... Krapp's Last Tape with Michael Gambon. Becket can be quite the gloomy sod, but he does have jokes in there. Not hilarious jokes, but certainly lighter moments in the dialogue, the sort which make you smile inwardly rather than laugh out loud.

This did not stop one fuckwit in the audience though. Except he wasn't actually laughing. He would yell very loud "HAH"s at the bits which were funny, an attempt I felt to loudly telegraph to the other people attending that only he truly realized that Becket, in spite of his reputation, is not actually a miserable sod, especially when actors like Michael Gambon are appearing in his plays.

It was monumentally annoying, by the end I wanted to strangle the git.

the woman who did the fingers in the mouth whistle continually at the end of every song. Standing right behind me in the crush, her mouth about 15cm from my left ear.

She had 2 hands, couldn't she just clap ?

That's my current definition of fuckwit.

last night and I have to say the guy was a complete wanker. To cap it ll he tried to ingratiate himself with us on the way out. Twat.

.

Can't recall any gig fuckwittery. Not for ages. Just respectful audiences who listen respectfully and join in when appropriate.
Helps that I tend to be at standing shows, often with bands whose appeal is quite selective so it's easier to manouvre out of fuckwit zone if need be.

In Aberdeen a few years ago.
Fuckwit, standing in front of me, slightly to my right.
F/wit: "Roger, play some Family stuff".
Roger: "Fuck off".
F/wit: "Belated happy birthday Roger".
Roger: " You can still fuck off".

At Glasgow's grand old opry last night and an elderly and rather refreshed gentleman was interrupting the rather reverential atmosphere as kc delivered his extremely quiet and.delicate diamond mine album in full. It reached its peak during "your young voice".

The usual lyrics, in full, are "and its your young voice, keeping me holding on. To my dull life, to my dull life.

Very smartly, kc responded by instantly changing the words to:

"and its not your voice
People have paid good money
To hear tonight
To hear tonight"

Not bad off the cuff.

...I was at a Chris Smither gig in a lavish hotel lounge on a Sunday night in the wilds of Donegal: an audience of cognoscenti, well behaved, great PA, not too full. There's a raised seating area down one side wall where me, the FPO and Chris's agent, the late great Larry Roddy, are sitting. a few feet along there are two single guys sitting next to each other but not together.

Show starts, good vibe, then a few songs in a mobile phone ring - guy at the end of our dias takes a call. People look round, vibe is somewhere between tutting and amusement (helped along by a bit of weary tolerance from the stage). Guy holds phone up and tells other person on the line 'hey listen I'm at the Chris Smither show'. A couple more songs, phone goes again. People are less tolerant this time. Chris looks perplexed. Guy takes call. Guy sitting beside him getting tetchy and embarrassed, lest people think they're together.

Chris's agent grumbles at the phone guy, then Chris says from the stage 'Come on man, gimme a break - turn that thing off'. Guy says - incredibly - 'No, no, it might be important'. (NOTHING about the guy or his loony manner allows anyone in the room to believe that he would ever be phoned by anyone important.)

And then, a third time the phone goes off. At this point the wound-up guy sitting next to him reacts like a coiled spring, overcome with embarrassment, and starts punching him. Chris stops the show, the management are called and the phone guy is chucked out.

It was a thoroughly bizarre experience: a genteel crowd, one nutter. I've been in plenty of crowded bar gig situations where idiots have been thrown out, but this was like someone getting bodily ejected from a WI meeting...

Theatre Royal, Newark,about seven years ago. Nice little solo gig by Hugh Cornwell. Only about 200 sat enjoying the show.
Two women sat about three rows from the front, happily chatting away, oblivious to what was going on up on the stage.
Hugh slowly walks forward, his strumming slowing down to a repetitive one note and the singing stopping all together.
The whole theatre is now staring at the two, still talking away.
Hugh gets to the lip of the stage and stops his performance.It still takes about thirty seconds of silence before the two realise something is up.
They raise their heads up as Hugh asks..."If it is that important, would you like to share it with us all"
Embarrassed silence from the two.
Hugh..."Well shut the Fuck up then"
Cue round of applause and seamlessly back into song.

Young muso noisily whoops and chuckles at every lick from John Renbourn and of course there were plenty of those. Small crowd, so he couldn't be lost. Surprised he got out with his original face. Amazing how quickly all your liberal instincts can abandon you.

always complains to the venue staff which I find dreadfully embarasing but usually results in us being moved. We have gone from top tier at the Albert Hall to a private box on a number of occasions. At a Robert Plant & Alison Krauss gig at Wembley we had a pi**ed fuckwit behind us calling out for Led Zep songs all the way through despite threats of physical violence from me so we got moved onto the side of the stage with Percy's friends & relations. So if its a seated gig, complain!

a more lovely, generous and benign character you'd be hard pushed to find, treats fuckwits at gigs in a way of which I'd hate to be on the receiving end. Thing is, it works.

I'm 6'3" and carrying a few extra stone. If I say anything to these people, it's usually taken as an invitation to "have a pop." She is 5'3" and mouselike. Aggression from her is usually taken seriously. I'm not sure whether they're afraid of her in a Sybil Fawlty way, or whether they're worried that she'll set "the muscle" (ie me - oh, if only they knew) on them if there's any more noise.

She's wonderful.

The "see-you-jimmy" hat should have been a warning sign, but I'm fairly short and I'd managed to manoeuvre myself into a position where I could see the stage, so I stayed put.

I got the full repertoire - drunken staggering, tone deaf singing-along even though he didn't know the words, even a brief snippet of "Flower of Scotland." It was the clapping that finished me off. Dear God, how can you enjoy music, but not even be able to clap along in time to a 4/4 beat?