Glitter-free: Alan Jackson sees his life as similar to his fans, though he concedes, “It’s just that my cars are nicer.” RELATED STORIES •Evans ‘Restless’ but not stressless ALAN JACKSON, SARA EVANS, THE WRIGHTS When 7:30 p.m. Saturday Where Hyundai Pavilion at Glen Helen, I-15 at I-25, Devore How much $31-$66 Information (714)740-2000 or http://www.ticketmaster.com/ Article tools E-MAIL THIS ARTICLE PRINTABLE VERSION Site tools EVENTS SEARCH DISCUSSION BOARDS MOVIE TIMES LIVE TRAFFIC GET A MAP FINANCIAL TOOLS

By TOM ROLAND
Special to the Register

As a celebrated car buff and one of country music's most honored current performers, Alan Jackson achieved the perfect blend of work and play with his latest single.

"The Talkin' Song Repair Blues" humorously places a country songwriter in an auto shop at the mercy of a mechanic. The grease monkey sees some problems with the vehicle and throws out a string of confusing gibberish about torque converters, injector ports, spark-plug wires and a main prodsponder, then makes up a price of $800 on the spot to fix it all.

About that time, the mechanic recognizes the songwriter, then asks him to listen to something he's written. With the tables turned, the writer spots his own set of musical defects, spouts some judgments about augmented chords and backed-up adverbs and offers to fix the song for "eight $900!"

On its own, the confusing jargon would likely go over the head of the average listener. But the way the song is constructed, the lingo adds up to something everyone understands: revenge.

"That's always been a joke for years about gettin' taken by a mechanic," notes Jackson, who appears tonight on "The Tonight Show With Jay Leno" and performs Saturday in Devore. "I think a lot of my fans can relate to that, and I think the songwriting part is kind of interesting."

Songwriting is a main reason why Jackson is where he is today. Granted, he didn't write "The Talkin' Song Repair Blues"; it came from Dennis Linde, whose credits stretch from Elvis Presley's "Burning Love" to the Dixie Chicks' "Goodbye Earl." But Jackson's mix of humor, sensitivity and social observation –exemplified in such titles as "www.memory," "Remember When" and "Where Were You (When The World Stopped Turning)" - has sustained the traditional country singer through several waves of Next Big Things.

In fact, today marks exactly 15 years since "Here in the Real World," a self-penned lament built on the imagery of the silver-screen cowboy, peaked at No. 3 on the Billboard country chart, bringing Jackson his first hit. Jackson came to prominence at the start of the genre's 1990s boom, survived the pop-slanted Shania Twain and Faith Hill era and still ranks highly even as edgier acts, such as Gretchen Wilson and Big & Rich, have moved in.

"I figured that if I was lucky and had two or three hits and could sell a half-million or a million albums, I could maybe make a career out of it for four or five years," Jackson recalls of his early days. "I see a lot of people hit that mark, you know - (they) sold a million albums or so, and then lasted four or five years on the radio, and then kind of disappeared. I thought if I had a shot, that'd be it."

Instead, he has two albums that have been certified by the Recording Industry Association of America for shipments of 6 million copies, and two more volumes that have reached the 5 million and 4 million marks. He's pocketed 11 awards from the Los Angeles-based Academy of Country Music and is nominated for two more trophies at next month's ceremony. He became the first country artist featured on the cover of Entertainment Weekly, he secured his own record label with BMG (through which he signed the Wrights, who open Saturday's show), and of late, his "Remember When" was among the first three country singles to receive a new digital certification for 100,000 downloads.

Given that Jackson has never downloaded anything, that last achievement draws a chuckle.

"Of all the high-tech acts you got," he observes, "I'm the countriest one, and I'm the one that goes" first.

Jackson is the closest that modern country has come to replacing Merle Haggard, long known as the poet of the common man. But as a multimillionaire, Jackson lives in a world a wide gulf away from that of the fans who shell out $15 for a CD or $40 for a sweatshirt on his Web site. Nevertheless, he doesn't see the other parts of his life as remarkably different from that of his audience.

"I'm sure I've lost some of the connection with the regular workin' man that I came from," concedes Jackson, who's been married to the same woman for 25 years. "We have done well with the money, and we have a nice home and cars and stuff, but we're still not really big show-business types. We're not into big entertainin' or doin' anything. We're just regular people. We go to my girls' basketball games, and we go to church on Sunday, and we go to the lake. It's just that my cars are nicer."

There is one other area where he differs from his fans, however. Particularly for those in their 40s, even people who like their jobs usually face distinct periods during which they wish they could chuck it all: Take away any financial worries, and they'd be gone from work in a heartbeat.

But even though finances are not a concern to Jackson, 46, he almost never shares that desire to ditch the gig and coast into retirement.

"This year," he notes, "I'll do 40 dates. I'm not on the road as much. I don't travel on the bus; I fly back and forth a lot when it's convenient, so I'm home probably more than most workin' parents would be with their children, and I think that's the savior right there. If I had to be gone as much as I did in 1993, well, I'd hang it up. I couldn't do it. I'd be gone all the time."

"If I just get completely burnt out," he continues, "I may hang it up someday. But I don't see how - I'd feel kind of bad retirin'from what I'd be retirin' from."