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"Believe it or not," she says, "when I was 16, I fell hopelessly in love with the saxophone player from Rare Earth." She unwraps a stick of gum and pops it into her mouth. "I cared about Waylon. He was a good man. And Bobby Lamm from [the band] Chicago. I always carried a torch for him. But he was into models and actresses. I guess in the long run he was out of my league."  

L.A. Guns take the stage for their sound check, blasting into their 1989 hit Rip and Tear .   Hamzy sits on a road case at the edge of the stage, her feet not quite touching the ground. As the song gains momentum, building to a pristine metal crescendo, I notice an odd transformation taking place: Hamzy seems to be getting younger, the years melting away with each musical surge. Not just her attitude or demeanor, although they are part of the transformation, too--but physically . The lines in her face have smoothed and the sparkle in her eyes returns. The gigs have always been the most important thing. And 35 years later, they still are.

The concert is a bust. The gates have been open for nearly two hours, and there are only about 400 people in a venue that holds 2,000. The promoter drives by in a golf cart, barking commands into a walkie-talkie. When local opening band Bombay Black finishes its set, we decide to head home. On this night, Sweet, Sweet Connie will not be doing her act, perhaps an indication of a disappointing trend. "At Van Halen last Friday, I didn't suck one dick," she says. "Not a single one."

Back at Hamzy's house, she pours a glass of wine, drops Foreigner's Agent Provocateur into the CD player, and fires up the bong.

"Do you have plans to continue your backstage antics into your fifties?" I ask.

"I hope so," she says laughing. "As long as I don't get arthritis in my jaw."   She takes a deep pull. "A lot of these young bands know who I am and they want to meet me." She exhales, pointing to a Three Doors Down backstage pass. "These guys like me a lot, and I blow their bass player. Or I did before he got married. The guys in Saliva and Slipknot like me, too." Foreigner's "That was Yesterday" fills the air, and Connie cranks up the volume. "I love this song," she says, mouthing the lyrics:  

"Goodbye yesterday / Now it's over and done / Still I hope somewhere deep in your heart / Yesterday will live on."

She takes one last hit, and gazes out the window into the darkness. Yesterday will most certainly live on.

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