We opened for the British group the Godfathers. At the time they were
riding high on a hit song called "Birth, School, Work, Death". The Ballard Firehouse
was a room we never played just because of the bad rep of the
promoter, but we wanted to open for the Godfathers so we hustled and got the gig.
We would be paid $400.
When I showed up in the afternoon the old man was behind the bar loading his
handgun, getting ready for another lively night. In these club settings, the headliner sets up their gear and leaves it
so the opening act doesn't get much room. But we crammed onto the stage and made it work and had a great set.
When I walked
offstage after playing an encore I remember thinking, "Man
I can't believe how good this is going. Maybe I'm wrong about this room."
Then it was like the channel just changed. Like that! Red lights start
flashing outside the fire trucks have shown up as the show is way oversold. The
Greek family's son is running around trying to open doors and move tables and make
double-capacity look like less people. Fire marshalls come in and make the rounds.
Finally, finally it all gets worked.
50 tickets to the Fireman's Ball or something. And the Godfathers start
their set.
Our sound man had been running the PA just under max -- it was not a large sound system.
But their sound man chose
to crank it up, and he starts clipping the system and he shuts it down. Dead.
The mains go silent and the band is up
there moving and mouthing into dead mics.
The Godfathers storm off and go upstairs to the dressing room, PA cools down and gets worked
out. When the band returns to the stage they want to get things going so they come out and do their
one hit. And their sound man has it cranked again. And once again he shuts the fuckin' PA down. Same thing once again. And then a
third time. Now the singer is cursing about the club. Screaming. Bitching about
the room. And telling people to go and get refunds.
And the old man --the Greek owner-- has to be contained because he doesn't
know these English chaps from any local band, he just knows they're bitching
about his club. "Get them outta my club! Get those muthafucka's outta my
club!"
Needless to say, we didn't get paid. And they didn't either. I approached
the booker at the end of the night and he stood there with his pockets
pulled out, "Sorry, I had to give refunds," he said. "But I owe you a juicy
one."
Wait a second, I guess I never collected on that juicy one. Too late now . . . Funny.
We did a photo shoot out at the Puyallup Fairgrounds and did a band shot under the rollercoaster.
After that Photographer Karen Moskowitz and I got on the front car and she shot backyards as we went up and down and around,
catching these great expressions on the kids riding. We must have rode the coaster five or six times
right in a row. Karen was hardy and a good sport and held up well, even
after eating a Scruffy Pup.
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