Big Trouble in Little Neck

In my years as a part-time musician, I’ve played good, bad, and mediocre gigs. But there have been a handful that have been more than bad, they’ve been soul-sucking. This was one of those.

Since 2014, I’ve played in an Irish band, The Boston Harbor Bhoys, a band that also includes my son. A few years ago we got an email from a group in Little Neck, a private enclave in Ipswich, Massachusetts, looking to hire us to play at their midsummer “Irish Night.” We’d never performed in that part of the state before, so we were excited at the possibility of establishing ourselves in the region.

When we arrived for the gig, not entirely sure what to expect, we found that we had to pass through a gate to get there. It was a lovely area on the water. The event was taking place in their community center.

Considering that this was supposed to be “Irish Night,” we expected to see a lot of green decorations adorning the walls. There were none. Hm. Maybe our music was what would make it Irish. We set up on a small stage in the corner. We met the woman who hired us, who was thrilled that we were there.

The celebration began and we launched into our standard opener, “The Black Velvet Band.” It was a good-sized crowd of diverse ages. We were delighted that a number of twenty-somethings knew the material and were dancing and singing along to songs like “Leaving of Liverpool.” We were having fun and so were they.

Then ‘that guy’ came up to us.

“Can you play something we can dance to?” He was blind to the fact that many people were, in fact, dancing.

Like what? “Like maybe some Jethro Tull.”

Who the hell dances to Jethro Tull? Um, no, sorry. No Tull.

We went back to our usual stuff, but this guy, who I’ll call Mr. AH (you can probably figure out what that stands for) wouldn’t let go. His head kept popping up in front of us asking for things that we don’t play. Did he think it was a game of “Stump the Band?”

Now, Mr. AH was not the organizer of this affair, did not hire us, and as far as we could tell was not an official of any kind, but apparently considered himself the most important person in the room. He was probably in his forties and he had a few acolytes with him. He felt that we were there to please his whims and apparently what we were doing was not meeting his personal expectations. Never mind the fact that most of the people were enjoying themselves.

We played for about 90 minutes before taking a break. At that point, Mr. AH and his followers asked if they could plug into our sound system and play some things. That was fine with us. So they plugged in their phones or mp3 players (I think people were still using those then) and played their own favorite music. From the reactions of this dominating group, it seemed like these were the songs that they always played at every event.

They kept switching from one person’s device to another, playing song after song. We sat outside looking at the water, sticking our heads back into the hall looking for an opportunity to start our second set.

Some of the people who liked us came up and said how sorry they were that this was happening, but nobody intervened on our behalf.

After an hour or so of being banished, we realized were done for the night.

We never made it back onstage.

“Disheartening” was the word my son used to describe it.

The problem was that they were using our sound system to play their tunes, so we were stuck there. Finally, we went in and said, “Look, if we’re not playing anymore, we have a long drive and we need to take our equipment.”

So they set up THEIR SOUND SYSTEM! They had their own that they could have been using all along and we could have left an hour and a half earlier!

To say that we were angry would be an understatement. This group led by Mr. AH was nothing more than a bunch of bullies who could not have cared less about us or the others who were having fun. They wanted what they wanted and that was it. There was absolutely no reason for us to be there. They could have hired a DJ, but they probably wouldn’t have allowed that person to use their own skill anyway. All they really needed was a playlist of the songs they wanted.

OK, so we were still paid for the night, and fairly well too. If I recall correctly I think the woman who hired us even paid us a little extra as an apology. But at some point, it isn’t about money. It’s about a lack of respect. We were bullied by this guy and his cronies and that never feels good.

This gig and a couple of others taught us to be more selective and to ask more questions before we agree to play.

And we never did figure out why they called it “Irish Night.”