Somebody recently brought up the term “gigmares” on a thread I was reading. This got me to thinking about a tour I worked on many years ago where we had some tough days that lead to gigmares. So I’ve started a series of these about different parts of my touring career. I’ve been asked to share a few of them here for your amusement. Hope you enjoy some light reading and a bit of history.
Old Man Musings – Gigmares
By Nook Schoenfeld
I’ve been off the road for years, but I don’t know when the gigmares will stop. While many in the live event business suffer from gigmares, this particular term may raise an eyebrow to some. These are event related nightmares that find their way into the dark recess of your brain, waking you up to the realization that the next gig you are about to do is in peril.
Usually these are harmless dreams, such as waking on the bus in a cold sweat thinking you left all the truss bolts or tie in tails at the last venue. But there are also real life gigmares we’ve all gone through. When something truly bad happens on the day of a show and you are unsure if the show will actually go on. Sometimes it takes right up until 7:59 to make the call on whether to pull the show. Sometimes shows are done with just spotlights alone. Sometimes all the automation involved fails due to a hydraulic leak and your 3d stage will remain flat that evening.
Even after decades have passed, the memories of gigmares past still wake me. In 1986 I was the lighting crew chief and ME for Lionel Ritchie’s Outrageous Tour, where we had performers Dancing on the Ceiling. At the time we were indeed the largest show on the road. Nobody was loading eight fully packed trucks into an arena at the time; the set and lights were mammoth. Our front truss was 110’ long. At that time, having 100+ moving lights on one tour was second only to Genesis. Over the course of nine months we traversed the planet and had a lot of fun times. And some memorable bad ones.
Opening Night Gigmare
After a month of rehearsals, we load out of some LA studio and head to Phoenix for the opening performance of the tour. The crew is beat up as we are loading in and doing the show in one day, before a back to back to San Diego the next night. I’m the electrician for the tour and the lighting crew chief for Morpheus Lights and a four person light crew. We had Michael Keller, Flip Tyler, Bill Strawn and Ernie Wagner and myself out to start as the crew for Peter Morse, the lighting designer. Chris Lamb was the PM.
The show was supposed to start with this talking piano. It rose from the depths of hell under the 7’ tall center of this custom stage while singing “Hello, is it me you’re looking for?” Upon arising in a cloud of smoke and lights the piano would spin, drive downstage, and then tilt at an angle. It was a player piano which also used the voice of Lauren Bacall to converse back and forth with Lionel.
It was about 5 PM and we were ready for dress rehearsal for opening night. Underneath the stage, hidden like the Wizard of Oz by a curtain was the lead carp, Bill Ness (often described by his roadie name, ’Big Mess’). Bill had some small screen monitor and some hand controls that moved the piano. He had no actual eyesight of the stage and was dependent on the stage manager calling cues through his headset. This would prove to be a flaw in the design.
Morpheus supplied an A/B intercom. We furnished two separate intercom systems out of the dimmers, one for lights and one for carps/video. I was the only one with an A/B headset. I was listening to someone call the stage cues to Bill. “Raise piano.., stop. Rotate piano…, stop. Drive piano downstage, and tilt as you go.” The problem it seems is that Bill needed to press multiple buttons at once. At this time he’s pressing one that drives the piano on tank treads downstage, and another that tilts it up 30° or so – in order for the folks on the floor to see the piano playing the keys by itself. I listened as the calls were made. “Go further. Stop. Tilt more, no wait, just drive. No just stop. Stop. Stop. Jesus Fucking stop.”
At this point the talking grand tilted past the point of no return and jettisoned off of its mobile traveling device itself into the empty front row of the arena. The wicked sound of splintered wood silenced everyone. Chris Lamb came rushing around the corner from his office asking, ‘What was that?’ ‘Why that will be the piano coming in sir.’ I replied.
It looked like an upside down bug with three legs in the air, hydraulic fluid leaking like blood. It took a small army to hammer it back together. It came out that night and limped downstage, playing some embarrassing wrong notes. I don’t recall if Lauren even spoke that evening, but the important thing was that we pulled it off, kinda.
Carpenter Bill was an incredibly smart guy, like finish the NY Times Sunday crossword puzzle smart. Over a beverage with him later in life he noted in remorse. “During my long career I’ve done some amazing stuff. I even flew Michael Jackson out of a stadium for Chrissakes. But now I’m always gonna be remembered as the guy who drove the piano off the stage.” True dat.
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“On the count of three” the Final Show Gigmare
I have to admit that I have a soft spot for Celco consoles. I liked the way they felt, the spring in the faders, the ease of programming, the cue card memory saving device. But on the downside, they broke. Peter Morse was the first person I think, to ask Norm and Peter over at their Long Island shop if they could sync a 90 and 60 channel console together. With some wiring modifications they made it work, so in essence Peter had a 60 channel slave console to go with the brains on the big one. I would work on these consoles for the next 9 months to keep them running. Once headed to Hawaii for the final shows I sent those desks back home, glad to never see those particular models again.
It’s the end of the tour, been around the world. Lots of just chillaxing in paradise for a few days. At this week of my career I start what is now a 35-Year relationship with one of my favorite lighting company owners, Bob Harmon of Eggshell Lighting. I had a runner take me out to Bob’s shop where Morpheus Lights had shipped a moving light package to hang on his truss. I was to make sure all the interfacing with Eggshell gear worked. Bob has two Sea containers in the driveway outside his residence. I would soon find out that these were his “shop” at the time. Systems were prepped on the driveway.
Now Bob had one particular thing he was really proud of back in 1987: the only set of Celco consoles anywhere on the islands. A 90 and a 30. We were going to use his desks for our final few shows. We load in and everything goes seemingly fine, though it’s a long day by the time we have the old set and lights working, focused, and ready for doors to open. The LD Peter Morse comes up to me, ‘Hey uh Nookie, the Celco keeps flashing. Like it’s going on and off.”
I had seen this problem before and it was usually just a loose connection. So Harmon and I removed the back plate, unplugged connections, sprayed Blue Shower wherever necessary and reconnected everything. Plugged it back in, same issue. Except now it would come on, only to die three seconds later. I call Celco, mind you it’s now 2 AM in New York. They give me a few suggestions of things to tighten up, but basically I’m on my own. Something is loose. I look over and see the sweat on Bob’s brow as I tighten all the screws on the buss bar for the third time. I hammer on the power supply with a love tap. I screwed the back of the desk back together and fired it up.
Nada. Zilch. Game over, Your worst frickin’ gigmare. Not a single LED comes on. By now I’ve got Chris Lamb on headset with the band side stage. Artist standing in the wings. Harmon and I instinctly knew that we only have one chance. We’d have to go for…., ‘the drop’.
I looked Bob straight in the eye as we set our legs apart, positioning ourselves at opposite ends of this six foot long wooden beast. We lift the console a few inches off the table and I give Bob the eye. That’s not high enough. We raise it a full foot off the table. “On the count of three.” I recall saying. On three we both let loose and she loudly crashes down on the table. With full amazement all the lights came on and it was functional. I looked at Bob, he looked at me. I counted to five to see if it would die again, but she stayed alive. I gave Morse the thumbs up and yelled into the headset, “House Lights Go.”
