"The Gigs"

"Gig" - What southern males do when they go hunting frogs down by the pond.

For the musician, "gig" is a blessed word, and a cursed word. "Gig" is where musician meets audience. All the hours of practice...All the money spent on instruments, picks, strings, sticks, microphones, speakers, and cables (miles and miles of cables)...All the sweat and labor of lugging and setting up equipment...All of these things, and a hundred more, find their fruition in that one magic moment. The instant those first few decibels of a band's opening number explode out the amplifiers and speakers and into to the ears of others...Ears that actually want to hear them...That is THE moment that it is worth all that comes before or after it!

During those early days in a musician's or band's career, gigs often include anything and everything - Birthday parties, church youth gatherings, school halloween carnivals, grand openings of local restaurants, school dances, old folks homes, and even an occasional open mic night at a local bar or club. Audiences range from those who walk by and gawk in curiosity - often with their fingers stuck in their ears (to express their disdain either for the music or the sheer volume of it), to screaming, swaying, clapping, and grooving, standing-room-only, crowds who have come for no other reason than to see YOU play and sing.

This guitar player's first gig was a sidewalk session at a local Dairy Queen. They let four ten year olds play for an hour, and paid us the lofty sum of $5 per member - plus a free chili dog, fries, coke, and a hot fudge sundae to boot. We might as well have been the headliner at Carnegie Hall. The strangest gig was the grand opening of mobile home sales lot, where we played on the deck of one of the mobile homes. How we got five guys, drums, amplifiers, and PA speakers on that deck, only The Good Lord knows. And, if there were more than three people who drove onto that lot during the three hours we played, I would be greatly surprised. But still, it was a gig.

The most memorable gigs include an annual musical event called, "Hootenanny," hosted by a small college in West Tennessee (with over 2,000 students and alumni present), and the opportunity to open for a revisited version of Creedence Clearwater Revival at a 2,000 seat amphitheater just outside of Atlanta. The people dug our music, and clamored for, "more, more, more," as we left the stage. Nothing that I have personally experienced has ever equalled the thrill of a MONSTER gig in front of a large, enthusiastic audience. Going to heaven someday will be the only event in my life that could mean more, and bring greater happiness.

Some other gigs are memorable for all the wrong reasons. There was the summer night in north Alabama when the promoter had promised us hundreds of adoring fans and a great venue. The reality of it was that about fifteen people watched us sweat our entrails out in heat that was 100 degrees and 100% humidity - on the back of a narrow flat-bed trailer. There was the small college dance when strings broke on the same guitar on three consecutive songs, delaying the show for several minutes with each occurrence.

There was there the biker rallies. The first involved a promised fee of hundreds of dollars. When the promoter came around to pay us, she thanked us for playing the "benefit," and paid us the lofty sum of $30 - TOTAL! No one had mentioned anything about a "benefit" prior to the gig.

Another biker rally in the north Georgia mountains will always be recalled because of a contest called, "Let's Swap Shirts." The little game played itself out right in front of the stage during our set. Dancing couples swapped shirts in the middle of a song. The female portion of each of these biker couples was of sizable girth, unattractive, sweaty, and braless. Those few minutes made each member of the band take an oath that we would NEVER play another biker rally. It was U-G-L-Y!

By far, THE best crowds we ever played for were the folks who frequented the Atlanta singles apartment scene back in the 1970's. The clubhouses of these swinging apartment complexes were alive with party-goers every Friday and Saturday night - year round. These folks knew their music, and they came to have a good time during every song. They were not bashful with their applause, nor with the money they stuffed in the tip jars for the band.

The circuit of clubhouses and complexes included places known as Gold Key, Oak Creek, Quail Creek, Windjammer, Riverbend, and many more. The entertainment coordinators at these places were specialists in planning and hosting parties, especially on or around July 4th, Christmas, Memorial Day, and other holidays and special occasions. There was always good food, games, and plenty of time for socializing. But, everybody knew that the band was, "the thing."

There was one other element to these gigs that made them the apple of a local band's collective eye. Namely, girls. Girls, girls, and more girls. The vast majority of the girls that came to these parties were beautiful, fun-loving, and greatly enamored with bands and the boys in them. Regardless of how much or little we were paid, the girls who came to these gigs made the experience one that we would have gladly PAID to do.

Band members who had girlfriends and wives always took them along to these gigs - mainly because the females insisted. They KNEW that these parties were saturated with pretty young girls. They also KNEW that their musician boyfriend or husband were by default, "chick magnets." Those of us who were romantically unfettered and eligible often made our fellow bandmates extremely jealous. We had the pick of the groupie litter, and we relished every second of the attention and fun we had.

Before concluding this tale, there was one other gig that has hung tough in the old memory for a lot of years. In college, our band did many big shows around campus and elsewhere in Tennessee and the south. But, one particular night in our little college town stands out more than all the rest.

Kermit's Pizza was one of the only local joints around that catered to college students. Their pizza was excellent, and their tiny restaurant was, well, "cozy," at best. When packed out on weekend nights, the dining area held only about fifty to sixty eat-in patrons. Hardly the space to accommodate a full-blown rock show.

But, one cold, February night, it did.

Our drummer called up everybody in the band that evening and suggested that we put on an impromptu show down at Kermit's. Once he had the go-ahead from everybody in the band, his room-mate began putting out the word. By the time we got all the equipment set up, tuned up, and had started into our first number, the placed was packed to the rafters. One estimate had the crowd at 250 people. It was probably much bigger than that.

The booths that normally sat four college students were packed with six or seven, or more. Kids were sitting on the floor, lined up solid on top of the serving counter up front, and gathered around refrigerators, tables, and/or any available chair. There were even people standing out on the front porch of Kermit's. They reported that even at that far-away vantage point, there was no trouble hearing the music.

If the Fire Marshall had shown up, the owners of Kermit's would surely have been arrested, and the restaurant closed down.

Thankfully, that never happened.

What did happen was one of the best shows we ever did, in front of one of THE most enthusiastic mobs of fans that ANY band could ever hope for. I had heard many rumors in the 1970's that often the Stones would finish a show in a large hall or stadium, and then rush down to a local club for a jam session - mainly because of the magic of such an intimate setting.

After that night at Kermit's, I understood perfectly why Mick and Keith and the boys would do such a thing.  

Gigs will always be the "daily bread" for a working musician or band. May they all be memorable, for the right reasons. And, may they all result in a good performance, an even better payday, and a heart and head full of memories to savor for all the years to come.