Last month, Norman Nardini got the spotlight at the biggest hall in town, Consol Energy Center, before a hometown crowd of 17,000-plus to open for Bon Jovi, a superstar who handpicked his longtime friend in recognition of him being a true salt-of-the-earth rock 'n' roller.

There's no questioning that legacy.

Mr. Nardini was one of the pioneers of Pittsburgh's original rock scene as a member of the mid-'70s glam-rock band Diamond Reo. From there he went on to become a bar-rock warrior, leading the gritty Norm Nardini and the Tigers, a CBS Records band in the early '80s.

Nardini and the Tigers is the fourth piece of the puzzle from that fabled '80s scene that starred the Iron City Houserockers, The Silencers and Donnie Iris and the Cruisers.

And yet, although his Consol set was small but mighty and he was politely received, Mr. Nardini didn't get the hero's welcome you might expect from the Bon Jovi crowd. It's partly a factor of that audience being a decade younger -- Jon Bon Jovi is 49, Mr. Nardini is 60 and more blues-based now -- but also a factor of him being the perennial underdog. Or under-"Love Dog," if you will.

When he releases "Bone A Fide" this week, it will be his first album of original material since 1998. It's not because he's been slacking. He works at it every day and has more than 50 songs unrecorded.

Sadly, Mr. Nardini says, "I didn't feel there was much of an interest in me, and much of an interest in what I do."

Having worked in the shadow of the likes of Joe Grushecky and Donnie Iris, he sees himself as written out of the history books, to an extent, and having beat his head against the music industry wall as a younger man, he wasn't sure he had the will.

"I've kind of been out of the spotlight and haven't pursued the business side of music in many years. I just don't feel like I'm equipped to fight the music business battles. I'm not real good at it, and I never spent much time at it." The Bon Jovi gig, he says, put him back into things he hadn't faced in a while. "It kind of revived me."

Other factors at play

There were other, less cheerful factors that prompted Mr. Nardini to put the wraps on an album that he's been carrying around for nearly a decade. Last year, he lost two more of his longtime musical cohorts and inspirations: Warren King, the blazing guitar hero from Diamond Reo, the Silencers, etc., and Glenn Pavone, another ace guitarist with whom he shared many a stage and bill.

"With the passing of Warren and the passing of Glenn, it really affected me and made me feel that I was lucky to still be here and lucky to have known and played with guys like them. I thought it was time for me to put something out there. I started realizing life don't last forever."

"Bone A Fide" isn't going to revolutionize the music scene or win the hearts and minds of young America, but it's a solid heartland blues-rock effort with thoughtful songwriting and fine ensemble playing from his band, which includes bassist Harry Bottoms, drummer Whitey Cooper and guitarist Vinny Q.

It has hard-luck blues burners, such as "Work Like a Dog," a working-class anthem that borrows the riff from "Under My Thumb," and "I Seen Too Much," a burst of frustration inspired by the murder of a friend, studio engineer Joe Kelly. "Graceland" is a twangy country-rocker sent out to his partner, whom he's been with since 1975 but just married two years ago. On the soulful side are "We Come a Long Way," a ballad about survival, and "Ain't It Amazing," a sort-of gospel hymn with a psychedelic touch.

The final song, "That Ain't Gonna Happen," is a simple declaration of who he is that begins with Mr. Nardini singing, "I'd like to say I'm sorry for all my wrongful behavior," but not giving an inch to change.

"Bone A Fide" is Norman Nardini taking stock.

"I think that's just circumstance, getting old," he says. "Like I said before, it could have been me instead of Warren, or Glenn, or [former Tigers] Paul Shook or Nason [Gieg], or all the other guys we've lost. When I was young, I didn't have the depth to approach subjects that I have the nerve to approach now, because I hadn't grown mentally. All I was talking about was partying and rocking hard and pretty girls and those kinds of things 'cause that's what was overwhelming my mind. But as you get older, it isn't about pretty girls anymore and partying, it's about who you are as a person and how you fit into society. I kind of feel like I'm a little bit of a spokesman for people who haven't achieved their dreams but have been chasing it.

"It's just a life -- a guy getting older and getting smacked around and trying to maintain his dignity. Just like people are. If you look at people's lives, guys are going through divorces or getting fired or the company's shutting down. My problems are very similar to the common man. Maybe I could find those folks if I could get the exposure or get good enough at what I do to be ..." -- he searches for a word and settles on -- "included."

And like a fighter training for the comeback, that has been his focus. He hasn't had a job outside of music since he was a teenager -- "Well, you know I don't know how to do anything else," he jokes -- and never got around to having kids. The past few decades have been dedicated to becoming a better musician, not a rock star, like in the early days.

He knows he had that shot. In the '70s, he formed and played bass for Diamond Reo, which was signed to a national label, Kama Sutra, and played shows and tours with the likes of Aerosmith and Ted Nugent. In '79, he left to front the Tigers, knowing full well that he couldn't play like Warren or sing like Frankie Czuri. Still, he built up enough of a following to release two records for CBS in the '80s before getting dropped.

"When I became an artist, in the '90s," he says, "I realized I didn't sing good enough and write good enough and I didn't play good enough to make great records while I was on CBS. I tried to let these other guys help me do that, but then I realized the only fix for the problem was that I had to become a better singer, a better writer and a better player."

HIS Music, an obsession

From that point on, he began to work at his music, obsessively, at his home base in Swissvale.

"Not just being a better guitarist but being a better singer and writing better songs and having something to say. I'm manic about it. It's not anything that's normal or healthy. I stay to myself and I work every day and I document it all, and I've done it all these years. Every rehearsal I do, everything I work on with other musicians, I write it down, so I don't waste days, so I can look back and say, 'What did I do this month?' I've been studying finger-style guitar playing, so I'll work on that. I'll work on regular guitar playing, then songwriting and singing, and I try to work on all of those every day, so I have at least five hours of musical growth. It's a way of life and it's kind of kept me sane."

He lists some of his favorite artists and inspirations these days as Steve Earle, Buddy Miller, Willie Nelson and Shooter Jennings, and says he's zeroed in on studying blues guitar playing and country songwriting. He produces his own work, because he likes the rough-and-tumble rather than slick ProTools approach.

"The way people make records today, they try to make perfect records and I try to make human records. That's kind of gone by the wayside. I try to hold on to that and own that side of things."

Although he's accustomed to disappointment, with "Bone A Fide" and an upcoming showcase he's doing in Nashville, he's hopeful that there's a late-career surge in him.

"At one point, I factored in at a pretty large level around here and then I guess I kind of drifted out of consciousness. How do I accept the fact that it's hard for me to find work in my own hometown? I couldn't win the battles here at home.

"But," he adds, "at this age, maybe it could happen in a natural way where people seek me out because I have something to say and my story is similar to theirs."