From the Beatles slogging through mammoth sets for jeering sailors in Hamburg basement bars, to Ed Sheeran playing just about every open mic night in the south of England, even the biggest acts had to start small,So when we asked Guide readers to share their memories of seeing now-massive bands and artists before they were famous, it was inevitable we’d get some great tales,So much so, in fact, that we’ve decided to devote the main chunk of this week’s Guide to your pre-fame gig recollections,We’ve also asked Guardian music writers – seasoned veterans of seeking out the next big thing – to share a few of their memories,Read on for tales of Kurt Cobain in Yorkshire, Playboi Carti’s set in an east London snooker club and an ill-advised David Bowie mime performance …PulpIn 1991, I was a young music writer starting out when I came across a pre-fame Pulp (pictured above) at a short-lived event called Piece Hall Live in Halifax.

They shared the bill with the long-forgotten Bob, Levellers 5, and wondrous Todmorden oddballs Langfield Crane.The courtyard was sparsely populated when Pulp finally went on under the moonlight to perform a set containing the hardly chart-bound likes of Death II.However, they were absolutely captivating, and the setlist also included cult-classic single My Legendary Girlfriend, and Babies, which became the first of the run of killer singles which took them to bigger things two or three years later.Despite his messy hair and a fluffy jumper that looked like he’d found it in a skip, singer Jarvis Cocker was clearly a superstar in the making.“Top of the Pops by Christmas”, I wrote in Melody Maker.

I never said which Christmas.Dave Simpson, Guardian music criticHaimBack in 2012, a close friend convinced me to cross London and join him at the Shacklewell Arms to see a trio of Californian sisters who, he promised, were a bit Fleetwood Mac-meets-Destiny’s Child.Even then, before they’d put out an EP, Haim’s stadium tour-grade potential shone, alongside their natural charisma and instrumental versatility.I left knowing I’d seen something special.(Also, in her now classic style, Este Haim told a truly unpublishable sexting anecdote that will remain secret except for the two dozen or so of us there that heard it that night.

) Charlie Lindlar, acting deputy editor, newslettersDavid BowieIn 1969, I saw Tyrannosaurus Rex in concert.The third support act after a sitar player and John Peel reading his letters was David Bowie doing a strange Marcel Marceau-type mime act to recorded sound effects.It was pretty rubbish and I knew he’d never make it.Millard Parkinson, LiverpoolGiggsI came of age in the MySpace era, and still frequently find myself pining for that web 2.0 feeling of finding a track no one else had heard of, ripping it on to a CD for your mates at school, and hoping you hadn’t just infected the family PC with deadly malware in the process.

The MySpace era also meant the dawn of Underage festival in Victoria Park, which was THE place to be seen – ideally in some kind of Camden Market-sourced outfit, heavy black eyeliner, and giant plastic jewellery from the brand Lady Luck Rules OK (think Indie Sleaze: junior edition).It was at the festival, in 2010, that I saw the Peckham-born rapper Giggs perform, and was instantly taken with his pithy bars and slightly menacing air.He wasn’t a total unknown at that point, but Talkin Da Hardest was yet to take on the mythic quality it has gained in the intervening years – dubbed the UK’s national anthem on Twitter and performed in locations as diverse as Worthy Farm and, er, an NFL game at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium.In the years since, Giggs has gone on to work with the likes of Drake and been name-checked by Jay-Z, a far cry from when the police used to try to shut down his shows.Maybe playing to a crowd of 16-year-olds wasn’t his dream show, but it was clearly a stepping stone on a hard-won path to the mainstream.

Hannah J Davies, culture writer and editorColdplayI saw them at Bedford Esquires, just before Yellow broke.I’d actually gone to see the support band, Mercedes, but stayed to watch Coldplay alongside 15 to 20 other punters, which included the band members of Mercedes.I remember Chris Martin getting the hurry-up from the security bods to clear away their equipment (they had minimal, if any, roadies).Not long after, I saw the same bands at the Scala in London, just as Yellow was breaking into people’s consciousness –.There was a much different atmosphere, what with rumours of Kylie on the guest list (– which doesn’t sound quite so preposterous now!).

” Dave Morgan, Beddington, SurreyThe Police“The Police.I saw them at the University of Essex students’ union bar in Colchester, in 1978.My friend, who was at uni there, said, “Come down and see this band, at least they look pretty.” So we went, and they did.And they weren’t bad musicians either.

Sharon Eckman, HitchinNirvanaOn 25 October 1989, a young American trio played their second British show– a second-act spot on a three-band bill at the Duchess of York in Leeds,The band was called Nirvana – not yet superstars, but with enough of a reputation that they and headliners Tad filled the back room of the pub,I’d like to say it was obvious they were destined for greatness, but that wasn’t clear then,And so, writing up the show for the University of Leeds’ student newspaper – one of my first reviews – I noted that Tad were destined for greatness, while Nirvana were a sludgy mess, and we’d be hearing no more from them,It didn’t seem to do them any harm (and listening back to the show on YouTube, I still don’t think I was wrong, to be honest).

Michael Hann, former music editor of the GuardianOasisI was DJing at an indie night at the much-missed Le Bateau in Liverpool.The advertised band were called Smaller but they asked me if their mates could do a set using their gear.Their mates were Oasis and they played a short killer set to a tiny crowd months before they were signed.My finest night as a DJ! Kevin MacManus, LiverpoolPlayboi CartiI’ve been lucky to witness a few US rap legends amid the wafting ocakbasi smoke of east London’s Kingsland Road.There was a thousand-yard-staring Future at the Nest in 2014, and in 2010, abusing my door-code privileges while working at The Nest, I snuck in to see Tyler, the Creator with his Odd Future brethren at the Three Crowns pub: their first UK gig.

But perhaps the most incongruous performance from today’s vantage point was seeing Playboi Carti at a fifth birthday party for Dalston radio station NTS, in 2016.Today Carti is a gothically-tinged malcontent with a wizened lean-cured croak, playing arenas and creating mosh pits made up of thousands of 15-year-old boys.His next UK gig is in Manchester City’s Etihad Stadium, supporting the Weeknd.But back then, he was on a tiny stage in the corner of a snooker hall, the sound system gamely attempting to prop up his Atlantan bass, a spray of brightly coloured birthday balloons behind him rather dulling his edge – still, I couldn’t take my eyes off him even then.Ben Beaumont-Thomas, music editor of the GuardianTwenty One Pilots“What immediately popped into my mind was seeing Twenty One Pilots inI saw them in this dodgy club in a basement in Mesa, Arizona in March of 2013.

If I said there were 50 people in attendance, that would be a generous estimate.As soon as the show was over, my mate and I turned to each other and both said at the same time, “DUDE! THIS BAND IS GOING BE HEADLINING ARENAS!”“Dude! This band is going to be headlining arenas!” I never make proclamations like that … especially at sparsely attended shows in a basements.The thing that was remarkable about the show was that, even though it was far from a sellout, Tyler and Josh treated it like it was an arena show.It was obvious thatthey Tyler and Josh aspired to eventually play arenas, and they knew that if they were going to get to that level they were going to need to treat every show as an arena show, regardless of the size of the venue and crowd.” Mark Chotiner, CaliforniaJames BluntOn my first international job as a green-gilled music writer in the spring of 2005, I watched a posh singer-songwriter and his band play a venue that would’ve warmly received the arrival of tumbleweed.

Twenty-two people stood forlornly in front of the stage in that dive bar in Munich, but the man behind the microphone, the perma-grinning James Blunt, wasn’t bothered,He started the gig by bringing out a large crate of beer, the remains of his rider,“These are for you,” he announced,“If you know English, the last one of you to be sick is a ninny,” He yelled, “Hello, Deutschland!” soon after, a proper pop Alan Partridge, and covered – unnervingly – Pixies’ Where is My Mind?.

He ended with the song that would become a global, inescapable hit by the end of the summer.I’d happily never hear You’re Beautiful again, but that gig was madly brilliant.Jude Rogers, Guardian folk music criticThe KillersIn the early 2000s, a flashy new indie band set for stardom seemed to surface on an almost weekly basis.As an NME writer I was lucky enough to see loads of them – Franz Ferdinand, the Cribs, Bloc Party, Kaiser Chiefs – before they became big.I wrote the NME’s first live review of the Killers, when they were still unsigned, and unknown enough to fit inside Camden’s Dublin Castle.

“Few groups arrive on our shores as perfectly- formed as Tthe Killers,” I enthused, adding rather over-excitedly that they had “an arsenal of tunes so head-mashingly brilliant they’ll be beating your sweat-drenched ass around every corner of the dancefloor come this time next year”.Back then, frontman Brandon Flowers was actually an extremely shy 22-year-old, obsessed with British bands such as New Order and the Cure, but onstage that night he transformed into the sleek-suited showman we recognise today.I picked out Mr Brightside as their key banger, although I don’t think I could have predicted it would still be regularly in the UK charts 23 years later.The review had a somewhat comical afterlife.In 2017, I hosted a Guardian webchat with Flowers and drummer Ronnie Vannucci Jr and someone asked them about their big break.

– I was surprised when they started talking about “the guy who wrote our first NME live review”, clearly having no idea that said guy was in the room with them.Flowers seemed to believe it was the entire reason that they got signed, and saidsaying something to the effect of, “If only we could return the favour one day.” I bashfully revealed my identity.What was I expecting? A cut of future royalties? A simple one-off cash payment of $10,000 would have done me.Even a Snickers from the canteen vending machine would have been nice.

Instead there was a strangely awkward silence, the pair seeming a bit unsure what to do, and we moved on to the next question.Tim Jonze, associate editor of Guardian CultureTo read the complete version of this newsletter please subscribe to receive The Guide in your inbox every Friday