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The three worst concerts I’ve ever been to in my life:
Bill Cosby (pre-scandal). He had the familiar Cosby patter, but the material simply wasn’t funny. The only reason we didn’t walk out was because any time an audience member drew attention to himself, Cosby attacked. I didn’t want to be yelled at by Bill Cosby. When the concert was over he stood up, said “Well, that’s all I’ve got,” and walked off without looking back. The audience trudged silently to their cars, looking exhausted and defeated.
Steve Miller is the only concert I actually did walk out of. An hour in he hadn’t sang any of his hits except for Jungle Love (not a favorite of mine), and everyone was bored as hell. He probably sang of few of the oldies in the second set, but he had lost me by that point.
And Michael McDonald is the only concert I actually fell asleep at. His songs were all proceeded by long, pointless introductions. I remember he introduced one song by saying it was written by a friend of his, and we all perked up a little. Who could the “friend” be? A Doobie Brother? Christopher Cross? Maybe Carly Simon? Well, ten rambling minutes later we learned it was just some dude named James that lived down the street from him– and the song stank.
Abbie's Tree House 