Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful gig…
That started at this little club and blew up really big.
Gilligan’s was a small club on Grant Street In Buffalo NY. South of Delavan and North of Lafayette.
It was a gig like any other and once again Barry had to ‘chauffeur’ those of us who didn’t have a car and then drive to the club for set -up and sound check. That included me, (I lived on Richmond near West Ferry at the time) and Bob Lowden who was living on Potomac not too far from Elmwood Ave.
By way of background, whenever we went to pick up Bob, it was always a challenge… he usually wasn’t ready and we had to prod and hound him to pull it together and get going. But this time, we couldn’t even get him to answer the door.
We rang the doorbell; we shouted we pounded; we tried calling him from a phone booth, over and over again and nothing. We talked to him earlier and he said he would be home but why wasn’t he answering? We waited a long as we could and decided he must have gone out and would find his own way to the gig and so we left without him and headed to Gilligan’s on Grant St.
We got there and set up our gear and then grabbed a drink at the bar. We watched the clock and the door impatiently waiting for Bob to show up. The Bar manager noticed we were waiting for one of our band mates and reminded us that if we were going to get paid we had to start on time tonight.
It was Friday night and we had a decent sized crowd. The manager wanted to hear us and see what we could do before booking us for a full two-day weekend so we were hoping to make a good impression… well that went out the window when 10:30 rolled around and still no Bob! We tired to coax the bar manager to let us start a little later but he didn’t like that idea because customers were getting impatient and starting to leave.
We took on the stage around 11:00 pm and played our first song without Bob or his bass, it sounded weak and we were pissed. Then, Bob shows up. We stopped and gave him time to hook-up his bass and tune. We played the set and customers stayed and started to drink, but it was too little too late. The bar manager was not amused.
After the first set we asked Bob what the f*k happened to him and his story went like this… He had taken sleeping pills to take a nap before the show but it put him out like a dead person. He never heard us calling, ringing and banging at his door. He woke up around 10:30 and realized he was late for the gig, so he grabbed his clothes and his bass and ran out into the street.
He flagged down the first car that would stop for him along Elmwood Avenue. That poor soul, he must have thought Bob was insane… he told the driver. “Mister, you have to drive me to this gig, I’m late for a show!” I don’t know how Bob did it, but we were glad someone stopped to give him a ride to the club.
After the show, we got paid, and of course we were docked for the late start, but the bad stuff wasn’t over yet… as we headed towards the door, Bob began to exchange words with the bar manager. (Actually, the bar manager started it. He was had out for Bob) The argument escalated to the point where the bar manager hauled off and punched Bob in the face!
Well, that was it. We had a full blown bar fight on our hands and we had to break it up but needless to say, we never played Gilligan’s again. We were exiled like the castaways from the TV show. We were just glad no police were involved.
Months later, in a strange twist of fate, Gilligan’s burnt down to the ground… how and why it happened, I don’t know, but nothing stands in its spot today, just an empty lot. This was the fourth club that Parousia performed in that ended in a fiery inferno after we were screwed over by the bar owner somehow. Just coincidence I assure you… No, really… how’s that..? You have no proof! You’re engaging in speculation. This interview is over.