My story is actually a two-parter. I apologize in advance for the length.
My actual first live show was when I was seven or eight years old. My parents dragged me to see my uncle. Sort of. He was playing in what they described as 'some awful s**t-kicker band' in a rough, dive bar in Ft. Worth Texas. My parents intended to stop in just long enough to get some money said uncle had borrowed and promised to pay back that night. We stood at a side door of the place for maybe fifteen minutes. I stuck my head in the door and could see the side of the low stage, the steel guitar, and a couple of small combo amps that I later learned were Fenders. In the time we were there, we saw one bloody fight, several police cars responding to the call from the bar's owner, a shoving match in the parking lot, and finally left without ever having seen my uncle and/or getting the cash. To my knowledge he never did pay it back. Big surprise.
My first REAL gig of my own choosing was Willie Nelson, also in Texas. Eight thousand seat arena. I was twelve years old and my mom agreed to let me go 'alone' IF I took Bobby, my nerdy friend from school, with me 'for protection'. Yay. She bought the tickets ($6 bucks each - I still have my stub), took us and dropped us off out front, and said she'd be waiting for us when it was over.
All general admission show, and even back then I somehow just knew that the place for me was at the front of the stage. But, Bobby was a wuss, and he refused to go on the floor because he was afraid of the rowdy crowd. He also said if I went down there by myself he'd fink me out to my mom, so like an idiot I caved. We sat at the far end of the floor in this long oval hockey arena. It was in the front row of the raised, fixed seats. A clear view, but still; it m-a-y have been Willie up there, but until he opened his mouth, who could tell? They almost looked like ants on the stage from that distance. I was not happy.
Some totally unknown band opened. They were a last minute addition, and I never knew their name. I've forever thought of them as "Joe's Armpit". They stumbled out to start the show, plugged in, said howdy, hit their first chord, and nothing from the guitar... After the crowd quieted down (a little), they tried again. Still nothing. They scrambled around, checked and traded cords, plugged and unplugged, tried everything they could think of, and still no guitar. The longer it went, the louder and rowdier - and more vulgar - the crowd got. I had heard that kind of language before, but it blew Bobby's sheltered mind! His eyes looked like saucers, and he was seriously scared. He kept saying 'Maybe we should leave. We can call your mom to come get us.' I flat refused to do that. I kept trying to reassure him that it would all be okay, but he wasn't convinced.
Finally, after what seemed like twenty minutes (but probably wasn't really more than seventeen or eighteen), some guy wandered out from stage left, walked up to the guitar player's amp, looked at it a minute, then reached down and flicked a switch. BINGO!
The freakin' thing had been on STANDBY the whole time!!! Even those in the crowd who had no musical knowledge whatsoever could tell that some sort of stupidity of major proportions had just been rectified, and they failed to see the humor in the situation. Beer cups flew, gimme caps flew, trash flew, cowboy hats flew, expletives flew... this crowd was drunk, high, mad, and they had waited long enough to see Willie!
Joe's Armpit didn't stand a chance. They did maybe twenty minutes, said a super-quick goodbye, and ran off the stage. Hopefully, they got in their van, or station wagon, or whatever they had, and disappeared, because they were in danger whether they realized it or not.
All of the excitement had put the fear into Bobby, so he left me sitting there and said he was going to get a Coke. Good riddance. Soon, Willie and his band came onto the stage. A few friendly waves from the band, a higher level of rowdiness from the crowd, then those opening chords, and BOOM! The gigantic Texas flag backdrop unfurled, and they blasted off into "Whisky River"! I was in heaven! That moment hooked me for life, and I've never forgotten it. I've also never gotten over it, and I don't want to. It may sound silly to those who don't get it, but in that moment my entire life fell into place. From then on, it was music above all else for me. That energy, that excitement, that... truth. Music in general, and guitars in particular - they are the reason(s) I was born.
It was a great show (I guess). In my little area some amazing things happened. For one, I was offered my first 'custom made'. I passed it on to the next guy without trying it. I was also offered my first taste of beer. I accepted that and I liked it. But the most exciting thing that happened to me and my twelve year old hormones was that an older woman ended up taking the seat by me that Bobby had vacated. She was something else! Looking back now, I guess she could best be diplomatically described as having a few miles on her. She had to have been in her late forties. She had bleached blonde hair, chipped red fingernail polish, a huge purse that looked like she had all of her worldly goods in it, ragged Levis, and a tight purple plaid western shirt. That sucker was tight too. The snaps or buttons or whatever it had were working overtime! She looked like a somewhat lower rent version of Dolly Parton. She climbed over the back of the empty seat, plopped down in it, leaned up against me and yelled in my ear 'Mind if I sit here, Honey?!?' I must have turned ten shades of red. I couldn't answer her; I couldn't find any words. Some guy sitting behind me leaned toward us and said 'H*ll no, he don't mind!' He was right. She gave me a huge grin, threw her arm around me and hugged me, pushed DR (Dolly Right) into my arm, and offered me her cup of beer. I took it. I had no choice; I needed
something to get my tongue working again! She stayed there for the rest of the show, except when she left to get two more beers; one for each of us.
When the show was over and we all stood up to leave, she gave me another big hug and a smile. She kissed me on the cheek, said 'See ya next time, Honey!' and walked away. I never saw her again, and I don't remember her name, but I'll never forget her. Willie was okay, but she's the one who made my night really special.
As for Bobby, I never saw him again until the show was over. I stopped by the souvenir table to get a pin, a program (remember those?), and a bandana. When I walked out of the front doors, there he was sitting in the car talking to my mom. He said he'd only been there a couple of minutes, but she told me later on that he had been sitting out on the steps when she pulled up to get us. My mom saw the lipstick on my cheek, smelled the beer on my breath, and smelled the 'smoke' on the rest of me, and she was not pleased. It took a long time and a lot of talking before I was allowed to go to another concert. The next one was Savoy Brown, or The Doobies, or KISS, or somebody...
I'm a Texan, and I'm proud that my first gig was Willie Nelson. The fact that we were barely in the same zip code that night is beside the point!
Thanks for reading my long-winded memories.
Goldtop