There have been various comments from many of us on here about annoying dickheads at gigs and how to deal with them.
Before Christmas I went to see the wonderful My Darling Clementine at the Kitchen Garden Café in Birmingham. This is a lovely venue and not known for a raucous or unruly audience, in fact, far from it.
In the second part of the set they had a segment of Elvis Costello referenced songs. Lou was at the keyboard for a beautiful version of A good year for the Roses.
Midway through she stopped singing and to a couple no more than 5 yards from her who were apparently in a disagree en t with each other: ‘ I am respecting a serious musician here. At the risk of embarrassing myself will you please shut the fuck up’. Not sure if the please was actually there but it did the trick. The male of the couple abruptly left.
Fair play to Lou and the rest of the gig was great.
A new variation on dealing with Fuckwits
by 109 Comments
The number of tales I could tell when I’ve had to address this problem as a member of the audience. One of the main reasons I don’t attend as many gigs as I once did is because of the presence of these imbeciles.
I recall a gig at popular music venue in Donegal – not a bar, a specific gig room in a hotel run by music lovers – with Chris Smither 20-odd years back. A Sunday night, decent sized crowd but rapt pin-drop attention. Someone’s mobile phone goes off. He takes the call and says ‘I’m at a gig…’ A bit awkward for everyone but Chris makes a joke of it and moves on. A second call. Again he takes it. Chris gets angsty – ‘Come on man, give me a break’. The guy refuses to turn it off, saying something like ‘It might be important’. Tension in the air. It rings a third time – and the man sitting next to this fellow (not with him, just adjacent) starts punching him – presumably thinking that everyone in the room will think he’s with this idiot. Obviously, Chris has stopped the show by this point and someone has called the management, and the man is thrown out. But how weird is that? Coming to a sit-down show, paying your 15 Euros (or whatever) and then taking a series of banal phone calls while the entire audience watches you, getting hot under their collars…
Please tell me that the guy thrown out was the twat with the phone, not the public-spirited chap who, quite rightly, lamped the fucker, and should have got a season ticket to the venue for his troubles.
Yes, it was the berk with the phone!
Couple of tossers at what will probably be my last ever Rutles gig. They were asked to desist politely their very loud talking from the stage and not so politely from the audience until eventually they left.
My worst was the support for R Thompson who asked the audience at the front to please stop talking as she was playing.
After coming off she met some friends and proceeded to stand in front of us talking through the start of Tommo’s set. Despite much coughing and tutting nothing happened until I walked up to them and said ‘Would you mind shutting the f… up, please’ They made their apologies and left.
My son was told recently at a gig that they’d paid their money and would talk if they wanted to.
Gissa review of the whole show, @steveT , fair’s fair
Can’t remember which David Sedaris book has a passage along these lines.
He goes to the cinema, and the bloke in front of him produces a radio, and starts listening to the baseball/basketball match, and he’s not using headphones. When asked to turn it off, he says something along the lines of “It’s a free country. I want to watch the movie and listen to the sports”.
I didn’t witness this incident myself, but two friends did. It was at a bar in Belfast, late 90s, the Henry McCullough Band, and a couple of a***holes started wobbling Henry’s mic stand, the mic hitting him in the face. Henry takes off his guitar, steps off the stage and lands several punches on the chief culprit – nifty boxin g moves, I’m told – who is then escorted from the premises. Henry gets back on stage and continues from where he’d left off. One friend, reviewing the show, reckoned Henry did the right thing, another, in Henry’s band, reckoned he went too far. I’m pretty sure it was the same two guys who were causing similar scenes at various other bar gigs around town (which I was at) at this time – which always ended up with them being thrown out. I think I’m on Henry’s side…
On one of Ross Noble’s tours a few years ago, we were sat behind a couple who talked briefly to each other when they were first seated, and then retired to their respective phones. They texted, social media-ed away, showing their phones to each other. There was a brief pause when Ross arrived, and then they went back to their phones where they stayed for most of the gig. I really didn’t see the point of them being there.
On the other hand, the two young ladies knitting at – I forget who – was really funny. They sat down, pulled out their knitting and clicked away until the start. The knitting came out at the break, and off they went again.
You’re not going to believe this story, but it’s true, so there.
One night last year we were out to dinner with some friends and this guy I didn’t know. The subject of talking at gigs came up, and he started telling this story about how he’d been at a Crowded House gig and the people in front of him had made so much noise that he’d written a review of them rather than the band.
I opened my mouth to say something as he started quoting ‘Some Fuckwits and Crowded House,’ but my wife kicked me under the table, so I stayed silent. He still doesn’t know he was telling his story to the person who wrote it.
What’s his blog name?
That’s amazing. I’m sure we have all used the odd one liner or gag as if it was our own, but to pass yourself off as the author of a whole review?
Ah well that’s another story. Years ago I was in a play with a girl who very proudly told me her new boyfriend, Stuart, wrote for Q Magazine using the pen-name Stuart Maconie. Maconie wasn’t well known then, but as an NME reader I had a feeling this couldn’t be right. Sure enough Stuart eventually turned up at a show and it wasn’t him. He was from Brighton, for a start. I didn’t say anything, but he knew I knew.
He’d picked what he thought was an obscure journalist and used it as a pick-up line, and it was hardly his fault that the pick-up developed into a relationship, and the person he was impersonating would be all over the TV a few years later. The lie was good enough to get the girl, but not sustainable. I still wonder how long he got any with it and what happened when she found out.
You never know who you’re talking to or who’s listening:
I was on a job with a large crew and the topic at the lunch table turned to who various people worked for. A company was mentioned and someone no one knew said, “ I used to help out in their warehouse in the early days. One of their vans came back off a long roadshow and the techs had bought stick on letters and added the legend JUST BECAUSE WE’RE CRAP DOESN’T MEAN WE’RE CHEAP under the company name on both sides of the van.”
Further down the table, Danny glanced up and said, “I did that.” (He had)
Another guy I knew was blacklisted because he was overheard slagging off the standard of a company’s equipment. A little unfair as he was in Germany working for someone else at the time and the conversation was overheard and relayed back by someone he didn’t know, who was sitting at an adjacent restaurant table and was there on a totally different event for yet another company.
How low does your self esteem have to be that you consider a reviewer from Q Magazine a catch?
Remarkable! Maybe a similar offshoot category is people who pretend to know you in conversation with others. A recording studio owner once asked me did I know a certain person (I forget his name) who had come to his premises for reasons unclear but talked for ages, seemingly working up to selling him something, or some kind of blaggery. Among various names this person was using to bolster his fictitious credentials was mine. I find it completely baffling that *anyone* would think that using a bogus association with me would open any door whatsoever!
It’s fair to say that that was one of the very best threads to have ever graced these cyber-pages. He obviously felt confident that no one in the group will have heard of it. Were you tempted to say “that sounds exactly like something someone would write on the Afterword!”. Knowing wink optional.
I believe it. I was at the Blockheads gig at the Lexington sponsored by the Word crew a few years back. I mentioned to my wife that the support band “were like The Pogues with better teeth,” cos I’m witty and that. Imagine my surprise when I saw this very comment on the review thread the next day. (Old site, I was still just a lurker)
Gig going has changed loads in recent years. You’d always get people talking, but it seems to be increasing now and I put it down to the amount of people attending shows by people they care little about, just cos it’s the latest trendy show to attend. When Kate Bush announced her shows a few years ago a couple of mates of mine got tickets, despite not owning anything she’d ever released and only knowing a couple of her songs. But there was a clamour for tickets, so they joined the clamour,
Just as bad as talking now though are the mobile phones and even iPads. Sometimes you can’t see the stage through them. I went to watch Gary Numan at Sheffield University and it’s a rubbish venue anyway, but I had to stand near the back, as I was on my own and my balance was particularly poor that day. There were a few blokes in front of me who spent the show texting and only came to life during Cars and Are “Friends” Electric? where they promptly stopped texting and filmed it on their phones.
I’ve been wondering for years how I might get a mobile phone jammer into the country. It’s relatively easy to find them for sale online, but the vendors won’t accept purchases from the UK because they are illegal here. I imagine buying one whilst overseas in a suitable location and also buying a large enough random object to conceal the jammer within, which I would then ship back to myself in the UK. Freshly charged and in an inside pocket, the gizmo would then be switched on as I took my seat, and run throughout the evening’s performance. Morons might still video the event at which they were actually present in real time in the real world, but at least they wouldn’t be able to text, call, Whatsapp, stream etc. Fantabidoozy.
An excellent plan!
Have thought the same, but should somebody have a heart attack or something and you blocked an emergency call you would be in trouble. What would be better would be disabling of certain apps like Facebook, Instagram, Twitter etc, and blocking all texts and calls apart from emergency ones.
Some acts e.g. Jack White make you put your phone in a special bag meaning it can’t be used. It can only be unlocked at certain places near the entrance. After the show you are sent photos from that particular show to post on social media if you want.
At the Esplanade (Arts venue with concert halls, theatres etc) here in Singapore, you cannot get a phone signal in any of the halls and so I think they must have phone jammers installed.
It wouldn’t be difficult* to construct a faraday cage around the performance space in a new-build venue and block incoming and outgoing signals.
https://www.sciencealert.com/a-talented-bar-owner-in-the-uk-has-built-a-faraday-cage-to-stop-customers-using-their-phones
*But it would add considerably to construction costs if you were to use copper mesh everywhere.
In my day job, I often have to go to a field on the fens to do EMC emissions testing. The OATS (Outside Area Test Site) has a perspex shed where the (unintentional) noise source goes and an aerial 10m away points at it. The monitoring goes on in a garden shed behind the aerial. Inside the garden shed is a Faraday cage constructed out of chicken wire.
In summary: copper mesh and silver foil is a bit OTT.
Not every engineering job is this glamourous, kids.
@fentonsteve
Ah, the majestic fens, the huge sky’s and wide horizons.
Whenever I head for the Motherland from the frozen wastes of the North on the A17/47, my wife , who is from N Wales , describes the scenery as “soul destroying.” Cuh!
I can see where she’s coming from. On a grey day, the clouds seem to come down right on top of you.
As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, Mrs F is from the Cairngorms and, in the years BC, my other hobbies were skiiing, mountain biking and hill walking. None of which are options in South Cambs.
There is, of course, the Fendland Mountain Rescue at Pidley.
A few places that I’ve worked at in years gone by had faraday caged areas.
An underground fallout shelter at the Northwood NATO naval base which goes down at least 5 floors underground (we were only allowed in the topmost level) had blast doors about 2ft thick and was sheilded to mitigate EMP effects in the event of a nuclear strike and all data connections in and out were via fibre optic links.
Also a huge financial services data centre at Park Royal and a smaller one nearby for a commercial ISP. In those, sheets of steel mesh were behind the plasterboard in stud walls and tacked to masonry walls behind plasterboard in the shielded areas.
Yeah, you can do it quite easily if you think of it *before* you start building.
I have a theory that these fuckwits are the same people who throw litter everywhere.
I followed a guy as he pulled out of a motorway service station the week before xmas Bearing in mind he had just been parked in an area with bins I watched in horror as he threw a coke cup and then a full McDonalds bag out of the window before he entered the motorway. The mobile phone jammer is not a bad idea but I would prefer a flame thrower.
If you have a dash cam then you could send footage that the council or police.
I have a dash cam. I have a big collection of fuckwit driving behaviours. I forward it to the relevant people whenever it seems righteous to do so. But Plod cares not a jot, sadly.
I’ve heard that. I have a dashcam but it’s such crap quality you can barely see the car never mind the number plate so I’ve given up with it.
The only time I was about to upload the footage to the plod site set up for the purpose I discovered that the requirement was 5 minutes of footage either side of the incident, as it was less than a minute after setting off my film of someone reading a newspaper while driving down the street was useless!
‘Reading a newspaper while driving’
You were lucky I once drove past someone in Manchester doing the crossword in the paper whilst driving.
Last year, our B&M* shop was selling compartmented trays which clipped around the rim of the steering wheel, across the top of the ‘boss’, and designed to eat your picnic from. I’m sure someone must have used it whilst on the move.
I’ve just had one of those random memories; parents used to have some pale green bakelite trays, which clipped into the window aperture, when you wound them down. Legs folded down to support them against the door trim.
Hillman Minx? DYJ 126? Red pleblon upholstery which got hotter than a molten lava? Small boy’s thighs stuck to the seat? Ow, Mummy! Possibly, don’t quote me on that.
* pronounced BUM. Because it *squints* almost looks like BUM. Tee-hee.
My parents didn’t have a car as my dad worked for British Rail. One of my earliest memories is a polystyrene cup of tea tipping off the fold-down seat-back table onto my skinny legs, as the train lurched over a jumpy set of points.
Luckily it was BR tea, so only slightly above body temperature, and no harm done. Soaked up by the triangular (stale white bread/processed cheese slice) sandwich.
I have seen someone driving with an Ordnance Survey map folded across the top of the steering wheel – analogue satnav. Apart from anything else, its no way to treat an OS map.
When I win the lottery, I shall buy two copies of every OS 1:25000 Explorer map that’s printed on both sides, so I don’t have to flip them over and reverse all the folds.
Never mind a flame thrower….
@stevet
You and me both. Bloomin’ hate litter and litterers. Absolutely no excuse.
I was at an industry awards night last year and a singer appeared on stage for half an hour doing a set with a full band and dancers doing Sinatra-type rat pack era swing numbers. Not my cup of tea really, but his voice was strong and very impressive.
Right by the stage were a table of refreshed people talking away. When the music started, they just talked louder so that they could hear each other’s bantz. A difficult one this because it wasn’t a gig as such – but there was someone performing and apart from the odd glance towards them from the singer, they carried on – seemingly unaware that everyone on neighbouring tables had moved away.
Man, those Industry Awards Dinners. I know even at the likes of the Lancashire Piemakers Regional Salesperson of the Year bash the pay is good but, good god, fancy doing your act in front of two hundred punters who are only interested in necking down as much booze and food as possible before asking Mavis from Personnel if she fancies coming back to check out your minibar….
I think Ricky Gervais said that that hosting job for the Golden Globes is quite difficult because although the TV sound is quite clear – when you are there, the chatter from the pissed-up audience is quite loud. So when he says something rude about someone, it’s likely that the person involved didn’t hear it or was in a conversation with someone else.
I’ve seen the reverse problem where guests are overwhelmed by the band. I’ve think I’ve mentioned this before but I used to attend an annual insurance company bash that would have a music act on straight after a fairly boozy lunch. One year it was Quo who dialled in 4 numbers at around 2/3 of their usual volume. It put a swift end to those telling war stories over their 3rd bottle of pinot grigio with many leaving the room fingers in ears in an advanced state of high dudgeon.
Most of my recent gigs have been loud enough to drown out audience din – and on occasion the earplugs come out as I wanna preserve what’s left of my hearing. I’m glad I don’t go to many acoustic, quiet shows. Bottom line is, where possible I move away from fuckwits – challenging them tends not to go well – it always spoils the night for you more than it does them.
Now – people watching TV on their phones without headphones on trains and buses- that seems to becoming a norm thanks to parents ‘soothing’ their bored kids by letting them look at some godawful noisy whiny shit at full volume on their phone/tablet without headphones – it’s bad enough now but a generation are growing up believing that a public space is *their* space to make as much noise as they like and fuck everyone else.
That`s the thing with confronting these idiots, they may stop their inane gabbing or move but having to confront them spoils things for yourself.
But then having to put up with them can spoil things too. Particularly at seated events where you can’t move away. Need to weigh your options then and go for the least bad.
The twice-monthly pub jazz gigs I go to and other music events in the place can sometimes be spoiled by loud people who aren’t there for the music. The band rely on getting money from the punters and if you pay in advance it guarantees you a seat near (-ish, depending on how early you book) the front and also gives you a discount on your food, if you order any. There is a collection in the interval from those who haven’t paid ahead but if people don’t want to pay they can’t be made to.
Sometimes there are customers who have just come for a meal and drinks and didn’t realise there was live music. One week there was a group of 4 Chinese guys yakking away at a table behind where I was sat. They were getting louder and louder, probably having a great crack and obviously not there for the music. I was getting ready to have a word and the guy from the table in front of mine beat me to it, politely suggesting they might like to move to the back of the room, where their conversation would be less of an annoyance to people who’d paid to hear the music. They shut up then, but left the pub pretty soon after.
I agree having to put up with them can spoil things also. As I stated further up this thread I am prepared to confront these idiots and have done many times.
A new departure at the last jazz gig there, on the 5th, was little printed notices on the unreserved tables towards the back of the room. “While the musicians are performing, could you please keep the volume of your conversation to a reasonable level. Thank you”.
Mrs H doesn’t bother with mobile phones (nor do I), but she has managed to get through a fair number of novels and puzzle books at various shows I’ve dragged her along to. She managed several chapters of something or other at a Caravan show in The Stables once.
‘Several chapters of something or other’ at a Caravan show probably just covered the opening number.
You might be right there… At a Wishbone Ash show at the Stables, I’d had a discussion beforehand with Mrs H about ‘classic rock’ and ‘progressive rock’ and the question of what it was that WA played. Answer: mostly classic, a bit of progressive. A few minutes into the 10-minute ‘The Pilgrim’, an instrumental in 9/8, Mrs H leaned over and said ‘This is progressive rock, isn’t it?’ A while later, as another song broke down into a call/response with the audience (‘Let me hear you say ‘Yeeeeeeeeeeeahhh!’) Mrs H leaned over again and asked, ‘Is this pantomime rock?’ 😀
`ave an ↑ or ten ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑
Hope you responded with “Oh no it isn’t”
(Come on, somebody had to say it!)
I think I said ‘yes’ 😀
Took my girlfriend to see “Witness For The Prosecution” in London County Hall recently (much recommended btw). You have to sit in narrow benches towards the upper (ie. affordable) galleries. About 10 minutes after the play began, a family of rather large lads n lasses noisily appeared, angrily berating each other for getting the times wrong, getting lost, who had the tickets etc, hissing and grumbling at each other. After they had made everyone get up, move around, move bags, coats etc without a word of thanks or apology, they settled down to get into some serious feasting. Tins of crisps, Maltesers, wine gums and those little ice cream tubs all appeared and we had a chorus of slurping, crunching and the occasional hiss of one annoyed family member to the other. Then the daughter of the family got out her phone and began watching some film. I really wish I had been a bit more George Costanza about it, as it was, I only managed some meaningful (ignored) tutting.
My pet peeve is ‘dancers’ at seated gigs. A bunch of pre-pensioners pushed together, we WANT the gig to be seated. A bit more leg-room would be nice sometimes, but once down, it requires some effort to get up again. So why is someone doing the middle-aged lumbering shuffle in front of me when nobody else is dancing? It’s the equivalent of seeking to enforce nudity as it is more virtuous (‘authentic’) than being clothed. My petite daughter and I had the last 25% of the O2 Steely Dan gig sabotaged by some scousers showing how much they were TRUE FANS by their dancing to the ‘hits’ section of the gig whilst the rest of us were politely tapping our toes and almost imperceptibly nodding our heads, like any decent SD gig goer would. From several rows back I threw some unshelled peanuts at the dancers to encourage them to sit down and was told to expect ‘a doing’. At a Steely Dan concert. Didn’t happen, but many foul oaths and intimidations followed on the walk out. Ah well, at least I wasn’t stabbed. My kids won’t let me bring unshelled peanuts to gigs any more.
Rock n Roll! You have to expect people will dance at gigs, especially at the end.
Don’t like people loudly singing along though (unless requested from the stage), I paid my money to hear the lead singer, not some tone deaf idiot next to me.
@dai
I love singing at gigs, the communal aspect of it.
Singalongs when encouraged are fine, bellowing every line you know tunelessly isn’t. You are there to hear the act you paid for, karaoke it isn’t.
Interesting.
I’m all in favour of dancing at gigs and most acts actively encourage it, even in ‘seated’ venues. Last year, Gladys Knight was delighted to see people on their feet at a seated Apollo in Manchester. I don’t go to many gigs, I suppose, but when I do, I go expecting to dance.
These days I sometimes go to gigs hoping I can get myself together to dance, but it just doesn’t happen any more.
I am 92 you know..
I’m fine with dancing and singing, and these days I’m fine with people filming or taking photos (unless the artist has explicitly asked not to – I’ve seen King Crimson for instance who are absolutely clear and fair about why they don’t want you to do this during the show) – at least they’re engaging with what is happening on stage in some way rather than chatting or checking their Whatsapp feed
Gigs can be stressful – particularly if you’re with someone who’s not a confirmed fan. But then again going on your own always feels a little sad – particularly if it’s a great show. The last gig I went to was with someone I worked with some years ago, who I knew to be a big fan and I didn’t otherwise know him that well. It was a good way to do it.
I go to loads of gigs on my own, normally prefer company but it isn’t sad at all.
I don’t get why it should feel sad but I’ve gone to far far more gigs on my own than with others. I would have thought it was sad to drag someone along who doesn’t want to be there or even sadder to miss it because you don’t know anyone else that wants to go. I do know what it’s like to go to a brilliant gig and not have anyone to share it with afterwards but I’ve found that’s far far more acute at a comedy gig.
Apart from the pub jazz gigs and Daylight Music at the Union Chapel, where the same regulars are always present, I almost always go to gigs on my own. Prefer it to being stuck with someone who’s not enjoying it or wants to talk or wants to get steamed.
I prefer going on my own more and more these days. I’m enjoy company but more than anything I just want to see the band play.
One close pal of mine is of the same mind (Brian). It’s not a night out razzing, it’s a gig. Quick pint to say hello and have a catch up then in, STFU and listen to the show, then home. Both of us more than happy with that. If he, or anyone else, isn’t up for it or can’t make it then its no skin off my conk. I’ll go on my own and enjoy it just as much.
I have also been to lots of gigs by myself precisely for these reasons explained above. But a regret is not being able to talk about it afterwards and that makes me feel a bit sad. The act of going along alone isn’t sad at all – should have phrased that betterer.
Comedy – totally agree. At a live show I think we need the interaction with someone we know to enjoy it fully.
I go to loads of gigs on my own – it’s not a social occasion for me and I’ll go and watch some live music as often as poss whether anyone else wants to come or not . If you’re unsure about flying solo for a gig just rest assured you are not the only one, take advantage of the fact that you can really immerse yourself in the moment, find your sweet spot in the venue and let the music take you over rather than worrying if your fellow gig-goers are into it or who’s round it is.
I find solo gig attendance really helpful; it’s much easier to make a swift departure at the end after I’ve hit some fuckwit on the head with an unshelled coconut hurled as hard as I can muster from 20 feet away.
I saw Jackson Browne in a small theatre in Paris and between every number a drunken woman was shrieking incomprehensible rubbish at him. In one gap Jackson was mid-introduction when you could clearly hear her shout “You’re Jackson Browne!”. “Thank you”, he replied, “sometimes I do wonder…”.
Large chaps in uniform guided her to the exit shortly afterwards.
I’m lucky in as much as that my preferred venue, The Birchmere is all seated and no-one gets up to dance but sit to appreciate the music.
I have, on the other hand, almost done murder at the 9.30 Club with people who stand in front of me holding a fucking iPad up to film something.I mutter “Oh, FFS (the full version)” once loudly. And then move.
My next gig is The Who at the Manchester Arena in March.
I hope Pete and Rog blow these ignorant fuckers out of the stadium.
My next gig is The Who at the Manchester Arena in March.
I hope Pete and Rog blow these ignorant fuckers out of the stadium
We heard you the first time (unlike Pete).
arf!
What’s that ringing noise?
I’ve told this story before, I’m sure.
Last time Mrs F and I saw Alison Moyet at the Cambridge Corn Exchange, the unadvertised support was Bert Jansch. Crikey, this’ll be great! Fat woman and friend directly in front of us talked constantly and shouted “Boring! Get off!” after each tune.
I took a fiver out of my pocket (it was a long time ago), tapped her on the shoulder, and said “if you don’t want to listen, please go and get yourself a drink while we do”. Cue much moaning, and making everyone in her row of seats get up, but she got off her huge backside and went to the bar.
When Alf came on, she sang along tunelessly with every word.
We haven’t been back to the Corn Exchange since. Many gigs there are £50+ a ticket, the sound isn’t great, and I’m not prepared to pay a ton and risk sitting near a f*ckwit.
I went to an Ian Dury and the Blockheads gig in Luton in the late 90s. This was a treat for locals because big name acts are few and far between in Luton. It was even more of a treat because support was Wreckless Eric who you would think would be perfect…. not for a large number of (presumably) locals who booed after each song ( even the classics). It was very uncomfortable seeing someone you’ve previously seen as a headliner treated thus.
Hi @fentonsteve your tale reminded me of the time we saw Show Of Hands in Northwich. Two women behind me decided it was time to talk loud shyte as soon as the band came on. After the first song I thought fuck it, I was only going to get more wound up if they continued. I turned round and getting out my wallet I said “Here`s £20, I paid this for my ticket but I reckon I should pay you two `cause I can only hear your inane crap.” They walked off without taking the £20 which I had no intension of giving to them.
I saw Show of Hands play an excellent gig at Union Chapel late last year. I’m of the opinion that if you can’t get in the front few rows there these next best seats are in the steeply banked central section upstairs, and as the queue stretched into the next street when we got there that is where we sat.
Early in the set the fairly elderly gent in front of me had his phone out, which may not have been a problem as plenty of others, including me, took photos as well. However, he spent huge amounts of time adjusting the light, shutter speed and so on with his phone held at the eye-line of the seats behind. I wasn’t too fussed, but still watched in mute admiration as a small piece of scrunched up paper sailed over my left shoulder in a perfect parabola and bounced of his bald head to signal the dissatisfaction of some other attendees.
This one just came back to me. Birmingham Symphony Hall is not known for fuckwittery but there has been one exception in all the times I have been there. A couple of years back my wife and I went to see Billy Bragg on his Tooth and Nail tour. We took our seats before the gig started and sat next to a lady on her own – her friends were in a different part of the auditorium. The reason for this was about to become apparent. We chatted to her and she was quite friendly although clearly mad as a box of frogs and obviously refreshed.
As soon as Billy came on stage she stood up and started whooping and hollering. Billy Bragg concerts are not normally renowned for this sort of behaviour. When the music started she was cheering mid song, singing the wrong words and tapping her stilettos on the wooden flooring out of time with the music. After a number and a half of this I told me wife that if she didn’t desist I was going to say something. My wife doesn’t like confrontation and implored me not to say anything.
Thankfully another couple did. She was moved to the stalls directly below us where she continued her own assault on the senses. Before the end of the gig she was moved yet again, this time to the other side of the stalls where she continued to be a pain in the ass.
Are these people totally oblivious that their oafish behaviour is annoying those around them?
There are some people who just should not drink alcohol, because it turns them into arseholes. Sadly most of them are oblivious to the fact. Especially once they’ve had a few.
It took me nearly forty years to admit that truth.
I rarely get involved in these situations, but a couple of years ago Martin Stephenson played a solo gig at a pub in town. When we got there before the show Martin was chatting to a few people who showed every intention of wanting to be his new bast mates (as anyone who has met Martin will tell you, he’s a lovely bloke and very approachable). When the gig got underway those same people stood at the bar chatting and ignoring the music.
It was a tiny venue and every person there, including Martin, could hear them. He made the occasional remark between lines of the songs, but they were being ignored or unheard so I had a quiet word. No more severe than, ‘Guys, if you want to talk can you take it to the other bar please?’ Even this was unusually confrontational for me, so I was relieved when the one I was most wary of, about ten years older than me but with shoulders twice as wide and a boxer’s nose, looked thoroughly bashful and muttered, ‘Oh, sorry mate’ into his beer.
I don’t and won’t tolerate shits spoiling my pleasure and will happily say so, hoping a short, old beardy with a glare will be sufficient. As, usually, a solo flyer, I have no one to impress or avoid embarrassment to. So far, so good. But I regularly punch above my weight, with the expectation I will cause gbh toward me. But I will still have been right!
The Green Note in Camden holds maybe 70 people – and it’s easily one of the nicest gig venues I’ve ever been to. Attentive and respectful audiences as befitting a place where even at the bar you are probably no more than 30ft from the performers.
Romeo & Michele of The Magic Numbers hold regular monthly nights (tours permitting) with no pre announcement of line up. It is often whoever they know is in town, passing through on tours or just local. It attracts a regular crowd – we’ll have no trouble here
One Sunday in Octobet it was a fairly busy one but there are always a few tickets on the door. About half an hour before showtime this group of 20-somethings came in with a clearly older man who just by his walk you could see was on the string sauce
They settled down a little way behind me and I could hear that passive aggressive drunk act start up after a while from the old fella – the ‘see it’s ok to talk to me’ at perfect strangers plus ‘who we here to see then?’ ‘ we gonna have some music’ in an accent that can only be described as ‘Guy Ritche cunt’
The shows are usually folkie acoustic vibe and he was mostly quiet but the 2nd performer, Louis Brennan, a tall Irish gent n teller of tall tales started a song with rhetorical questions which this chap started to answer.
The gig ground to a halt and Michele had a word but he was of the ‘I ain’t done nuffing’ mindset. He looked like he was gonna throw his pint at her. Then Romeo stepped up – a man not known to speak above a soft laconic whisper – and said ‘Mate, I am not playing a note until you leave’.
The fella was still all innocence, ‘let’s have some music, I am going nowhere, I paid me money’ and then from nowhere ‘Shall we talk about Brexit then?’ which drew laughter from everyone in the place. His younger companions got up, apologising to Louis onstage on their way out but this old fella wasnt nudging until half the male population of the venue was preparing to carry him out.
Shuffling towards the door with all the good grace of a drugged horse, his parting shot was ‘hope you all have a good night you liberal school teacher cunts!’ which led to more hooting and laughter.
Apparently after a minute or so on the pavement outside threatening the doorman and asked for the police to be called the night air sobered him up and he realised what a prat had been. It was a day of big sportsball matches so I can only assume he had been drinking since before lunch.
The great thing was that it in no way ruined the gig – Louis on stage was energised by it all (he’d been singing a song called ‘Look the chicken in the eye’ when it all kicked off) and the night rolled on. Many of the performers had attended a writing retreat in France together so we got taste of the end of the day communal jams n sing-a-long.
The night ended with about a dozen people on a stage only for for a third of that capacity with two keyboardists and a percussionist off to the side performing an anthemic joyous version of Guh Clark’s LA Freeway (which leads to another story for another time) that bought tears to the eye.
In normal circumstances I find a good ‘shut the fuck up’ and a Paddington Bear stare does the job faster than a polite request does. Nip it in the bud.
Ooh! I didn’t know there were Heartworn Highways vids up. I was at both gigs, and the first was where I saw the brilliant Louis Brennan, my music discovery of the year (I saw him during the interval at the second and was glad to be able to tell him so).
I’ve said this before, but they are ALWAYS sat near me. I look along the row and think..’why aren’t I sat there where it is all nice and quiet?’.
Robert Plant gig in December….front row, dead centre…from behind me, yak, yak, yak….I had enough, and turned round to politely ask them to keep it down….realised it was a musician friend of mine. He really should have known better.
Great story from DFB and love the ‘Guy Ritchie cunt’ comment. I might steal that.
I was at an Eels gig in Manchester 2 years ago when the Wotld Cup was on. A standing gig I got there early enough to have a good view of the stage As the gig started three idiots came and stood in front of me Loud mouthed drunken idiots. I probably took my life into my own hands but I put my hand on the shoulder of one of them and gently moved him out of my line of vision The Alpha Male of the group, a drunken Aussie oaf turned round to me and said ‘there is a polite way of doing that and an impolite way’ ‘Which way did I deal with it?’ I asked
‘I will let you decide’
Fortunately that was the end of the discussion.
“impolite” – pretty articulate for a drunken Aussie oaf
Heaven 17 were supporting Squeeze last autumn at the Brighton Centre, and gave a storming account of themselves, a kind of ‘go on, follow that!’ to the headliners. Sat next to me, though, was a bloke who was doing some sort of social media nonsense throughout their first two songs. This was annoying enough, but critical mass was reached when I glimpsed one of his messages. ‘Jesus Christ, this is the gayest town in Britain’. I was going to have a word anyway, but this apparent homophobia took the biscuit. ‘Come on, mate, maybe turn that off?’ I said. And in the campest voice imaginable he says ‘Of course! Aren’t they fucking fab!’
This isn’t typical of me at all but yesterday we found ourselves at a botanical gardens because they had a large “corpse flower” that opens up every 5 or so years and releases a nasty niff.
There were a bit of a crowd there and we joined a queue as we approached it. After a few minutes the penny dropped as to why the queue wasn’t moving. A Spanish-speaking group had phones out and were sharing the experience in real time via FaceTime or Skype with people they know back home. So not just photos but whole excitable lengthy conversations as if they were daytime TV reporters. After a minute or two of this, I decided that simply walking through them was OK and they carried on with what they were doing, oblivious to queue etiquette.
The bizarre thing was that they were comically holding their noses and making ewww noises but the smell had actually gone. We had all missed that part of the experience by a couple of days. There was no smell at all but the group was pretending there was for the folks on the phones.
I think I may have told this story elsewhere on this site, my apologies if you have read it before.
My dad got into the London premier of the film “That’s Entertainment”. During the film there is a scene where MGM shows off their stars in a banquet at the studio. Dad, being an inveterate film buff and autograph hunter starts reeling off the names of the celebs on the screen: “Clark Gable, Judy Garland, Lassie, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers…” until the person in the seat in front politely asks him to shut up.
Dad, being an expert celeb spotter, recognises the man who makes the request.
It is Rod Stewart.
He got off lightly, it seems.
I hate going to gigs. It’s the talking. If people need to talk why don’t they get a little closer to their companion, rather than bellowing? It’s the mobile phone use. The general pig-headed ignorance.
At Primal Scream, there was a muscle-bound guy dancing as though he was at a Black Flag gig — all elbows and pumping fists. This to Come Together. A guy close by asked him to settle down and he immediately went into full-on chest-out, ‘What? It’s a gig, I’m just enjoying myself’ mode. Behind us, a drunk guy yelling all the words so that we were all left in no doubt that he was the biggest Primal Scream fan in the room. It was torture.
Sorry if this seems like I’m insulting Primal Scream fans, but if I was to expect loud drunken behaviour amongst audience members anywhere, it would be at a Primal Scream gig.
Well, Primal Scream fans were the only ones ever to be asked from the stage not to piss on the plants at the Eden Sessions.
They’ve certainly come a long way since Crystal Crescent…
Spiritualized fans were asked not to smoke the plants at Eden Project
Mrs H, as I’ve said elsewhere, usually brings a book to shows we go to but we were once standing at the front row of the field at the Cropredy Festival to see/hear Wishbone Ash. Two blokes were talking next to us and Mrs H intervened robustly – she has barely any interest in rock music but if she’s dragged to the front of a field to hear some, where reading a book isn’t an option, she’s bloody well going to hear it.
I love a good robust intervention. “If youse don’t shut the fock up, ma cousin Bully wull come roun’ and rup off all four of yer baastard legs and then beatyer tay death with the bloody stumps, ya fockers.”
Is that a Northern Ireland accent?!? 😀
I suspect the over enthusiastic , clap along ,sing along, dance complaints cited here would be far more common in America.
If all audiences were like most of us trainspotting music nerds they’d probably be pretty dull.
that said, saw Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. Mrs Wells, a big fan, was singing along to EVERY song. Now she has a good voice but like, I’ve heard her do GW before, plenty of times. Dilemma. I’ve risked a beating as few times telling fuckwits to shut up but Mrs Wells ? Nope, I just leant to one side with a finger in the ear on her side.
There is a “singing along” dilemma that one can experience.
If an artist encourages “audience participation singing” on a song in their set, do we have the right to object if people sing along on other songs in their set as well?
I would say no.
Depends on artist and venue, no?
Afghan Whigs at the 930 club? Doesn’t matter.
RT at the Birchmere? Very, very bad idea.
See above. Yes we do. The whole concert is not karaoke. If I have paid $150 to hear, says Mick Jagger song I dont want him drowned out by the person next to me.
Should read “… to hear, say, Mick Jagger sing …”