The Missing Link

Most artists would have some trepidation about playing in their native country for the first time in a dozen years, but not Wray; he's raring to go, in part because of his enthusiasm for domestic rockers. He admits to being unfamiliar with the Reverend Horton Heat and other acts whose work bears obvious Wray stamps, but he calls Nirvana "Link Wray with words," and adds, "I love all them young groups like Nirvana and Pearl Jam. They're keepin' the gee-tar alive. You've heard of No Doubt, right? With this young chick singin' and these guys playin' bass and drums? They're fuckin' fantastic, aren't they?" A pause. "Well, I think they are," he says.

Wray feels the same about life in general. Most entertainers known more as influences than stars in their own right nurse a certain bitterness about this situation since, to put it frankly, being an influence doesn't pay worth a damn. But if Wray is frustrated, his unhappiness is buried so deep that it may never get out. "I don't play music for the money--that's why I'm not a millionaire," he says. "When I go on these tours, I know I have to make the money to pay my house rent and to buy the food and clothes for my son so that he can have a safe life here in Denmark.

"When I'm home, I don't contact nobody. I don't even have a telephone. This telephone I'm talkin' to you on belongs to my manager, 'cause I don't want to be contacted by the outside world. When I'm at home, I want to sit and watch my tee-vee and be a daddy to my son and a husband to my wife and write my songs and have my privacy. But when I'm on stage, I'm open to the world. And if you come to the show, you better bring your ear-plugs. 'Cause it's gonna be loud."\

Link Wray, with Dieselhed. 8 p.m. Saturday, June 28, Bluebird Theater, 3317 East Colfax, $14-$15, 830-