Some of my ideas:

 

-Having to play the bass part forever in an infinite loop of Gazpacho's Dream Of Stone.

 

-Teaching a kindergarten class all-harmonica orchestra Octavarium.

 

-Being asked to produce a Crazy Frog disc of Return To Forever remixes.

 

-Being the warm-up guy at Anathema concerts, having to tell a few jokes and so on at intermission.

 

-Helping Ian Anderson ghost write the novel length version of The Hare Who Lost His Spectacles.

 

-Joining Epica only to find out that Simone Simons has been replaced with Susan Boyle.

 

-A record company asks you to prepare 2 CD Frank Zappa retrospective, though you really really think he needs 3. After much struggle you eventually have a 2 CD set. Just before you present your tracklist, they tell you it's been downscaled to just a single disc so could you please resort it.

 

-Interviewing John Myung.

 

-Being hired as road crew on the Pink Floyd reunion tour and finding out your sole task is to ferry written notes between Gilmour and Waters rooms at hotels on the opposite side of every town you go to.

King Crimson?

 

Show time. You take your place on the stage and a hand pushes the fourth keyboard bank in behind you, sealing you into your place of wonder. Keyboards on all side, all painstakingly configured to the right arrangements. You flex your fingers as the lights go up, itching to play the crowd roars as the announcer states "And now. Ladies and gentlemen. On the first night of their final tour. The legendary. Emerson! Lake! And PALMER!"

 

The spotlight comes on you as you set into the dazzling solo you have prepared to open the show. Your fingers slam onto the keys for the first powerful chord. Then, just when they're expecting for you to hold it a little longer, when they least expect it, your fingers are instantly dancing all over the keys in ways people didn't think possible. You imagine Jordan Rudess watching from the VIP area in tears. You can hear the music spiralling and cascading impossibly fast and incredibly sweet almost as if it's coming from inside your head. The crowd have barely reacted, so mesmerised they must be by what you are doing. In fact you are so lost in the moment that it takes a little while for the growing laughter from the crowd to draw your attention to the fact that you have forgotten to switch your keyboard on.

 

Show time. You take your place on the stage and a hand pushes the fourth keyboard bank in behind you, sealing you into your place of wonder. Keyboards on all side, all painstakingly configured to the right arrangements. You flex your fingers as the lights go up, itching to play the crowd roars as the announcer states "And now. Ladies and gentlemen. On the first night of their final tour. The legendary. Emerson! Lake! And PALMER!"

 

But just as your fingers hover above the keys to hit the opening notes, a dark skinned radiant Amazonian goddess rises out of the front row and screams "I LOVE YOU KEITH!" She rips her top open, revealing the most full, perfect breasts you have ever seen. She is quickly removed by security and Greg jovially smoothes things over with the crowd, smiling and having a bit of a laugh. "What a welcome ay?" etc The moment passes and Greg nods to you to begin,

 

Except the incident has completely shattered your concentration. Your hands are above the keyboards but the music isn't in your head anymore- there's nothing, only a huge pair of perfect breasts. You can't even remember what chord you were supposed to be playing in. Seconds tick by and amusement turns to concern as you fail to move in any way. Greg flips his mic off and stage-whispers to you "Keith? Are you alright? Play something!"

 

Your mind flails through the planned setlist but you can barely even remember the names of any songs and what music you remember seems so alien and complex. The crowd begins to get a little anxious and restless and you can see people in the wings muttering to each other in concern. Desperately grasping at the first melody that comes into your head which doesn't seem too much to ask for, you are as horrified as everyone else when you begin tapping out a stammering version of Mary Had A Little Lamb.

 

Show time. You take your place on the stage and a hand pushes the fourth keyboard bank in behind you, sealing you into your place of wonder. Keyboards on all side, all painstakingly configured to the right arrangements. You flex your fingers as the lights go up, itching to play the crowd roars as the announcer states "And now. Ladies and gentlemen. On the first night of their final tour. The legendary. Emerson! Lake! And PALMER!"

 

You raise your hands and 40,000 eyes swivel in your direction as they realise you are going to lead off. You do not begin playing right away- you savour the moment, the anticipation, that if tonight goes off like you know it will, ELP will be in about the best position musicians your age could be, a hot ticket with many sold-out nights sure to follow, new fans, younger people turning up in the crowds, a legacy reclaimed. Fans excitedly chatter to each other though many hush as they await the commencement. Just as your hands come down, someone near the front clearly remarks "But to be honest with you I've always preferred Rick Wakeman of course." "Oh, of course."

 

You hit a bad chord.