Jimmy Barnes with Cold Chisel. Image: Herald Sun

Musos might tell you gigs leave them feeling like they’d just won a 100-metre Olympic sprint. Pumped with the catnip of adrenaline and endorphins, it’s no wonder they spout ‘I luv youse’ to all and sundry.

It’s not because of the money, that’s for sure. So many musos work for nothing, or next to nothing, it’s ridiculous.

Curious thing about musos is they have a million stories. Must be part of the addiction. Many of these stories aren’t ‘I luv youse’ yarns as much as ‘haywire gig’ yarns.

Think about it, pubs packed with punters loaded to the gills, energetic, willing and in your face. What could possibly go wrong?

Cigarette lighters shoved into your eyes for one. Lusting, dribbling yobs falling over the stage trying to paw female musos for another.

Brawlers thumping one another stupid, crashing into mics, falling on guitars, smashing things. Pots, glasses, jugs, spilled all over instruments, electrical leads, PA speakers, mixers.

Then there’s the audiences, as musos will tell you.

I’ve worked with guys so whacked they couldn’t stand up but they didn’t miss a note or a beat. Others couldn’t get a one of those three right, from the very outset of a job.

If your instruments aren’t being stolen backstage or between brackets, you’re doing well.

Careful who you let near a mic. Been on stage as political activists hijacked mics to scream their agendas. Had plastered uncles spewing bile at wedding guests.

And beware crowd-appointed singers mutilating pub gigs. “She’s a really good singer, mate. Really good, let her sing just one!” Word of advice: Don’t.

Another word: Never play footy clubs.

But it’s not just your journeyman musos who have things turn pear-shaped. Big guys have the same problems.

I saw Bo Diddley blow up his amp at a pub gig. Billy Thorpe and band likewise. Saw the entire PA fizzle out, and all the lights too, at an LRB concert.

Saw Bushwhacker Dobe Newtown alarmingly fall off stage at Dallas Brooks Hall. Watched Eric Clapton listen to his band from above the stage, unable to play because he was too drugged out. Saw Stevie Ray Vaughan rip his pants on stage. Some things you just want to forget.

One thing I can’t forget: Cold Chisel pub gig, loud as hell, Barnsie full of vodka, threatening to take on the crowd. Mesmerised girls, meanwhile, were dancing barefoot in broken glass oblivious to any pain or blood.

Totally lost in the moment. And I think the kind of gig keeps the musos coming back.

This article appeared in the Geelong Advertiser 9 January 2024.