Associated Press | File 2004

Alex Chilton of the 1970s rock band Big Star performs in Austin, Texas, in this file photo. Chilton, 59, died Wednesday of a probable heart attack.

Rob Sheffield, the fine writer and editor for Rolling Stone, noted the death of the great Memphis singer and songwriter Alex Chilton with a touching blog posting on Thursday that referenced a Chilton show in 1987 at a "sleazy rock bar in Roanoke, Virginia."

That was the night when Chilton stopped a song after an audience member threw a bottle at him. He threatened to kill the weak-armed hurler, then picked up the song in mid-chorus, right where he left off. Sheffield recounted the moment as a "perfect summary of Alex Chilton's mix of Southern charm and evil charisma."

It's a good story and mostly true, except that it wasn't a bottle, it was a cup or balled-up napkin. And it didn't happen in Roanoke, it happened in Radford. I know because I was there.

Chilton was playing at Lucky's Upstairs, a popular college bar on Norwood (now Main) Street, that brought in great bands every week. Touring bands, local bands, punk bands, country bands, all kinds of bands played there.

The place was a little grimy, and patrons had valid concerns about whether or not we'd all eventually crash through the second-story floor into the restaurant below, but it wasn't really sleazy. Too many pretty girls there to call it that.

Chilton was in Radford during his "High Priest" tour. The year had been a good one for him. Rock 105, the New River Valley's long-gone and still-mourned modern-rock radio station, played his new single "Make a Little Love" every couple of hours. The Replacements had introduced him to a new breed of fans that year by name-checking him in its song, "Alex Chilton." It was a good time to be alive and a music fan.

Sadly, Chilton died Wednesday night in New Orleans of a probable heart attack at age 59. He was the classic cult hero, an artist whose three records with Big Star -- "#1 Record," "Radio City" and "Third/Sister Lovers" -- were ranked among the best 500 albums of all-time by Rolling Stone. Many of you likely never heard of him, or if you did, it was probably because groups such as the Replacements, R.E.M. and Wilco always cited Big Star as a major influence.

If you're a young music fan who doesn't know Alex Chilton from Al Roker, but you like Modest Mouse and Green Day, understand that those bands' influences included the Replacements, whose influences included Big Star. A tattered, jagged line connects the present with the past.

Anyway, the '87 show at Lucky's was ridiculously good. D.C. rocker Tommy Keene opened with a solo set and Chilton came on with a small band (three-piece, I think) and played late. For all the legends about his surliness, he was great with the crowd and played a slew of Big Star songs. I even recall speaking to him outside the dressing room, thanking him for coming to Radford. He sheepishly thanked me for coming out.

The infamous moment happened as he played the opening licks of "September Gurls," perhaps his greatest song. Some drunk Radford University student (who was not me) threw the disputed projectile, which struck either Chilton or his guitar.

Chilton stopped and uttered in his nasally, high-pitched drone, "If I find the [really-nasty-term- that-includes-the-name-of-a-parent] who threw that ... I'll kill him." Then he said, "Maybe you don't want to hear that song," to which the packed room shouted with great distress that we most certainly did.

He played the rest of the gig, even closing with "The Letter," the song with which he hit No. 1 as the 16-year-old lead singer for the Box Tops.

"Children by the millions sing for Alex Chilton when he comes 'round," Paul Westerberg of the Replacements sang joyfully and wishfully in 1987.

Unfortunately, that never happened. But for a few hours on a warm autumn night many years ago, scores of giddy college students sang and danced to a guy who will always, to them, be a big star.