The Ones That Got Away

Last week's post really got me thinking about the shows I've seen, and the ones I'd like to see. If the stars don't align right for the concerts on the wish list, they might end up on this week's list – The Shows That Got Away.

I really can't complain. I didn't get married until I was 31. I'm 35 now, and Sharon and I are expecting our first child in about six weeks. So I've had a lot of years in which I could see a lot of concerts. And I have. Still, it would have been nice to see a few more. In ascending order of regret, here are the 10 shows that got away:

10. Albert Collins. As I mentioned last week, I spent my late teens and much of my 20s immersing myself in the blues. It stemmed from the first time I heard Stevie Ray Vaughan on the radio. SRV also brought blues back into the mainstream and shone a much deserved spotlight on his influences. I was lucky enough to see many of the giants – Johnny Copeland, Buddy Guy, Otis Rush, and The King of the Blues, Mr. B.B. King. I never got to see Albert Collins, though. I'm guessing it would have been best in a small club, as one of Collins' signature moves was slinging his stinging licks on his open-tuned Fender Telecaster while winding his way through the joint, a couple hundred feet of serpentine guitar cord trailing behind. I always thought I'd get the chance to catch "The Iceman," who like so many of his contemporaries was a road warrior. Unfortunately for me (and much more for him), the Texas bluesman died of lung cancer in 1993 at age 61. A big honorable mention (let's call in 10a.) has to go to Albert King, who probably was Vaughan's biggest influence. King died of a heart attack in 1992 at age 69.

9. Chet Atkins. If you've ever spent five minutes talking to me about music, read a sampling of my posts or if I've ever made you a mix tape, you know that I revere guitar players. So you can imagine my disappointment over never seeing "Mr. Guitar" perform. Atkins, who died at 77 in 2001, had a career that was somewhat un-rock and roll yet inspired many, many rock guitarists, including Mark Knopfler of Dire Straits. I say "somewhat" because he did play on early rock and roll records by Elvis Presley and the Everly Brothers. On the other hand, he was responsible as an executive and producer for RCA records for creating the slick, old-people-friendly Nashville Sound. His penchant for strings didn't excite me much, but his playing did. He was influenced by a couple of pretty good players – Django Reinhardt and Merle Travis – and developed a silky smooth style of his own. On record, he put down pleasing, fingerpicked melodies driven by alternating bass notes played by his thumb. On video, it was amazing to watch. Atkins was a study in concentration and economy. He never flubbed a note, and he made it look effortless. That takes more work than most of us will ever know. It wasn't the same as seeing him perform, but I made sure that one of the first things I did on my first pilgrimage to Nashville was visit the life-size, bronze statue of Atkins that sits outside Bank of America on the corner of Union Street and 5th Avenue. Naturally, he's playing his guitar.

8. R.E.M. in their prime. The "in their prime" is an important distinction. Because R.E.M. is still together, and still touring. But for about the past decade, they just haven't had the same kind of effect on my as they did in the '80s and early '90s. Maybe it's because their quality has dropped off (though in fairness I haven't bought the past few albums because of declining interest), or maybe it's because I've just gotten used to them. Whereas when they first took the free world by storm with "Fables of the Reconstruction," "Life's Rich Pageant" and "Document" in the mid-'80s, they were one of those bands that changed the dynamic of popular music. They came out of Athens, Ga., but seemed like they came out of some mythic small town where the people spoke in their own dialect – at least a dialect that allowed them to figure out exactly what Michael Stipe was singing about. Like U2, R.E.M just sounded different, though they were much more rooted in the '60s folk-rock of the Byrds and Buffalo Springfield. They also, for better or worse, inspired the music media to start slapping the "alternative" tag on anything it couldn't pigeonhole. This left me (and probably you) wondering, when R.E.M. for a time became one of the biggest bands in the world, how you could keep calling them alternative. They continued their world domination through 1992's "Automatic For The People," but seemed to start slipping with 1994's "Monster," one of the most readily available CDs in the history of used CD stores. I liked "Monster," and still have my copy, but my interest started to fade, too. Maybe I'm being unfair, but R.E.M. has moved from my wish list to the ranks of regret.

7. Danny Gatton. Talk about a guitar player. I tore a flimsy "Soundpage" recording out of a Guitar Player magazine in the late '80s, put it on my turntable and proceeded to be blown away. The track was called "Nit Pickin'," and it was a tour de force, a history of the electric guitar packed into a five-minute lesson. Gatton, wielding a tricked-out Telecaster, could shift from country to blues to rockabilly to jazz, and he often did – on the same recording. He was known as "The World's Greatest Unknown Guitar Player," at least until GP and Rolling Stone featured him. I immediately set out to find as many of his recordings as I could (still do). He eventually signed with a major label, making it easier to hear him. Seeing him was another matter, since he rarely ventured outside his native Washington, D.C., area. I'm here now, but Gatton's gone. He shot himself in 1994. Sadly, he's still largely unknown outside of guitar players.

6. The Replacements. Long before the train wreck that is Ryan Adams was in vogue, Minneapolis produced the most lovably out-of-control band of the 1980s. Like Adams, the Mats also had talent. Subversive yet melodic, they came out of the punk movement but became the bad boys of alternative rock. They even thumbed their noses at the Beatles by naming their outstanding 1984 album "Let It Be." When they were off, they were really off. But when they were on, such as on "Let It Be," "Tim" (1985) and "Pleased to Meet Me" (1987), they were the best rock band of the decade. I've talked to a few people who saw them, and read many more accounts. They might have done an inspired set of their own tunes or all covers. Most likely they would have been shitfaced. Substance abuse took its toll, and guitarist Bob Stinson was kicked out of the band in 1991. He died in 1995, forever putting the Replacements on the "what might have been" list. I've seen Paul Westerberg solo and enjoyed his work, even though it has alienated many hardcore Mats fans. If he and bassist Tommy Stinson could bury the hatchet, I'd even consider seeing a reunion show. But probably not. Sometimes it's best just to let the legend grow.

5. Carl Perkins. If you took a poll and asked people if they knew the song "Blue Suede Shoes," far too many would tell you yes but tell you that they thought it was an Elvis song. I'm sure I don't need to tell you, music fans, that Carl Perkins was actually the author of "Blue Suede Shoes," and the first to have a hit with it for Sun in 1956. It put rockabilly on the map as a style of music. Perkins wasn't done there. He wrote many other hits, such as "Everybody's Trying to Be My Baby," "Honey Don't" and "Matchbox," all of which were covered by the Beatles. He also was a terrific guitar player. Without his influence, there would have been no George Harrison as we knew him. Paul McCartney has said, "If there were no Carl Perkins, there would be no Beatles," and they covered Perkins more than any other group or artist. Perkins also wrote "Daddy Sang Bass" for Johnny Cash and toured with The Man In Black. He died in 1998 at age 65.

4. Nirvana. Another band that changed the face of rock. "Smells Like Teen Spirit," the first single off the 1991 classic "Nevermind," punched a hole through the speakers and the public psyche on its way to becoming the most crank-worthy single on the radio for the next couple of years. The effects on the Seattle rock scene were even more momentous. Unfortunately, when major labels began signing every three-piece in flannel, grunge lost a lot of its edge. It was great while it lasted, though. Cobain was a tortured genius (there may be no other kind), and I suspect watching him perform probably occasionally gave people the same guilt I sometimes get from watching boxing. I love it, but I wonder if it's right for others to suffer for my entertainment. He wrestled with his suffering, too. His heroin addiction was well-chronicled, and he committed suicide in 1994. To this day, if I hear "Teen Spirit" on the radio I turn it up. I suspect someday my daughter will, too.

3. The Clash/Joe Strummer. The Clash were the best example ever of a band that had a social conscience and sounded good doing it. From their 1977 debut, the band took on social struggles regarding class, race and government. The high point was their 1979 release, "London Calling," which was one of the best albums ever made. An amalgamation of punk, rockabilly, pop and reggae, it featured the explicitly political "London Calling," "Spanish Bombs" and "The Guns of Brixton." But they could do a bang-up job with the traditional boy-girl themes, too, such as on the rock radio staple "Train in Vain." They had even more popular success with "Rock the Casbah" and "Should I Stay or Should I Go" from 1982's "Combat Rock." Technically, I shouldn't be putting The Clash on this list, since they for all intents and purposes were done by 1983, when they kicked guitarist Mick Jones out of the band. I was 13 at the time, and there's no way my folks were letting me go out of state for a concert (we lived in Maine). But they hung on until 1986 without Jones, so it's possible I could have seen them. I would have considered seeing Strummer with his last band, the world-music-influenced Mescaleros, and I had a couple of opportunities to do so since taking a job in D.C. I put it off, because there's always so much to do and so many concerts to choose from. I waited too long. Strummer died of a heart attack in 2002 at age 50.

2. Johnny Cash. What can you say about Cash that hasn't already been said? An icon, and one of the three or four biggest names in American music history. Seeing him live wasn't a lifelong ambition for me. When I was a kid, I didn't think much of him, although my father played his records a lot. By the time I was in my teens and especially my 20s, I realized my old man wasn't foolish after all. No matter what style of music you like, you probably can find something in Cash's catalog that appeals to you. Even if you don't like music that much, you can find something in Cash himself that appeals to you. He was a giant in the music business, but he had qualities that were more important than the hit records. He was compassionate, and he was humble. Perhaps more than any artist in the history of American music, Johnny Cash put his virtue and his vices on display side by side. That he was a star only helped teach the rest of us what it means to be human. For all his achievements, he reached perhaps his greatest heights by working with Rick Rubin for the last several years of his life. In particular, the video for his cover of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt" showed that you could still be a relevant artist well into your 70s. It also showed that even The Man In Black could be vulnerable. He was being discovered by yet another generation, but declining health kept him off the road. It would have been nice to be in the same room with such a man.

1. Uncle Tupelo. Probably my favorite band, but I discovered them too late to enjoy them in their prime. Had I been on the ball at the time, this show was a possibility for me. All those years of absorbing the blues had a downside, too. I'm still not sure what alt-country is, but I know that UT's catalog appeals to my love of rock and my eventual acceptance of country the way few bands have. I've seen Jay Farrar with the latest incarnation of Son Volt, and Jeff Tweedy with the current lineup of Wilco. Both were great. I'm guessing that seeing them together would have been tremendous. Like Lennon and McCartney, they made beautiful music together before tension tore them apart. Also like Lennon and McCartney, the split most likely is permanent. Even though the original lineup is still alive, I'm betting that Uncle Tupelo will stay at the top of this list. It's one of the few bands out there that never seems to be the subject of reunion rumors. But if they ever do get back together, and hell hasn't frozen over, I'm there.

Next week: Possibly the toughest list of all. If I can settle on a lineup, the 10 best shows I've ever seen.