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This is a question On the stage

Too shy to ever appear on stage myself, I still hung around theatres like a bad smell when I was younger - lighting and set design were what I was good at.

Backstage we'd attempt to sabotage every production - us lighting geeks would wind up the sound man by putting the remote "pause" button for his reel-to-reel tape machine on his chair, so when he sat down it'd start running, ruining his cues. Actors would do scenes out of order to make our lives hell. It was great and I don't know why I don't still do it.

Tell us your stories of life on the stage.

(, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 11:02)
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This question is now closed.

I was raped by Mr. Mestopolies…
Not really but when I was about 12 I was convinced by a female friend to be in a “kids” production of cats organised by holiday reps at a resort in Ibiza.

One of the reps, a stunning Spanish girl in her mid twenties came back stage to help us prepare and get into costume. She stripped off completely naked and slipped into the tightest breast hugging cat outfit known to man.

Needless to say it was rather hard to hide my erection in my skin tight cat costume…. Harder still was trying to sit quietly and catlike on stage and not spend the entire time fixated on the hot Spanish girls shapely tits and arse in full view of the audience.
(, Thu 8 Dec 2005, 9:47, Reply)
My auntie
My auntie plays violin in an orchestra.

One night, they were playing a concert. It was one of those awful 'challenging' modern pieces, and the composer was in the audience. My aunt and another guy, at one point, had to lead the violin section into the next bit of music.

However, just before the crucial moment, the cummerbund fell off a fellow musician. My aunt and her friend laughed so much, they were late with their cue. This meant the violins were totally out of time with the rest of the orchestra until the end of the piece.

The composer came up to them afterwards and said it was the best rendition of this particular piece of music he'd ever heard.

And yes, this story is completely true.
(, Wed 7 Dec 2005, 20:40, Reply)
I was jigging around on the stage as part of my one-man show, yanking my left leg for the symbols, kicking my right leg for the bass drum, waving maracas in my left hand and brandishing a small trumpet in my right with a harmonica mounted in front of my face and a kazoo dangling from the front of my hat. The crowd was loving it. A dwarf (or it could have been an ugly child) got overexcited by my one-man version of Golden Earring's Radar Love and raced onto the stage. He wrapped himself around my leg so tightly that it caused my bass drum stick to go astray and, as I kicked, the solid head of the stick struck the tiny creature on the back of the head, causing him to recoil and stagger in front of me. In the heat of the jig I tripped over the stunned shortarse and toppled headlong off the front of the stage. The whirling action of my body as it fell caused one of the cymbals to spin off and fizz through the air, beheading a rabbi near the back of the school hall. His headless body then fell back and the top of his exposed spinal column broke the glass of a nearby fire alarm. The siren howled, attracting dogs that suddenly appeared from all around. They came through the doors, through the windows, and from where I lay on the hard wooden floor, I even saw a couple of border terriers bust through the ceiling, yapping with excitement like a pair of dirty fucking spackers on a trip to Asda.

Chaos ensued. People were running around trying to make a swift and desperate exit, but they couldn't see the doors for the army of cattle that had just entered, presumably attracted by the low-frequency drone emitted as the rabbi's soul left his body and drilled through the floor towards Hell. Some of the dogs fell through the hole, too, and I could hear them yelping as they were sodomized by fiery fuckdemons. The evil pheromones of these flame-engulfed lava-jizzers spewed up out of the hole like an unholy, purple, salty smoke, tempting the confused, frantic crowd in the hall to grab the nearest man, woman, child, dog or cow and start pumping at the first available orifice with the kind of rampant savagery that God usually reserves for the Greeks.

I didn't get to do my encore, and I was a bit pissed off about that.
(, Wed 7 Dec 2005, 17:28, Reply)
Not me, but my employers...
I was working the same show in Oxford that night:


"Sing-A-Long-A-Sound of Music" is (for those who have managed to avoid it) an event often attended by audiences (a)family-sized (b)drunk and (c)in fancy dress.

Each is given a goodie bag featuring an array of paper hats, poppers and other "themed" paraphenalia for use during the show. Prizes are awarded for the best fancy-dress [you haven't worked the show properly until you've seen two men dressed as the hills themselves], you get the general idea...

On this particular night, the crowd-leaders asked all the nuns to come up on stage [the theatre can hold over a 1000, 2/3s of them were drunken nuns...]. On being blocked by the ever helpful staff, or realising the stage was full, they instead swarmed onto the CLEARLY MARKED orchestra pit (covered by the equivalent of of a piece of plywood painted black) which collapsed...

Was the only time the police involved ever saw nazis helping elderly nuns to their feet...
(, Wed 7 Dec 2005, 15:29, Reply)
Frank Skinner
I utterly humiliated myself on stage in front of Frank Skinner (who I really liked at the time).

I had done stand-up for a bit, worked some good, biggish venues and co-ran my own twice weekly spot in North London. What I hadn't done a lot of was compereing and I was a lot worse at that than I was at stand up. I wasn't awful at stand up, just at compereing but the gulf between even an average comedian and an actually funny one is quite yawning, a word which used to describe my audiences quite well.

My co-runner of the comedy club decided to invite Frank Skinner (who she knew - he used to go out with her daughter for a while) to the new act night which I was compereing, almost for the first time. I didn't know he was there, which was probably a good thing as I was nervous enough anyway.

I was utterly, utterly shite that night. I mean really bloody awful. To say that I died would be wrong as it would imply that there had been life in my limp performance at the beginning.

I would mumble when introducing the acts, get their names wrong and really not give them any sort of build up.

"Give a big, warm, comedy welcome for...err, who are you again? Come on, who's on next?"

The poor sods, one after the other, died on their arses and I was certainly a big factor in that. Although some of the acts were shite too. That was also my fault as I had booked all of the acts in the first place.

That wasn't the worst bit though. The worst bit was my attempt at 'banter' with the audience.

I asked some random guy "Where are you from?"

"Manchester" he replied (waiting for the inevitable joke that the compere has pre-prepared for any possible reply the audience member can make. That's how *proper* comedians do it).

"Um" I said "My brother went to Uni there a few years ago. I visited him there once. It seemed alright".

Anyway, the room was deathly quiet and just as it really dawned on me just how shit I really was as a compere and was thinking that maybe I should pursue alternate career options, my eyes met and locked with those of Frank Skinner, who up until then I had not noticed in the audience.

His look was of bored disgust, perhaps tinged with pity. Perhaps.

My partner made me thank him for coming when it was over, just to complete the humiliation.

Every time I see Frank Skinner on TV these days I remember just how rubbish I was. Almost as bad as Frank Skinner was in that sitcom he did a while back...maybe there's hope for me yet?
(, Wed 7 Dec 2005, 14:24, Reply)
Old woman's stomach on show
My mum loves 'Am Dram' and persuaded me to watch one of her shows. If I had known she was playing a belly-dancing spice girl at the age of 55 I would not have attended. All I could do was remove my glasses, and wait for it to be over.
(, Wed 7 Dec 2005, 14:09, Reply)
^yeah right
anyway, was doing this gig in some church, getting to the end of this fantastically emotive piece (poss a Beethoven symphony) and the conductor, spurred on by the sheer power of the music, triumphantly stabbed the air dauring the last three bars with his baton.

sticking the baton up his nose.

the piece ended with him conducting the final chords holding his nose with one hand, gushing blood from any available space between his hand and face, and being laughed off the stage, instead of applauded.

bloody good concert though.
(, Wed 7 Dec 2005, 14:07, Reply)
My A level music teacher told me this one
He was conducting a particularly solemn performance of the Mozart Requiem in a church, when a woman strode in, stood in front of the orchestra and started taking her clothes off.

She was a strip-o-gram who'd got the wrong address.
(, Wed 7 Dec 2005, 13:58, Reply)

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