Chainsaw-Thick Tension, Flooded Stages and a Sailboat Request: Seven Strange Tales From North Texas Venues

North Texas has a long history of live entertainment, and behind the scenes the stories can sound like elaborate jokes. A roundup of seven accounts from Dallas-Fort Worth venues covers near-disasters, odd booking requests and moments of lucky timing.

At the Longhorn Ballroom in 1978, on one of the coldest days in Dallas history, the country-focused venue booked the Sex Pistols. The marquee placed the punk band beside Merle Haggard. Cowboys and punks filled the room, and patrons threw beer bottles at the stage. One struck bassist Sid Vicious in the mouth, and he kept playing as blood ran down his chin. Owner Dewey Groom is credited with the open-minded booking. The Sex Pistols came back to the Longhorn on Sept. 11 of this year, and visitors could tour the venue's historical gallery, which includes displays marking the earlier night, before watching the band.

The original Club Clearview, a sprawling and grimy maze of rooms, had its own close call. Founder Jeff Swaney claims the club tapped into the city's power grid to meet its electricity needs and had no circuit breakers. During a packed Edie Brickell & New Bohemians show, the plumbing failed and toilets overflowed. A puddle crept toward the stage, where an exposed, electrified metal coupler lay. Swaney used a plastic chair to pull the live cord out of the water and pinned it down with trash cans. Brickell, still performing, did not know about the danger.

Heat caused trouble for Kings of Leon in 2011 at what was then the Gexa Energy Pavilion, now Dos Equis Pavilion. Singer Caleb Followill's voice faded as the set went on. He told the crowd he was too drunk to continue and left the stage to be sick and get another beer, promising to return. He did not, and the rest of the band apologized to the audience. The band then canceled the rest of its US tour. That summer remains the hottest on record for North Texas.

In Denton, Anderson's Eatery and Distillery once received an email headed "Equine videography." A group calling itself "Pornhorse" asked to book the space for a live, "experimental," horse-themed sex show. Attachments promised "demos," which the staff did not open. They treated it as possibly the strangest booking pitch a Texas bar has received.

Community Beer Co., near the Design District's Pegasus Park area, has fielded its own unusual requests. Someone asked to bring a live alpaca to the Loft for a baby shower. Another asked about shooting firecrackers indoors at a wedding reception. A husband wanted to park a sailboat in the biergarten as a surprise for his wife. The sailboat was turned down, but the brewery did host a massive longhorn at an outdoor party. Other requests included a performer who wanted to hang from the taproom beams as an aerial silk acrobat and a patron who asked, discreetly, for a private spot for a "quickie."

Fort Worth's Tulips had a tense first year. A popular local country artist, whom the venue declined to name, sold out the room. The green room, hospitality rider and stage were ready. Then, two hours after load-in time, the artist's new manager called to say a grand piano was needed on stage immediately. Staff phoned every piano tuner in the area and weighed hauling in an uncle's Bachendorff, a job needing at least six people. They then remembered a 114-year-old saloon piano already in the building. They dragged it onto the stage and spent 45 minutes trying to tune it despite a cracked soundboard. The artist arrived, dropped his sunglasses and said, "Holy shit, you got it." He played one verse of one song and left the piano alone for the rest of the night.

Deep Vellum Books, a bookstore, has also served as an unlikely stage. Indie-rock artist Waxahatchee once played an electric solo set among the shelves. On another night, poet Tyehimba Jess, newly back from a reading at the South Dallas Cultural Center, stayed after hours and sang Lead Belly songs for the few people who lingered. The next day, Jess won the Pulitzer Prize.