It was the first week of September in 1984, and I had just seen Simple Minds and the Pretenders at Red Rocks a little more than a week before.

My roommate Tim, our friend Andy and a couple of his friends were lined up at the Rainbow Music Hall to see Echo and the Bunnymen. I was wearing the black T-shirt I got at the Pretenders show, and I decided to wear black pants so I’d be matchy-matchy. Probably black Chucks, too.

Billy Bragg was opening for the Bunnymen that night, and I had never heard of him before we started planning to attend that show. As I sat there in the sun, back against the outer wall of the venue, Andy got all giddy as Billy Bragg, with all his gear, came walking along the line. Andy engaged, and the Englishman was friendly, funny and engaging right back. He went on his way, and Andy explained to us how Billy Bragg earned his cred while busking. He performed alone with his electric guitar. All of his electronics were in a backpack he wore while performing on the streets. He was wearing it right there as he spoke to us.

Now I bring up the Pretenders and my black clothing because we were lined up on the west side of the Rainbow Music Hall, directly in the summer sun. If the doors opened at 7 or thereabouts, which was likely, we had probably been in line (needlessly) since about 5. And the direct sunlight on my all-black outfit was taking a toll on me that I wouldn’t realize for a few hours.

Eventually we got in, became instant Billy Bragg fans and hunkered down for Ian McCulloch and his Bunnymen bandmates to take the stage.

He dazzled us with his voice, one of the best of the 1980s.

And somewhere around the encore, I started getting dizzy. I was sweating. I was disoriented. I was so, so thirsty. I could barely stand. Being crammed up against all these other concertgoers wasn’t helping. I told Tim I was leaving, and I went outside. The air had cooled after the sun went down, and I bought a Pepsi at one of the businesses at the corner of Evans and Monaco.

That was the first and only time I ever left a concert early. But just typing “Evans and Monaco” a few seconds ago was enough to make me giddy. I loved the Rainbow Music Hall. It was a small venue, about the size of a Walgreens, which it eventually became after Barry Fey sold it at the end of the 1980s. During its prime, I got to see a handful of bands there, bands that wouldn’t have headlined Red Rocks but maybe would’ve been afforded a 20-minute opening set for an established headliner.

There was ample space at the front of the venue to get right in front of the stage and stand to watch the show. I stood there for almost every show I went to.

Almost every one. …

My introduction to the late, great Rainbow came in spring 1980. One of my single mom’s gentlemen suitors asked to attend a concert featuring a band called Sue Saad and the Next. She, in turn, suggested to this fellow that they might want to take her music-loving son along.I thought it would be better than another night in front of the TV, so I tagged along (probably to this guy’s chagrin).

I was wrong. The show was terrible, and I don’t think I was alone in that assessment. The biggest rise Sue Saad got out of the crowd that night was when she threatened to take her top off. She didn’t. Disappointment throughout the building. It was, strictly for musical reasons, the worst show I ever saw at the Rainbow, maybe the worst show I ever saw.

The only other time I sat in a chair at the Rainbow was when my high school buddy Mike D’Attilio and I went to see Steel Pulse.

We had discovered Britain’s second wave of ska when KILO-94 in Colorado Springs played the English Beat’s “Mirror in the Bathroom” on a half-hour show of videos that it aired on local TV. Because of that, we went to see the movies “Dance Craze” and “URGH! A Music War” at midnight showings at the old UA-150 theater in the Springs. In the latter film, a showcase of British and American bands, we were introduced to reggae artists Steel Pulse (and many others).

When we learned Steel Pulse would be playing at the Rainbow, Mike borrowed the family car, and we headed north. I believe this was summer 1984, after our freshman year of college.

I’m not sure why we stayed in our seats for this concert, but we did. Was it because we knew only one song? Maybe others in the crowd hadn’t gone down to the front? I don’t remember.

Now the only song of the band’s that we knew at the time was the one it performed in “URGH!,” which was “Ku Klux Klan,” an indictment of racism and race-based violence. But the melodies of so many of the other songs — songs we’d never heard — were so strong that we fell in love instantly. I distinctly remember songs from the album “True Democracy.”

And when it came time for them to play “Ku Klux Klan,” we jumped right up and started singing along, top of lungs.

I suggested to Mike on the ride home that it may not have been the best look for us.

One of my biggest dilemmas in life had its origins in the Rainbow Music Hall.

Pee-wee Herman was booked for a show at the Glenn Miller Ballroom at the University of Colorado on Nov. 19, 1983. But Big Country was scheduled to play at the Rainbow. The aforementioned Tim and I very much loved Pee-wee … and Big Country. At the time, U2 (from Ireland), the Alarm (from Wales) and Big Country (from Scotland) were all on the rise. Any one of them could catch fire and be the next big thing. I ironically, was partial to Big Country and the Alarm.

But neither Tim nor I had a car. Nor did we have a credit card. And other than riding the bus from Boulder to downtown Denver to go dancing at Thirsty’s on new wave night, neither of us were masters of the RTD system. We tested our problem-solving skills to come up with transportation solutions. Ultimately we settled on walking to the University Memorial Center to see Pee-wee. (Now, with decades of hindsight, I’m thrilled that we got a chance to see Pee-wee in person. I still have the wrapper, my wrapper, from the Tootsie Rolls he handed out to every member of the crowd — and the streamer we tore down from the stage after the show. But for literally years after this, Tim and I agonized that we had to miss Big Country. I can only imagine how good that show must’ve been.)

Another highlight was the Cure on Halloween night that year. What a treat. I can easily say this was the best concert I ever attended. The band was touring in support of the album “The Top.” It was an unforgettable night. I went with my buddy Bart. And when we got back to the dorms at CU, we turned on the TV in his room, and Letterman was starting. And the featured guest? Pee-wee

Herman, who was dressed up as the devil for the holiday.

It was like winning the lottery.

One of my favorite things about the Rainbow was what I’ll call an artifact hanging on a wall just outside the performance space. It was a framed piece of fabric — a burlap bag? — that I believe had the Rainbow logo on it. My memory is foggy here. But what I am certain of it had was autographs from various artists who had graced the stage there. I don’t specifically remember anybody who had signed it other than members of the Specials. The early 1980s were my wheelhouse as far as punk, new wave and ska, and the Specials were high in the stratosphere of my favorites in those genres. I was gobsmacked when I saw those signatures. I’m not sure if I was more in awe of being so close to something they had actually touched or if I was more disappointed that I had never been aware the Specials were in Colorado.

I’ve always wondered where those framed autographs wound up after the club closed.

Other memories:

• The only time I ever got really mad at my grandmother Dot was when Blondie was headed to the Rainbow, nobody in my family would take me. I was about 14 and had no way to get there on my own. My mother wouldn’t take me. My grandfather wouldn’t. And when I asked Dot, she had a question ready for me.

“Are they any good?”

“What do you mean, Blondie? Of course they’re good. They’re amazing.”

“Well, then they’ll be back again some other time.”

Ugh. I wanted to scream.

• Getting sick and missing Big Audio Dynamite at the Rainbow. Only time I’ve ever missed a concert that I had tickets for.

• Getting a drumstick from Ranking Roger at the General Public show at the Rainbow.

• New Order on their “Low-Life” tour at the Rainbow.

• And the last show I ever attended there: Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

• I never did see Big Country. Or the Alarm.

I have a vague memory of members of Blondie signing that burlap bag or whatever it was that was framed and on the wall at the Rainbow. I couldn’t swear to it, but it is stuck in my head.

I wonder whatever happened to that. …