Thu, 22 Sep 2005

Gigs I've Played In Hell -- Real Experiences by Charlie Faege

This little creepy tidbit of terror of a gig I have played in the Realm of Hell comes from a gig I played in 1985 at Kennedy's in Laclede's Landing in the St. Louis Riverfront. It was and still is, a very popular club, it was Halloween night and some people were showing up in costumes, and others were just dressed in their usual "pick me up" clothes. I was fronting a 3-piece band, in which I did lead vocals, guitar and keyboard. The other two members (whose names I'll leave out) included a bass player and a guitarist. So where was the drummer? He was right there with us in a box. When we got together as a band, we agreed that my "box" sounded even better than a real drummer, and all I had to do was simply (!?) program it for at least 4 hours' worth of music. All I had to do was hit the Start button at the appropriate times and we'd play along with it. This somewhat new technology was quite disturbing to those in the audience who needed to see a pile of drums, stands and cymbals surrounding a sweaty possibly obnoxious drummer. Others were fascinated by it. My two colleagues were of both opinions, which I didn't realize until we were playing onstage. In the middle of the second set, some people came up to me and requested we do "happy birthday" for a friend of theirs in the audience - - - no problem! I began crooning away and as I did, I could hear the bass player yelling over to the guitarist on my other side, "I want to get a real drummer!" "Oh yeah? Well, this sounds good, everyone's dancing, so shut up and stop being such a baby!" (while I'm still singing happy birthday and the crowd had joined in..) "Well, you're fulla ____, you stupid __ __ _ _____! ___ you!" I couldn't quite believe what they were yelling onstage… "___ you, too!" I was still singing while listening to the sounds of hostility, thinking, "Uh oh!" Before I had even finished singing, I heard a crash from behind to my right, looked over and saw the guitar player holding a bloody towel to his face. It seems that the bass player, a short guy with a temper to match, had hurled his drink across the stage and smacked the guitar player right in the face with it. I recalled that he had been taking knife throwing classes, along with many other self- defense courses, and he always wore camouflage pants. And I still didn't have a clue! Everyone (who didn't know the bass player very well) was shocked. That was the end of that gig and the end of that band. We were a smash hit and they didn't pay us a nickel. I figured the songs that we did do (including Happy Birthday) were worth something, but I didn't get in any arguments with a club owner that night, I just wanted to go home. I don't remember how many stitches the guitar player had to get, but he wasn't very pretty, and he'll always have the scars on his face to remember that night by. The best moral if not proverb for this story I can come up with is; A glass that breaks in the face always breaks up the band! Paper or plastic cups might have saved the gig.

Posted 17:00 

 

 

 

Gigs I've Played In Hell Real Experiences by Charlie Faege

This creepy crawling concoction of a crummy experience happened in 1980 at Patricks on Dorsett Road in West County, St. Louis. I had recently broken up with a girlfriend, due mainly to drinking problems she had. She showed up unexpectedly (this was several weeks after we'd called it quits) at the gig. I had just purchased a video camera and was making our first videotape of the bands' live performance. I'd also invited a few people I worked with when I used to be a copywriter for Venture stores, and several other friends were in attendance as well. I recall the enthusiastic audience, as we were always well received at that club. A house gig. It was exhilarating to experience the enthusiasm of the audience there. After our first break, I went over to the tables of friends, making my rounds to say hello while avoiding her table. I finally decided I should at least say hi to her, so I walked over to her table. "Who's the b_tch you were talking to over there?!" she asked (referring to a coworker). It was obvious she'd been drinking for hours before then. "Who do you mean? And what are you doing here?! I demanded. She answered with her fist....POW! right in the chops! I reared back and not knowing what to do, headed to the bar to grab a towel or something. As I reached for a napkin, I felt her jump on my back, beating me for all she was worth! I whirled and twirled around, finally wrenching her off and kind of threw her onto the floor, not in a ladylike fashion at all. The bartender had only seen that one action of mine, where I had tossed her. He power-jumped right over the bar and grabbed me by the shirt, then held my arms behind me, just as she was getting up and was coming over to continue her attack. "Wait! You've got the wrong man! Let me go! She's coming to get me...look! As he turned around, he could see a wild eyed blonde coming our way. He let me go, but at the same time, two members of the bands' sound crew had tried to hold her. She clawed her way through both of them, and finally the bartender got a hold of her and pitched her out the front door, Western-Saloon style. We were a little late from returning from our break, and the video shows me holding a handkerchief over my still-bleeding nose, playing keyboards and singing. We taped other gigs without my bloody nose and they were much better looking . . . and sounding.

Posted 16:58  

 

 

 

 

Gigs I've Played In Hell Real Experiences by Charlie Faege

Here's one of my more embarrassing moments in music playing experiences, but I've had worse happen. Back when I was but a 16 year old kid with a acoustic guitar and a few harmonicas in different keys, I was something of a wandering minstrel. I would play for ANYBODY who would listen. Word got around and I would actually get hired to play at parties. One thing different about THIS wandering minstrel was that his father would drop him off and pick him up at engagements. (Thank you dad!!!) I would think that most wandering minstrels would just wander in or hop off of a train, right? Often I sung cheery tales of death and the apocalypse and freaked out parents. One night, on recommendation of a friend, some people in Webster Groves hired this sixteen year old folksinging kid with bangs well over the eyes, a Lindell acoustic guitar, a pocketful of thumb picks, several keys of Marine Band harmonicas and a harmonica holder that hung around his neck to play their party. I remember it was getting cold out, but the weather or any good sense at all motivated my fashion sense. The kid's mom was fussing over every song I played, like I was a real sensation. "Come out here, John. He is really good." I'm sure that I must have turned a few shades of red, not only from all the praise but the fact that I was freezing my buns off out there. I decided to do my really big guitar and harmonica number (on Dylan's first record, Bob Dylan) called Freight Train Blues for them. In my arrangement, I played it with a tempo like that of a train, faster and faster as it progressed. Harmonicas are good for stuff like that. The husband even came out to watch me do that one, so I knew I wanted to do a good job, with actual ADULTS watching me! The song was going along just fine, and I was spewing out all the lyrics like a furious son-of-a- gun. The 1/16th and 1/32 nd notes harmonica solo between verses seemed to be working… until…due to the cold weather and my light clothing I became so cold that as I was playing a harmonica solo and strumming the guitar, my nose began to run uncontrollably. In mid-solo, from the end of my nose hung the longest glob of snot as I'd ever seen before, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Both of my hands were busy playing guitar and my mouth was blowing the harmonica at the time, so the "show went on" anyway. By the end of the harmonica solo, and I swear, the snot glob was almost touching the ground. I KNOW they were all just glaring at me in amazement, as it clung and swung around from my trying to fling it away somewhere without being "conspicuous"! Though I was embarrassed, I was later invited by John to make the first recordings of my own songs in a real recording studio for Gardner Advertising Company that year, 1967. I remember having a couple Kleenex tucked away in my pocket that day, just in case. By the way, when my brother and I arrived at the studio, we were very impressed by all the technology and then we were led to a small room with the cheapest piece of crap reel to reel recorder you ever did see. Nonetheless, the little snot at least gained more experience. In hell, that is.

Posted 16:56 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gigs I've Played In Hell Real Experiences by Charlie Faege

I used to carry a huge Baldwin piano around with me around 1984 on solo gigs. This was still a few years before anybody made a great sounding portable piano, so it was worth lugging. One thing I didn't like besides the very weight of it, was the ugly front with the tuning gears and all that faced the audience. I remember trying to spruce it up one time, and I covered the front with Playboy foldouts. "There! That's better!" I said to myself without a second thought. (Offend anyone? What?! Get outta here, you're kidding!) I was playing at Bob Burkhardt's Bar & Grill in Soulard,, in a room away from the colder climate of the bar and front door with a comfy fire burning away in the fireplace behind me. I did a lot of blues by request, as I recall. Those people were obsessed with the blues! The room was packed, people were listening and making requests and so forth, when I noticed a very large girl enter the room. She had a look on her face like she was smelling something wretched.. When I had finished playing whatever song it was I played, she was standing right next to me. "Hi!" I said. "You're very good," she said. "So why this? Why would you stoop to showing such degrading, immoral, exploitive and disgusting filthy pictures?!" as she pointed to the foldouts. "Uh…well, you see … I was just sprucing up the ugly front of the piano and…" as I fumbled for a reason she'd like. "Well, I'm certainly not looking at this pornography!" she exclaimed. She tore each picture off and ceremoniously crumbled them up and tossed them in the comfy fire in the fireplace, which was burning away even better. I just sat there like a meek little child as she did some redecorated the stage to her liking. Did I mention she was BIG? "There you go, that's better! Please play some more blues, will you?" she asked.. "Uh…. Sure." So, with more insight of my wickedness as the foldouts burned away in the comfy fire, I continued to play more blues by request in HELL.

Posted 16:55 
 
 

 

 

Gigs From Hell; Actual, True & Real Experiences by Charlie Faege

Way back and long ago, in those glorious hippie days of 1968 I was booked to play for a fairly hoop-de-doo affair named Ecology Day at Forest Park in Saint Louis. There were several distinguished big shot speakers in suits in that hot afternoon sun, who had flown there from various ecological organizations to speak about the brand new buzzword, ecology. There was a nice stage setup at the bottom of Hippie Hill (as they called it back then) and a local band (whose name I'll omit in case some might actually still be alive) of biker oriented guys that played REAL LOUD rock and roll onstage before me. These guys were obnoxious and every other word they screamed over the PA system was the "f" word. Since this event was not necessarily or strictly for the free concert rock and rollers, they were really pissing off the Ecology Day event people. As I said, there were a bunch of guys in suits baking in the hot sun, waiting for their turn at the microphone, who couldn't believe the language they were hearing, and they had to notice the funny smelling cigarettes circulating through the crowd. After a few too many "kick out the jams, mother f's..!" from the band's scary looking guitarist and the cheering from their adoring biker fans all over the place, the people in charge of the event told them they had to quit playing. After a bit of arguing, they did so reluctantly and caused a big scene, but finally got off of the stage. I found this all very amusing as I sat backstage with my acoustic guitar. Actually, my brand new Gibson Dove acoustic guitar and this was my first gig with it. One of the event officials came right up to me and said, "OK. Now it's your turn. Get up there and try to calm them down!" Meanwhile the bikers and the band guys were all yelling and there was some pushing going on between them and the guys in suits. "I can't go up there! Look at them all! It's totally out of control!" I said. "Weren't you supposed to have a speaker up there next?" "It'll be fine. They'll get over it. I think what they all need is some nice peaceful folk music to calm them down." "Yeah, right..." I said and the event people helped me set up a microphone boom stand for my guitar and one for my voice. I had written a song appropriate for the event, "Poison Air ", which I planned on playing first. Before I began, I looked at all the leers and sneers from the bikers and the band (who, by the way, owned the power transformer that everything was powered by). I made a little comment, "I don't know what all that was about, but I believe we all came together today with ecology in mind," and went right into the song. This really ignited the tempers of the band and the bikers and one of them jumped onstage and grabbed a microphone while I was singing. "Hey man," he said. "Do you think it was fair of them to tell us to stop playing? Who cares what these stupid plastic "ecology" damn people have to say? Didn't we all come here to party? I say "f" this guy and all of them! WE OWN THE TRANSFORMER!" Several of the Ecology event people rushed up on the stage, followed by twice as many bikers and a big scuffle began between the band, the bikers and the Ecology people. During the conflict, the microphone boom got knocked into my new guitar and it was all I could do to run off of the stage and get my guitar into it's case before anything else happened. I quickly made my escape and left the scene unscathed. The whole thing folded up shortly after the band literally pulled the plug and announced a free concert they'd be putting on in the park the next week. As for my Dove, it had a permanent scar to commemorate the occasion, while I gained a little more experience to use in playing future potential gigs from hell. You just never know when they'll sneak up on you! Like, PEACE, man!