If you had the opportunity to meet anyone in history, who would it be? Einstein? John F. Kennedy? Shakespeare? John Lennon? OK, well, you cannot make their acquaintances. That is just the way the cookie crumbles.

But reconsider, if you had the opportunity to meet any prominent living individual, who would it be? A political figure? Religious? Athletic? Dramatic? Literary? Musical?

When B.B. King came to the Overture Center in March as part of his 80th Birthday Celebration tour, I could not encourage my parents enough to attend. The truth of mortality sounds so crude and crass, but he might not make it back to Madison on another round. And even though my father still houses decades' old records — yes, records — from the legendary living blues musician, he had managed to never yet witness the phenomenon live. Having found myself among a crowd in front of him not once, but twice, I can attest that B.B. King — 80 years old or not — is very much, in fact, a must-see phenomenon.

Now I am an incredibly irrational, nervous flyer. So as I boarded the plane to Atlantic City with my sister and her other bridesmaid last week for her bachelorette party, I desperately needed to find something — anything — to occupy my mind. The two exams I had yet to study for — let alone complete the readings. The paper I had yet to write — much less zero-in on a topic. Somehow everything just increased the anxiety.

So our purpose of travel became my concentration. We headed out there not for the gambling, the couch-dancing, the casinos — although I did find myself making just over a dollar profit on the nickel slots. Atlantic City became our destination because Kelly Clarkson had taken her tour overseas. Atlantic City became our destination because the Pretenders scheduled a mini-tour at various House of Blues venues in support of their March released box-set Pirate Radio. Thus ignited the cognitive meanderings.

Thinking about the Pretenders first and foremost entailed thinking about Chrissie Hynde. And thinking about Chrissie Hynde — one of the few female rock voices prevalently vibrating my eardrums growing up — naturally led to thinking about my musical legends. Above and beyond those young bands whose debut I adore today and tomorrow's sophomore release I skeptically await. The Rock and Roll Hall of Famers. Those most cited as influential. If I had the opportunity to see any prominent living musician, who would it be? Elton John? Paul McCartney? James Taylor?

Nearly every name I considered had been in the area within the past few years. If I would not let my parents miss B.B. King's show, why had I not seen James Taylor at Summerfest? McCartney at Milwaukee's Bradley Center, Elton John at the Kohl Center? Because seeing a legend in action means going to the 17,000-plus occupancy Kohl Center, the 18,000-plus Bradley Center, the 23,000-plus Marcus. I avoid those venues almost as much as I avoid extensive flying.

Enmeshed in the Madison club scene, one becomes rather spoiled by the small venues. After Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! played the Annex this past fall, the four boys stood near the exit to shake fans' hands. During their set at the High Noon this past summer, the fellows of the Redwalls effortlessly interacted with audience members of the 300-plus crowd. Is it so wrong being accustomed to having direct access to my musicians when in my clubs? As much as I adore them, neither the Redwalls nor Clap Your Hands are quite yet of legendary status. They are required to play the clubs. Arenas are unlikely as viable options for up and comers.

In general, if one wishes to see a cornerstone of rock 'n' roll evolution do his thing, she suddenly finds herself succumbing to the arena. And as far as I am concerned, the larger the venue, the less the whole event becomes about the music. The more seats selling, the less the whole event becomes about fostering the community created in instances of live music.

Paying over $100 to watch a video screen — because you can hardly see the minuscule figures claiming to be Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Charlie Watts and Ron Wood allegedly playing instruments — is just plain ridiculous. Ridiculous and unavoidable.

When you are as culturally pervasive and visible as the Rolling Stones, you do not book just any venue. You demand space enough for sauntering. You need space enough for pyrotechnics, lights. More lights! You need to be absolutely certain a packed house brings in revenue greater than a mid-sized third-world country anticipates annually. That is just the way that particular cookie crumbles.

The 2,300-plus capacity of the Atlantic City House of Blues is no Orpheum, certainly no intensely personal Annex. But the 2,300-plus capacity of the Atlantic City House of Blues is no Bradley Center, no intensely impersonal Marcus Amphitheater. It was not until drinking fabulously undersized, fantastically overpriced cocktails at the Taj Mahal afterwards that I made this recognition. My legend became more than a voice on a tape — yes, a cassette tape — more than a body in the distance.

I saw firsthand — not through oversized screens or televisions — the whites of those eyes so often hidden behind trademark heavy bangs and thick black liner. I saw firsthand Hynde reach for a piece of paper an audience member held out to her. I heard firsthand Hydne — in classic Hynde fashion — proclaim "f-ck it" as she tossed the message back to the crowd.

That is what I want from my legends. Rock. Tell me a story. Roll. Take my persistently shouted song request. Rock. Discover the tambourine does in fact fit over your head. Roll. Do not blind me with bright lights. Do not substitute random video footage for live entertainment. Do not play with charisma and personality akin to studio sessions. I want my living legends to be human.

Until Tom Petty adapts the Pretenders' philosophy, I am stuck running between the arena and the club. I am stuck vacillating between never seeing what are certain to be cannot-miss performances and compromising some of my core concert-going ideals. Eh, I guess that is just the way the cookie crumbles.

Christine Holm is a senior majoring in English and psychology. Questions? Comments? Want to talk music with her? Reach Christine at [email protected].