Musicians love to trade gig stories, the good, the bad, and the ugly. For whatever reason, when musicians, clients, audiences, and money collide, wacky things often happen. Very often, gig stories are about the bad and the ugly; for example, Toots and the Maytals doing a surprise guest set at 4 a.m. on the Vegas strip in order to get hotel rooms for what was left of the night. (You’ll have to wait for that one.)

However, sometimes there are great gig stories; here’s my favorite.

Probably about twelve years ago, I was doing a short tour with Toots in New England. At this point in his career, Toots had been without a record deal for at least that long and he was in a holding pattern.  As great and as hard-working as Toots is, at this point in his career his rewards were in no way equal to his talent.

Because he had a modest but loyal fan base that danced hard and drank a lot of beer, and because he consistently put on good shows no matter what the circumstances, Toots could always manage to patch together a tour somewhere to a few places he hadn’t been for a while and pay a few bills. But we were stuck in clubland with no visible means of escape, playing the same venues over and over and over. The music was always great. Toots is a tough boss, but a very fair person with a deep commitment to his audience and his band. I wasn’t thinking about leaving, but I was starting to wonder if things would ever get any better. I’m sure I was not the only one.

The tour was in the summer, about two or three weeks of beach bar gigs and, I think, a casino gig in New Hampshire that probably paid for the plane tickets. At this time there was a House of Blues in Cambridge and we were booked for an early show on Sunday. Eric Burdon and the Animals were due to play a different show later in the evening.

A House of Blues gig is always a welcome sight on an itinerary. They have good gear, good crews, and good food, and they treat the bands well. Toots is a good fit for the HOB audience and we played all of them at one point or another. But nobody was expecting anything out of the ordinary.

The idea of an early show was attractive; a bit more rest and the chance to see another good act for free if you had the energy. We were pretty tired at that point. It was a hot summer and van tours are stressful even when everyone gets along, as the Maytals usually do. So we did a quick sound check and didn’t bother to go back to the hotel.

Boston has always been both a great reggae town and a great Toots town. But for whatever reason, we hadn’t played there for a while, which possibly explains what happened next. The place filled up quickly, both tables and standing room. We walked on stage and the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, from Kingston, Jamaica, Toots and the Maytals.”

The audience started clapping and yelling. They didn’t stop. The applause got louder. Paul Douglas, who had been preparing to count off the first tune, stopped abruptly to look around and make sure we were all looking at him because the crowd noise was so loud he wasn’t sure we could hear the count. The applause got louder still. It kept building. Then the people at the tables began to stand up, applauding all the while. It sounded like we had just finished playing and they wanted an encore. Paul put his arms down.

Paul,  Jackie Jackson, and I looked at each other. I said to Paul, “What is this? What’s going on? We haven’t even played a song yet and Toots is still backstage.”

Paul leaned over his floor tom and said, “Andy I don’t know. In all the years I’ve been playing, I’ve never seen anything like this. I guess we just have to wait until they stop.” The people kept applauding. Finally everybody in the room was on their feet, clapping and cheering. Before Toots took the stage, before the band had even played a note, we got a standing ovation.

I will never forget what it felt like to have that sound wash over me. I thought of all the endless drives, the stale air in the bus, the half empty gigs, the bad food, the crummy hotels, the arguments, the tantrums, the fights, sending money home by mail to save the transfer fees and praying it would get there, the lousy house amps, the bad sound, the thousands and thousands of miles by land, sea, and air, the painful phone calls home, the weeks and months away from my children, the missed birthdays, the jet lag, the road weariness. I started crying. I cradled my Strat, looked at the audience, and felt the tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn’t really care if anyone saw them or not. My shoulders shook a bit. I looked at Paul and Jackie. They weren’t crying, but they were deeply moved. There were expressions on their faces I’d never seen before. I think they may have been replaying scenes from the past too.

Then I thought of something my father had said a long time ago to an old neighbor was questioning my decision to continue with music now that I was about to become a father for the first time. “I started working on my cousin’s farm at the age of thirteen when my father died. And I kept working until I retired a couple of years ago when I was sixty-five. And in all that time, nobody ever once stood up and clapped for me when I was finished at the end of day. When my son finishes work, a whole roomful of people stands up and claps for him. I don’t have any problem with Andy being a musician.” Now here I was, with a whole roomful of people applauding me before I’d started working. Dad would have been very pleased.

It was one of those moments where time seems suspended so I have no idea how long it lasted, but it must have been several minutes. It was as if everybody in the room understood some of what we had been through and was saying, “We recognize you guys. You’re the Maytals. Most of us don’t know your names, but we’ve seen you for years, every time Toots comes here. When we see you walk on, we know we can count on what’s going to happen next. We love you guys, and we know that you work hard. Your music means so much to us. We have loved it for years, and it’s become a part of our lives. Please take a few minutes before you start to allow us to thank you for coming here once more to play it for us.”

Finally the noise died down a bit. Paul counted it off, we launched into “Pressure Drop,” and Toots took the stage. The crowd roared even louder, and of course, it was a great show. But what will always stay with me was the moment when the crowd told us, once and for all, how they felt about us.

So thank you, Cambridge, and good night. We’ll see you soon.