Biker Bar Gig Gone BAD!
"….there was a moment of slience and then all hell broke loose." Article written by Jeffrey Lyle Back to Cover
In San Diego back in the mid ________
eighties, the band I was in had a weekly gig at a local biker club. This was a hard core, patch holder’s establishment where the clientele grew and receded with whoever happened to be in or out of jail that particular weekend. We played a lot of the usual biker type stuff, Born to Be Wild, Turn the Page with A Whole Lotta Rosie and Radar Love thrown in. It wasn’t unusual for us to get a request from a local that involved the flashing of a pistol in a waistband (in good fun, of course) or an __________
orchestrated brawl a couple times a night. We were young, skinny punks who didn’t stand a chance physically against any of these guys, but for some reason they took to us and we usually ended up with our pay and a pretty good tip of one substance or another at the end of the night.
There were two bikers in particular, "Buffalo" and "Cherokee", who always wanted to get up and jam with the band. Buffalo was a "singer" and Cherokee a "guitar player" and hey, who were we to argue? So we _____
"Biker Bars" are famous for all kinds of great Gig from Hell stories.
would play Turn The Page, and then Buffalo would walk up to the stage and "request" that we play Turn The Page again, only this time he would sing it and of course, we would more than willingly oblige. It was the same with Cherokee on Born to Be Wild. As soon as we were done with the song, there he was at the front of the stage, grabbing my guitar, and breaking into the opening riff. This would happen two or three times a night, with various other "players" taking liberties with our gear and time. It was a little frightening at first, but soon we settled in and rolled with it and became the house band for a six month stretch that would ultimately end in disaster.
On one particular evening we were midway into our second set, when this ethnic guy walks into the bar wearing regular street clothes. It wasn’t really unusual for that to happen, as the club was on a strip with a dozen or so other clubs and it was a fairly racially diverse neighborhood, but this particular gentleman was clearly in the wrong place and had no intention of of leaving. As soon as we finished _____
the song we were playing, the man approached the stage and asked to say something on the mic. I ignored him, and we broke into our next song. The man then walked over to the end of the bar by the door, sat and stared. I do not recall if he ordered anything but I was aware that as the clock ticked, the patrons were starting to take notice. After a few more songs, the man approached the stage again, this time with a napkin, which he handed to me. It read, "I have something I want to say." Again, I rebuffed his request and we broke into another song. My band-mates took notice and started to become uncomfortable. At this point a few of the bikers started to close in to get a better look at this guy and I knew if he didn’t leave, there was going to be trouble. The man must have noticed that he was attracting attention and got up and walked outside. There was a long window at the side of the stage so we could see him walk down, away from the front of the club. A few of the bikers followed him outside just to make sure he was gone. As the man disappeared into ___
the crowded street, we all looked at each other, breathed a sigh of relief and continued to play.
We took a break, mingled a bit, took whatever shots were put in front of us because you couldn’t refuse or you would get your ass kicked (or so they threatened!) and decided to get up and start the third set. As we made our way back up to play, there was a commotion at the front of the stage where a crowd had gathered. Much to my horror, this guy had snuck back in and up onto the stage and had the mic in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. We had one of those old Kustom PA heads with the "tuck & roll" cover that didn’t have a mute button on it so I knew the mic was live. My first thought was to get to the PA head to kill the power so I tried my hardest to get to the stage, but I didn’t make it before he started to read.
His statement was a hate filled diatribe of racial slurs and self righteous rhetoric. Everything stopped. It was like a movie where the jukebox is playing and something _____
"Kustom Johnny Cash Re-Issue Tuck & Roll PA Head"
happens and you can hear the record scratch and then dead silence. I am not sure what I was more astonished at, the words that were coming out of his mouth, or the fact that the bikers were letting him speak. They just stood there listening. I think they were completely shocked but either way I was determined to get to the PA, which meant trying to push my way through a crowd of not-so-happy ____
drunk bikers who took huge offense to being "pushed" by anyone, anywhere, at anytime. As the man continued with his speech, I managed to work my way around to where the PA was plugged in and yanked the cord out of the wall as fast and hard as I could. I was too late. The damage was done. As the microphone went dead, there was a moment of silence and then all hell broke loose.
From where I was standing, I could only see the man's head for a few
seconds, then a puzzled look on his face that the mic went dead…then
about three fists hitting it all at the same time. He disappeared
into the crowd and I watched as this massive wad of patch wearing hard
core bikers rolled toward the door like a denim and leather tsunami. The
place just erupted. Now you would think that with what had just taken
place, that all of their rage would be directed at this one individual
but the funny thing about these bikers is that you could watch them
shake hands and give each other these big ol’ bear-hugs one minute,
then turn around and see the same ones kicking the crap out of each
other five minutes later. All I can say is that fists were
being thrown and most were missing their intended target. It
was only a matter of time before one landed on the wrong mug and the
fight became internal.
Needless to say, the gig was over. When everything was settled down, the
street had been shut down, there were multiple arrests, the club was a disaster
and our equipment was destroyed. I had just gotten one of those walnut
finished Gibson "The SG" 's in a trade a few weeks earlier and it lay
in 2 pieces against the wall, the neck and body separated from one another, all
tangled up in the strings. The PA head was laying face down on the floor,
never to work again. The drums and mic stands were scattered everywhere. The
only one who escaped with everything intact was the bass player, which we never did
figure out.
It was a grisly end to a six month run. We never got paid for the night,
nor did we ever play there again. Ultimately, the club was shut
down because the owner was using it as a front for his meth distribution business. I
never found out what happened to that poor soul after he was dragged out of the
club, but unbelievably no deaths were reported after the incident.
Jeffrey Lyle
MEET THE WRITER - JEFFREY LYLE
Musician, philanthropist, and guitar player/lead vocalist of the Jeffrey Lyle Band. www.myspace.com/jeffreylyle.
