Close call. Friend and I once drove miles to see John Martyn at some tiny pissant venue in the Lake District. Which we did. But not for long. He was late on stage, alone, pissed and pissed off, and left the audience of at least 136 in no doubt that on the whole he'd rather be at the dentist, for about 40 minutes, then left the stage, never to return. Then there was Rick Wakeman, doing his whole symphonic War of The Worlds type stuff, but all of it on backtrack and no-one but him on stage, in a cape, mincing around in front of a keyboard you didn't even know if you were hearing. That one lasted just over an hour. Then stopped. Which was a mercy.