In this age when there are more bands and artists than we’ll ever be able to sift through — with more coming every day — it’s interesting how someone new might grab one’s attention.

I was in an aisle seat on a plane from Philadelphia to San Francisco and saw the guy just in front of me, in the middle, was the same dude I noticed on the earlier connector from Providence to Philly. Big guy, beard, slightly balding, Red Sox gear.

He was also memorable because his female traveling companion had a ukulele in her shoulder bag. I was prepared to kick out the window of the plane and get sucked into the vortex if she pulled the sumbitch out and started plucking it. She didn't.

(A note: a list of what we typically don’t need in modern music would absolutely include a ukulele, along with a harmonica, and a flute. If you go see any band and any of the musicians breaks out any of these instruments, flee as though from burly, foam-throated demons. And if the band in question features two or more of these instrument, well, give it up. You’ve died and are in hell. Even the Moody Blues no longer include original flautist Ray Thomas — and his contributions were actually pretty cool. But that was then and this is now.)

Anyhoo, it was a five-plus hour flight to SF, so I went back to my book and didn’t think about Large Red Sox Fan and his uke-toting babe. I read a while, tried to nap, decided not to pay $7 for a luke warm can of Heineken … and at some point, glancing through the seat gap, noticed Large Red Sox fan had his laptop open and was scrolling through a list of downloaded songs.

Well, hell, I’m always curious about what citizens are listening to. This guy was all over the map, which was cool. Pat Benatar yet Pantera, Simon & Garfunkel yet Henry Rollins … a lot of hip hop and some classic rock … Very open minded, which I respect.

Then I noticed that, by far, the most tunes he had were by someone named Sage Francis. Thousands of them.

I don’t know who Sage Francis is, I thought, but this dude stinkin’ LOVES Sage Francis. I made a note to look up Sage Francis once we landed, then went back to my book. A few hours later, I glanced up and Large Red Sox Fan’s laptop was displaying icons for stuff like SAGE FRANCIS TOUR DATES and SAGE FRANCIS PRESS KIT. Wow, he's completely obsessed -- sorta like me and Porcupine Tree. Just then, he clicked on a jpeg and a picture popped up of what appeared to be a few of the guys from System of a Down — standing companionably with … Large Red Sox Fan!

It hit me: whomever Sage Francis is — he's Large Red Sox Fan!

Excitement bubbled over. I wanted to trot up and down the aisle of the plane, tapping on the shoulders of napping passengers. “Guess who’s on the plane?!" I'd whisper fiercely. "It’s Sage Francis!”

We landed shortly thereafter and the Wifester and I made our way to the luggage area. Just as we got off the escalator, I spotted a punky babe in a Fillmore jacket, holding up a cardboard sign, limo driver-style, that said: SAGE F.

Because I’m a loser, I went up to her. “You looking for Sage Francis?”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Are you him?”

“No, no,” I laughed heartily. “I’m just a fan.” I couldn’t figure out a simple way to convey I’d been Peeping Tomming Sage’s laptop for three hours. “Do you not know what he looks like?”

Her expression was sheepish. “Actually, no. I’m just supposed to pick him up.”

I glanced again at her jacket. “You work at the Fillmore?”

“Yeah, he’s playing there tonight.”

WOW! Large Red Sox Fan, listener to Pat Benatar and Pantera, headlining the immortal Fillmore Auditorium! I was so proud of my close personal friend!

She asked, “So, what does he look like?”

“Kind of a large guy. Slightly balding. Beard.”

My wife was waving tiredly. My Sage Francis act had gone on way too long to suit her, plus the luggage had arrived. But: Where was Sage?! I was worried. I had to go, but I threw out one more hint to the Fillmore Woman. “Well, good luck. I’m sure he’ll show up. He's very organized. You'll like him. Oh, and he might be wearing Red Sox gear because he loves them.”

“Thanks,” she said, clearly wishing the late-middle-aged weirdo would get far away from her.

I headed off, calling over my shoulder: “And you’ll dig him. He’s stinkin’ great!”

And so I can only hope Sage found her and that the show was killer.

By the way. I of course checked him out: a Providence-based hip-hop/slam poetry/spoken word artist. Some very good stuff. Erudite, dark, literary, funny ... great production. Give it a listen and see what you think. Tell him I sent you.