After more than 30 years, it remains one of my most memorable concert experiences — one I still recount gleefully to anyone who will listen. Orlando, Florida — November 1989. At 26 I found myself forced up against a cold brick wall, spread eagle and getting patted down by “the man.” I told you guys — I DON’T have a gun! Oddly, this wasn’t a late-night DUI stop. I wasn’t being interrogated at an international airport checkpoint. And I wasn’t involved in a drug deal gone bad. I merely was attempting to get through the turnstile at — a Debbie Gibson concert. At the time, Deb was the center of my musical universe. It was her Electric Youth tour. My brother and I had front row center seats and I would have hacked off an arm before doing anything disruptive. However, with my waist-length jet bla...