I saw you perform in Portland, Me., back in the ’80s when you opened for the Pretenders. I had never experienced anything like it. You actually licked my hand.

I was just really happy to be in Maine — I’m a travel enthusiast. And I’m glad I got away with a lick. But those were pretty mainstream shows. It was an introduction to another part of the American public. I remember there was one gig on that tour at Penn State, and it looked just like “Children of the Corn” — these penetrating blue Anglo-Saxon eyes staring at me from beneath identical corncob-colored crew cuts.

From what I understand, you’d be energized by an unreceptive audience.

Exactly. All I really have on my mind before I go out there is: I’m going to try to kill them. What some people would call antics, I would just call a good show.

Considering your longtime heroin abuse and your various accidental and self-inflicted performance injuries, how’s your health?

I’m a little bit damaged in about 15 different ways, and it’s been nice that no particular damaged area has become a major issue. I’m a more than moderately healthy 65-year-old male who has gotten away with a lot of stuff.