There must be a God...
When I was about 17, my band and I played a gig at a pub in Stoke Newington called the Samuel Beckett.

In those days, I was in a hard rock band. A very hard rock band. Anyway, we set up our gear, soundchecked and then played the waiting game at the bar.

8pm. The pub is empty.

9pm. Still no one in the pub.

10pm. Just as we are about to cut our losses and go home (who wants to play to an empty room...) the door opens and the place literally fills up.

Only problem was that one quick look around at the 7ft tall dreadlocked crowd told you that the Samuel Beckett was clearly a hardcore reggae pub. Oh, and a very intimidating 'Yardie' hangout...

They wanted their entertainment. However, we were slightly concerned that upon hearing the first 5 seconds of our heavy metal power chords, we would fall victim to a spray of Uzi bullets.

Shaking like leafs in our black leather bikers jackets and Megadeth t-shirts, we nervously went on stage having agreeed to "reggae up" our material as much as musically possible. This was easier said than done.

But for some inexplicable reason, they loved us. We played the entire set without a single firearm being discharged. Not even one can of Red Stripe was hurled at us. Instead there was roaring applause at the end of every power-ballad and over-indulgent guitar solo.

I hear the place is now some kind of trendy Spanish tapas / salsa bar (which is bloody rubbish, if you ask me).
(meat katie rocked the other nite and also on, Fri 30 Jun 2006, 12:32, Reply)