The Dils, King Bee, and the Products at the PSU Ballroom in Portland, April 13, 1978.
See the comments below the flyer for some more info.
JOHN (drums): The first time we played Portland, we get to town, and hear, 'bad news dudes; the city decided you can't play here.' Some city council people, or something. We say, 'What!?' They say, 'I think it's the flyers we put up'. They show us the flyer, and it's a photograph of Chip leaping through the air with his guitar, wearing the hammer-and-sickle shirt that his girlfriend had made for him. Apparently the powers that be said, "We don't want this in our town." "No worries, we'll find you a place to play," the locals told us. And this is the day of the show, the day we got there. And they're frantically calling different people, see who's house is the biggest, or whatever. And we ended up playing in Rozz's basement, of all places.
SOH: The Reds' rehearsal place.
JOHN: And the thing was, the room would hold maybe fifty people as I recall. It was a very tiny room. And they had to keep recycling the crowd, every few songs, 'cause there was no oxygen down there, and it was jammed. Before we played, or on a break, I was in a car a few doors down from the place, with a few of the locals, firing up. I see a group of about a half dozen people walking towards us, down the sidewalk. We notice them right off the bat, 'cause they looked like rock stars. They had the long hair, and they had the trophy girlfriends, all dressed to the nines and everything. They looked like rockstars. They walk by and we're wondering, 'who the fuck's that?' They go up to the door, I roll the window down to listen to what's going on, and they're saying, (affects Aussie accent) "We're AC/DC, right? We're here to see the Dils, right?" The kids on the door say, "Two bucks." Then they're yelping, (Aussie accent again) "You didn't fucking hear me. We're AC/DC, right? We're here to see the fuckin' Dils, right?"
They're trying to get in for free! Punk kids say, "Fuck you, man! You pay two bucks like everybody else!" A shoving match ensues. Next thing you know the rock stars are running down the sidewalk with their girlfriends, and bottles are being thrown to and fro. I'm sitting there in the car, shaking my head, thinking, "Goddamnnit. What if they’d seen and liked us?" Maybe they’d have helped us out a bit, somehow. Who'll ever know?
Ganked from the Summer of Hate webzine.