way.
We turn down, tone down, back away from the mics, but our song choices are not our friend here, and each number dies harder than the last. Dancing? Not a chance.
Finally we struggle to the blessed mercy of a break.
The girls have a plan! Abandon everything and run away! Anything is better than going back to the torture of performance!
“We need a plan right now! What song do we know that these people will like?”
We kill every piece of electrickery that can be killed. We strip the drum kit to a snare and high-hat. We hide the van keys to stop the girls leaving. It’s a desperate plan. Unprepared, unrehearsed but….
“Hello again(ain!) we’d like to start with a song for all you Golden Oldies out there (ere)”
“2,3,4.. Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to let fifty cents….”
There is a murmur of approval, and with some rustling and scraping, the floor gradually fills with dancing couples!
“ Thank you ladies and gentlemen. And since you all enjoyed that so much, lets do it, One – More -Time! Trailer for sale or rent…”
Several repetitions later, we have recovered our composure enough to remember a couple of country and western numbers, and so we struggle on through the last song.
We already know that we will accept no cash for this travesty. Just pack up and get out as quickly and quietly as possible, attracting as little attention as we can. Then drink some alcohol, lots of alcohol, anything to forget. But our drummer is already away to congratulate his newly wed friends, and of course he has to bring them over to meet us.
We cannot apologise enough, but they are surprisingly un-phased by our musical catastrophe.
“We liked the gig, no really, though you were better at the Charity bash. Mind you we had been drinking since the afternoon then, and we’d knocked back a couple of eccies to keep us going. Anyway, we just wondered, why didn’t you play Mustang Sally?”
“Mustang Sally?”
“ Yea you did a great version of that at the benefit gig…”
“That… that was the other band….”
Dalmallyfest the Asylum 