Back in the day (early 80's) there was a club in San Diego called The Box Office. This was a strip club that decided that they wanted to branch out into rock and roll. My band was called "Nasty Habits" during these days, taken from the first line of the Rolling Stones song, "Live With Me" which used to open all our shows. The club actually had decent sound, and we did some recordings that turned out pretty good. Here's a Hendrix tune from 1981:
Anyway, it was odd loading in as the strippers were still on stage doing their thing while we carried equipment in. One fateful night a woman named Annie Ample caught our show. She was a somewhat sketchy model from High Society magazine (which was anything but). She had decided to branch out into rock and roll, and what better band than Nasty Habits to back her rise to stardom. She approached our bass player (I was a guitar hero those days), and negotiations began. I really didn't like the idea, but there was the promise of media exposure, etc. I remember before we ever did a rehearsal we did a photo shoot at the beach. She was dressed scantily and dragging a rapidly deflating blow up doll through the surf. Classy, eh?
She showed up for her first "rehearsal" and it was a nightmare. She had a tambourine but could not count to one to save her life. She had no natural rhythm and no sense of pitch. I was not a happy camper. But Rich, our bass player, said to stay the course and we'll use this to launch our band. So we book our first gig at The Box Office. We set up, and there is a photographer with umbrella lights setup on stage. Like most clubs, stage space is at a premium, so I wasn't a happy camper (hmm, a trend perhaps?). I was assured that he'd only be there for the first set. Begrudgingly I started the night as Annie Ample and her Nasty Habits.
In a word - horrific. Her lack of rhythm was exacerbated by nerves. So like any good stripper, she reverted to what she did best...grinding up and down against the mic stand, deep throating the microphone...class act. All this time the photographer on stage getting in my way, stepping on my effect pedals, and generally pissing me off. We finally ended the set and I slunk off-stage, looking for a dark corner. She started working the room, with most people recoiling in fear except for the drunk ones that stared at her "million dollar tits." I went up to the photographer and told him to clear out, and he said he would. But he didn't.
Time for the 2nd set, and the photographer was still set up. We played the first song and he kept shooting pictures (of what I have no idea because I had gone to the little private place in my head. When the song ended, I told him he had to clear off stage. He blew me off. I said by the end of the next song or else. So we launched in to the 2nd song and he kept shooting pictures. We finished the song, I switched off my amp, unplug my guitar, and walked off stage. The lovely Annie started screaming at me. I calmly said, "I told your photographer to get off stage. He didn't. I'm done until he does." She starts hurling invectives at me, talking about how she'll sue me. I laugh, and say, "we don't have a contract." The scene continues for about 5 minutes while the photographer tears down and she continues to throw a tantrum. Meanwhile I'm sitting at the back of the club just trying not to kill her. Eventually both she and the photographer leave. I walk back up on stage, plug in, and we finish the night. Much happier.
The next day our bass player is freaked out because her agent called and threatened to sue. I told him to ignore it because we had no contract with her, and witnesses at the club indicating she was a sleazy insult to art (or something to that effect). Of course nothing ever came of it. I wish I had some of the pictures from that brief stint though...I just googled her and it turns out she had a brush with Zappa in the 70's.
