Me on the left. (F# Major)
This was early ’80s, in L.A. We were a five piece rock/pop group, and I played guitar. The bar was rather large, with guest/band rooms upstairs and a “special event” room behind the main bar. There’d be comedians, male & female “dancers” and such back there. This particular week the bar had female dancers in that room. We were playing our regular, routine show on a pretty dead Wednesday night. Big difference that night was most if not all the girls from that back room were sitting there watching us. Nothing better to do, I guess. I could always pull talent from that willing pool of women.
Like a lot of bars, this one also held drawings for various door prizes. This night was no different.
We’d played a couple sets, and our singer (Later left the band. Too much into nose candy) announced that anybody holding a ticket should get ready for the drawing. He’s standing there, holding the glass jar with the tickets in one hand, and his mic in the other, when the bass player, Frank nonchalantly walked behind him. Frank suddenly turned, grabbed the singer’s spandex pants and yanked them down to his knees. No undies. The singer, standing there with his junk hanging out, looked down, slowly turned, and kind of shuffled off stage, behind the mains, where he put down the glass jar and his mic, then pulled his pants back up. The girls out front were dying. Indeed, the entire room was laughing so hard even the bartender had tears in his eyes.
The singer came back on stage with his mic, and said “okay, that was different…” He looked at Frank, the bass player and told him “…I’ll kill you later…” and we proceeded to finish the set, and the rest of the night. The singer was a really funny guy (I say “was” because he’s dead now) and an incredibly good sport. Interestingly, he slept with most of those girls as a direct, or indirect, result of that “incident”. (Well done, sir!)
This one’s for you, buddy. 40 years on, and we still talk about, laugh at, and miss you.
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