Ever had the feeling that nothing is surprising? That you’ve probably seen it all?

How about when you think you’ve got all your “T’s” crossed and “I’s” dotted that you kick your feet up; only to have the chair you’re resting on kicked out from under you?

Welcome to my world; 1:10AM Sunday August 20th.

We were in the office preparing settlement for Brothers Past at The Abbey Bar at Appalachian Brewing Company. Although we had anticipated a larger crowd for An Intro To Ilya, all of the numbers added up and everyone was getting paid that night. (A good thing for any promoter).

Now let me back up a few steps; the life of an independent concert promoter isn’t always glamorous. Especially when you’re also the production manager, venue contact and hospitality coordinator. I’m not crying, but I do wear a lot of hats.

The past couple of shows we’ve done have been musically sound, but financially, um…underwhelming. There were a few factors involved in the “43″ of 5.12; and you may remember the letdown of The Son of A Blues Man.

But this week’s wrench in the gears was something I hadn’t even thought of, much less prepared for. Which was a staunch reminder to always stay on my toes and never take anything for granted in this business. The show really doesn’t end until the last patron is out of the building…in this case of this past Saturday August 19, they were out of the building in EIGHT MINUTES.

With the looming no-smoking laws on the horizon, we’ve been beginning to host an event or two per month as “non-smoking” shows. I’m a smoker, but am really looking forward to the day that PA catches up with the rest of the country (isn’t that always the case in PA?) and bans cigarette smoking in bars and restaurants.

This past Saturday, we were on the fence about whether or not to have it be smoking or non until about three hours before doors. We decided on keeping it a smoking show; mostly to accommodate the fans.

The show goes off without a hitch. Brothers Past introduced their smokin new drummer (and Jersey native) Ilya “Sputnick” Stemkovsky to a warm audience with open arms. The first set hooked the crowd of just about 200 with some old classics with a new twist; the sound was pretty good (we really could use some bigger new speakers and fly them from the ceiling, but then again; there’s a lot of things on that list); and everyone was having fun.

Seeing and presenting as much live music as I do, I can’t always be the biggest fan of the music we present. But I can normally judge the success of a show not by the amount of heads in a room or how many twenties are in the drawer; rather, listening to the “YEAH!” from the crowd in between songs. There could be twenty five people in the room–but if they all simultaneously react to the crescendo of a song in the same fashion, you can tell if the bands doing the right thing on any given night.

Everything was on-point on Saturday. It was all there. Lots of anticipation for the first two-set club date with a new drummer; some great reunions of friends and longtime followers of the band; the weather, the drinks, the room…the vibe was there.

And then, sure as a bear shitting in the woods, it happened.

Sitting in the chair with my feet proverbially kicked up on the desk, I heard it from through the floor below me. Mixed in with the crowd banter, thumping bass, blips, beats and guitar riffs, was a steady “beeeep…beeeep…beeeep…beeeep”. Knowing the electronic element of Brothers Past, it wasn’t until I pressed the button next to the elevator door that I realized that these new beeeeps I heard weren’t part of the song.

No, friends. “Those beeps aren’t part of the song! The fucking fire alarm is going off!!” is the first thought in my head. The elevator turned itself off automatically and descended to the first floor…but the band played on.

I raced down the stairs at the front of the building, got back into the room and breathed a mini-sigh of relief when I got in front of the stage. It was sort of audible over the PA system, but it didn’t really drown out the music.

Brewery Managers and staff began scrambling and I got the word that the fire department was on it’s way. It was probably only three or four minutes from the first beeps to the time the trucks and police arrived; but it felt like an hour. And then, when the manager and I hooked up again–I got the words that I knew were coming, but dreaded to hear–”The fire department is here and we’ve got to get everyone out right now.”

Shit.

“Mother fucker!” was all I could think. Why’s it always gotta be something?? We were so fucking close! Maybe two or three more songs and it’d have been a stellar show. Not a single bump in the road.

But the fire alarm had to go off.

My first stop was the bands lighting guy and road manager, Matt–”Dude! We gotta get everyone out. The Fire Marshall is here and he’s pissed.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Yeah.”

Next stop was the sound man–Same reaction, but he also let me know that the song was maybe thirty seconds to over. “Okay, as soon as they’re done, let them know…”

Over to the house lights, the room blasted bright white lights that could barely cut through the dense cloud of smoke in the room. Starting at the back of the bar, I began rounding up the troops; “Everybody out! The fire departments here and we gotta get everybody out! Put down’ your drinks and head for the door in an orderly fashion!”

The song ended, the crowd applauded and Tom made the announcement:

“You’re not going to believe this” He said, “but the fucking fire alarm is going off and they want us all to get out”.

And exodus began.

Standing at the front doors, we shuffled them all out. All two hundred dancing, happy, influenced kids. And it was smooth. Everyone was out in about eight minutes. Calm, organized, helpful. Had there really been a fire, this would have been a textbook evacuation. Sure, I had never even thought about what it would be like to evacuate a room full of entranced, die hard music fans a the peak of the second set, but it went smooth.

Now the police officer that responded; he’s a different story altogether.

See, we were all relatively cool. Perhaps it was the confidence of having combed the building for a fire and found nothing; perhaps it was the confidence in really knowing our crowd, but we were cool. (Band, Brewery and Event staff and crowd, that is)

But if this guys demeanor was any indication of how he handles himself under stress, perhaps he should consider a different calling.

I’m sure that two hundred drunk music fans at 1:15 AM intimidated this guy, but he really could have handled himself better. Instead of calmly finding someone in charge, he barreled up the stairs and into the doorway belting “I need to find who’s in charge!!! I need to find who’s in charge!!!”

So I stepped up “Hey, I’m the promoter here. What’s up?”

“But are you in charge!?!?!” His eyes bulging and veins popping out of his forehead.

“Well, I’m not the top of the chain, but I’m pretty close tonight.”

“Look man, are you gonna help me or are you gonna give me a hard time?!?!?!?”

Um, sure officer. I’m in charge. What’s up?

“Are all of these people coming back in?”

“Uh, yeah–that’s what we planned on”

“You’re NO help!!!!”

And he scurried back down the stairs.

Shortly after, the last of the patrons had made it out to the side parking lot and all was relatively calm. The staff and I made our way down the stairs to join our crowd in the lot for a second set break.

Lights were flashing, cops were there, but all was surprisingly calm.

About five minutes later, we confirmed with the fire department that the alarm was tripped by the combination of the bands fog machine and two hundred smokers in a room.

Then we began the re-immigration.

Stepping back out into the crowd, we made the announcement “Band and Staff! Back in the building! Band and staff please! Back in the building. Set three is starting in 5 minutes!”

We cleared a path and welcomed them back, the crowd made it back up the stairs in a few minutes, we turned off the lights again and the show went on.

All in all, it went better than could have been expected. But several lessons were hard learned this past Sunday morning–

1. Just when you think you have all of your bases covered, recount your bases. ‘Cause new ones are always popping up.

2. When it comes to having a good time, safety matters.

Sure, we knew there wasn’t a fire. We had gone through the whole building prior to the evacuation. But had the whole Brewery and Roundtable staff not been on our A-Game, things could have been much, much worse.

History’s tragedies like The Station in Warwick RI or the massacre at Altamont showed us that a crowd, especially a drinking crowd, could be deadly.

But when all of your I’s are dotted and T’s are crossed, everything’s much easier to read.