Den Bosch, The Netherlands (27 April 1990)

Here is a publicity release from the club called Willem II in a town called Den Bosch. (Readers on this blog who worry about their Dutch getting rusty should enjoy this little entry.) The publicity photo is actually from a couple years before, taken at a photo shoot where John Ebert, our trombonist at that time, was unable to be there. I had grabbed his trombone from our practice space so it would be ready in case he arrived, and so yes, that's me holding a trombone in the photo. I did actually teach myself to play the trombone a few years later, while teaching band in Florida.

This was a most interesting gig on our last tour. One aspect of our particular level of fame, or lack of same, was that from night to night we never knew what to expect from an audience. We could sell out large London clubs on weeknights, playing to an audience of nearly 1,000 fans, as we did on this tour at the Mean Fiddler, or we could face a different situation, such as this night in Den Bosch.

We got there in the late afternoon, set up, did our sound check and then had some dinner. I usually liked to stroll out to see what the house looked like before it was time to go onstage and I did so on this night. All the other band members were in the dressing room, warming up or relaxing. Phil was changing his guitar strings. I came back a short while later, and Chuck said, "So how's it look out there, Dave?" I replied, "There's no-one there." The exchange continued thusly:

CbJ: "There's got to be a few people there! How many?"

Me: "There's no-one there."

CbJ: "So, is it like, less than 50? 30?"

Me: "There's no-one there."

CbJ: "Under 20? C'mon, there's got to be at least ten people here!"

Me: "Chuck, there is a bartender out there and that is all. There is NO-ONE in the audience."

At this point, everyone in the band leaped up to take a look for themselves. By this time, there were a total of two people in the audience, dashing my dream of playing to a completely empty house. In the meantime, the promoter had grabbed the phone and called a few of his best friends and begged them to come hear us. They did. By the time we had to play there were maybe ten or twelve people there. My recollection is that we had a pretty good set and the folks who heard us had a great time. The promoter, who loved our recordings, had booked us on the mistaken assumption that if he loved our music that much, then certainly others in his fair city would too. Not so. We felt badly, as he took a bath on the whole thing. He'd even gone to the trouble to make a fantastic poster, which hangs in my studio to this day.