Billy here with one of the many embarrassing story from my teenage years. So grab a blanky, make yourself comfortable and pour yourself a lovely tepid glass of second hand embarrassment.
The year was 2007 so I would have been about 14, yes I am old fuck you. My high-school rock band ‘Lost Noise’ had been asked back to play a second show at a local youth club in Sheffield.
Now, the previous time we’d played we’d gone down really well and now we were back to serve up another plate of good.
So the big night finally came. We pulled up in my mums Toyota Previa and clambered out smelling like a cocktail of hair gel, lynx deodorant and somehow still very strongly of B.O.
I loaded in my Squire Show Master guitar and my shitty Line 6 amp and we set up for the gig.
The clocked turned 7 and the room flooded with hyperactive teenagers. My palms were sweaty, my knees weak, arms were heavy but I remained ready until finally it was time to take the stage. One of the probably criminally underpaid organiser’s announced that Lost Noise were ready to rock to the voice cracking cheer of the crowd. We charged onto the stage our spirits high and our guitar straps irresponsibly low.
I prepared to play the intro to Green Days American Idiot but as the announcer was leaving the stage he accidentally stepped on my guitar lead which instantly ripped out the jack socket and wiring from the cheap body of my shitty guitar littering the stage floor with screws and poorly soldered wires like the falling pieces of broken dreams.
So I did what most teenagers would do in that situation. I fucking panicked. I stood on the stage pathetically cradling my baby in my arms trying to seem like I wasnt about to start crying. My bandmates clumsily tried to fix the broken guitar but their efforts were in vain.
By this time the crowd of teenagers were getting restless. Some started booing and throwing insults but many had already left for the arcade area which was literally in a different room. In the end our lead singer leant me his somehow even shittier guitar and we finally began our set.
We played for 40 excruciating minutes to my sister, my girlfriend at the time and 2 friends I’d invited that I hadn’t seen since primary school to show how cool and well adjusted I’d become to an otherwise empty room. Through the crack in the door we could see kids having fun in the arcade. The set finally ended and as we were coming of the stage the guy who broke my guitar added one final nail in the coffin with “bit of a step down from last time lads wasn’t it”
Our band logo at the time.
What This Experience Taught Me About Failure
Many people have said to me “theres no such thing as a bad gig” to which I say bitch, yes there is have you not been listening.
However there is some truth in this. Guitars cut out. Drum skins break. Shit happens. But it’s how you deal with it in the moment. Throw your guitar down and just go with it. Flip your snare drum and keep going. Unhappen the shit. It’s what you make of it. But don’t just stand there like a fucking idiot. As mildly traumatising as this experience was at the time I’m so glad it didn’t flat out make me give up on live music there and then as I’ve gone on to play amazing gigs that will stay with me forever. There are such things as bad gigs, but they just make you appreciate those good ones even more.
Also fuck you guy who broke my guitar you owe me a squire show master.