I have three main claims to fame, such as they are:
1) Jeff Beck, the English superstar guitar player, once sought me out and hugged me on his tour bus after a local show because of a scathing Kenny G review I wrote many moons ago. He even read parts of it to me from his computer. Guess he really liked it. Then we talked shit about Eric Clapton.
2) Joan Jett once winked at me from the LC pavilion stage as she was performing. I was in the photo pit taking pics, wearin' my new groovy Puerto Rican race track hat. But she clearly winked at me. Me. Not my hat. Me. Well, maybe my hat. Ladies love a man in a sharp-dressed hat, to paraphrase ZZ Top.
I felt all kinds of special all over.
I winked back and then licked my eyebrows, my customary return of salutation, here and in Puerto Rico. And that was that. Never heard from her again. Sigh.
3) G. Love was in my record store the day of one of his shows at the Newport. We bonded over a sweet vintage double-LP John Lee Hooker album I'd brought in from my own collection which he bought. That night, again in the photo pit, he saw me and nodded affirmatively, clearly acknowledging my humble shutter-bugged presence. But no wink. Coowell!