Practice Space Horror Stories

Ghosts! Animal sacrifice! A phantom bongo player!

We used to rehearse above a thrift shop on Market Street. One night we noticed three dead baby squirrels dangling from one of the windows. Their heads were stuck in the gap between the sill and the interior security bars, and their bodies hung limply below. They were evenly spaced, as if they'd been arranged that way. We checked back on them after practice that night, by which time it was dark, and by flashlight we were even more creeped out to notice one of the poor buggers' ears moving slowly back and forth. We thought we were on candid camera, or that we were unknowing participants in some sort of clandestine performance art. At the next night's rehearsal there were only two, with no sign of the third. —Bret Tobias, The Bigger Lovers

Back when we first started out, we were desperate for a practice space, and we ended up renting from this guy who had turned his basement into a space/studio, and rented it pretty cheap. Seemed like a great deal. But he started recording us at random, without telling us, and worst of all, he always wanted to insert himself into some kind of Neil Young-esque jam at the end of our practices. We were like, Um, we're paying you for your space, not your crazy bongo skills. As soon as we could find another space we were gone. —Jim McGuinn, Cordalene

I have practiced everywhere in my musical history from barns with dirt floors to garages to basements, but this is the first haunted practice space. This Radiant Boy practices at Slap Studios on Second Street directly under the Ben Franklin bridge. It's a big scary old building with long dark hallways that can really freak you out late at night. One night we were there and one of the guys who works there told us the place is haunted. Apparently, back in the day, the building was some sort of factory and all the workers went on strike. So to keep the factory open the owners hired scabs. One night a bunch of strikers broke in and killed a couple scabs and a security guard and threw them in the huge smokestack. Now weird stuff happens, like hearing footsteps and doors locking behind you. There is this really long dark hallway that you have to walk down to get to the bathroom and now none of us will walk down it alone. We also try to mess with each other by making stupid ghost sounds and saying, Beware of the scabs. —Mike Guggino, This Radiant Boy