I was in the Lock Tavern in Camden about 15 years ago, when to encourage people to leave the bar at the end of the night the ever-so-clever bar staff opened the doors (it was winter) and put Glen Campbell’s greatest hits on at a very high volume. Fortunately for them the third move (stopping selling beer) did the trick as far as we were concerned, because me and my mate were happy to ignore the arctic blast and were trying to order another pint before proceeding to have a good old sing song.
Now if they’d put Nickleback on we’d have been off like a shot.
I worked in a bar in East London many years ago and would try playing something “difficult” loudly to get rid of stragglers as we would try and clean up at the end of a long night. One night, I tried Spiritualized’s “Live At The Royal Albert Hall”. The volcanic mounting surge of white noise cleared the bar in seconds, and I was sweeping the floor with “Shine A Light” at full blast when Jason Spaceman himself wandered in, “looking for a friend”.
Many years ago there was a hip record store in Perth, WA and every day at closing time they would play A Walk In The Black Forest by Horst Jankowski in order to clear the shop. I assume the idea was that the assembled hipsters would be so appalled by the MOR lounge instrumental they would be driven out the door.
It had the opposite effect on me and only served to provoke a Proustian rush of warm nostalgia. Not only did I remember the record first time around, I even had a copy when it was in the charts around the same time as Like A Rolling Stone, I Got You Babe and The Byrds Mr Tambourine Man in the summer of 1965.
The brass version sounds even more cheesy than Horst’s piano rendition. Speaking of which, how about that record player? Notice the way the guy takes about 30 seconds to gingerly lower the needle onto the record, almost like he’s defusing an unexploded bomb.
He’s thinking: Is it the blue wire or the red one? Here goes nothing. Tell my wife I love her!
Back in the seventies working behind a bar at a textile club I played Zappa’s Penguin in Bondage. One of the clientele walked up and said ‘You want us to leave don’t you?’
To give you an idea of the place three women would regularly unwrap their newspaper parcel douse the tripe in vinegar and proceed to eat.
Sometimes if I had people round the flat who showed no sign of leaving I’d break out Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica. Not many lasted to the end of side one.
I remember reading an interview with Stephen Morris out of New Order once, when he mentioned his go-to album to play at the end of a party, when he wanted everybody to just bugger off home.
It was Pete Atkin & Clive James’s “A King at Nightfall”
What a strange choice. I love that album. If I were at the party and he put that on, I’d want to stay till the end of side 2!
Great album as @vulpes-vulpes well knows. Pete’s got a Marmite voice.
I’ve said it before but most civilian dancefloors can be cleared in nanoseconds by any suggestion of guitars. Perhaps this is the same principle (“Oh no, run for the hills, it’s our arch-nemesis Chris Spedding!”)
Moose the Mooche says
I think playing the ‘Back and the ‘Biscuit were among the abuses meted out at Guantanamo and Abu Graib. Along with the collected works of Don Estelle.
I never thought I’d feel sorry for Al-Qaida…
Jeff says
Aye, no corrida* ‘ere, neevah.
*CAUTION: contains ’80s.
Paul Wad says
I was in the Lock Tavern in Camden about 15 years ago, when to encourage people to leave the bar at the end of the night the ever-so-clever bar staff opened the doors (it was winter) and put Glen Campbell’s greatest hits on at a very high volume. Fortunately for them the third move (stopping selling beer) did the trick as far as we were concerned, because me and my mate were happy to ignore the arctic blast and were trying to order another pint before proceeding to have a good old sing song.
Now if they’d put Nickleback on we’d have been off like a shot.
slotbadger says
I worked in a bar in East London many years ago and would try playing something “difficult” loudly to get rid of stragglers as we would try and clean up at the end of a long night. One night, I tried Spiritualized’s “Live At The Royal Albert Hall”. The volcanic mounting surge of white noise cleared the bar in seconds, and I was sweeping the floor with “Shine A Light” at full blast when Jason Spaceman himself wandered in, “looking for a friend”.
Bingo Little says
How have you been on this site all this time without sharing such a glorious anecdote?
Moose the Mooche says
Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Spilled Carling
Johnny Concheroo says
Many years ago there was a hip record store in Perth, WA and every day at closing time they would play A Walk In The Black Forest by Horst Jankowski in order to clear the shop. I assume the idea was that the assembled hipsters would be so appalled by the MOR lounge instrumental they would be driven out the door.
It had the opposite effect on me and only served to provoke a Proustian rush of warm nostalgia. Not only did I remember the record first time around, I even had a copy when it was in the charts around the same time as Like A Rolling Stone, I Got You Babe and The Byrds Mr Tambourine Man in the summer of 1965.
Moose the Mooche says
The trick when hearing something like this is to adopt a smug, superior smirk… but not to nod in time, sing along, or dance. However much you want to.
minibreakfast says
It’d definitely make me hang around. Even though I prefer the superior Torero version, of course.
Moose the Mooche says
Parrrp!
Johnny Concheroo says
You got me there, I’ve never heard of that. Is it another Tijuana style effort?
minibreakfast says
Of course!
(A snippet of it is used as the jingle for the Novelty Island spot on Car Boot Vinyl Diaries.)
Mike_H says
I can’t see anyone walking in any colour of forest to that, Mini. Or Horst’s original.
Skipping, on the other hand, is definitely a possibility.
Moose the Mooche says
Eine Schwarzwaldfahrt. Splendid!
Johnny Concheroo says
The brass version sounds even more cheesy than Horst’s piano rendition. Speaking of which, how about that record player? Notice the way the guy takes about 30 seconds to gingerly lower the needle onto the record, almost like he’s defusing an unexploded bomb.
He’s thinking: Is it the blue wire or the red one? Here goes nothing. Tell my wife I love her!
minibreakfast says
With a precious record like that he’d be mad not to.
Skirky says
John Coltrane’s ‘Ascension’ was always a reliable shop clearer. Many of the staff took the opportunity to bail out also, as I recall.
hubert rawlinson says
Back in the seventies working behind a bar at a textile club I played Zappa’s Penguin in Bondage. One of the clientele walked up and said ‘You want us to leave don’t you?’
To give you an idea of the place three women would regularly unwrap their newspaper parcel douse the tripe in vinegar and proceed to eat.
Johnny Concheroo says
Sometimes if I had people round the flat who showed no sign of leaving I’d break out Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica. Not many lasted to the end of side one.
duco01 says
I remember reading an interview with Stephen Morris out of New Order once, when he mentioned his go-to album to play at the end of a party, when he wanted everybody to just bugger off home.
It was Pete Atkin & Clive James’s “A King at Nightfall”
What a strange choice. I love that album. If I were at the party and he put that on, I’d want to stay till the end of side 2!
Moose the Mooche says
Great album as @vulpes-vulpes well knows. Pete’s got a Marmite voice.
I’ve said it before but most civilian dancefloors can be cleared in nanoseconds by any suggestion of guitars. Perhaps this is the same principle (“Oh no, run for the hills, it’s our arch-nemesis Chris Spedding!”)
Johnny Concheroo says
“so I put on Liege & Lief by Fairport Convention, the one band it is not possible to like in an ironic way”
From the Daily Mash
http://www.thedailymash.co.uk/news/society/cafe-puts-on-fairport-convention-to-drive-out-hipsters-20161201118237
Moose the Mooche says
er…
Johnny Concheroo says
That’ll learn me, eh?
Moose the Mooche says
This obviousness is making my arse ache.
That’s my story anyway, oho!