Steve Wynn’s Winning Formula: He’s His Own Fan : Pop: The solo artist, who plays Bogart’s tonight, respects the writer in himself first, crafting songs he can add to his long list of favorites.

What kind of music fan is Steve Wynn? Consider that 12 years ago, when he was just 20, he was so moved by Big Star’s album “3rd” that he rode a Greyhound from L.A. to Memphis in search of the group’s leader, Alex Chilton.

“I found him and spent a week tagging along and buying him drinks and cigarettes,” Wynn recalls of the quintessential rock cult figure, who at the time was gripped by severe disillusionment.

“He was really, really, really bitter about his situation,” Wynn continues. “It kind of ruined it for me. He was so negative about making music. I went there with so much love for his music, I wanted to talk to him about his music, and he just didn’t want to talk about it. . . . That made me not want to meet heroes anymore.”

It didn’t, however, make Wynn any less of a rock fan. That stance has served him well throughout his own career, which included a colorful run through the L.A. rock scene of the ‘80s with his band the Dream Syndicate. Wynn’s subsequent solo phase has yielded two albums, including the current “Dazzling Display.”

“I know there are people who come to making music from the standpoint of being a poetic or tortured soul and this is their release,” says the singer-guitarist, who performs at Bogart’s in Long Beach tonight and at the Casbah in San Diego on Friday. “But I come to it a lot from being a fan and trying to always regain that thrill of the first time I heard music. This isn’t my therapist’s couch.

“You want to make the music that you can say, ‘This would be my favorite record in my collection.’ The Dream Syndicate did that. We made a record (1982’s “Days of Wine and Roses”) that would have been our favorite record. We really, honestly, arrogantly believed we were the best band ever. We were four people inventing the perfect music for their own taste.”

Wynn broke up the Dream Syndicate in 1988, fearful of becoming stuck in a rut. He knows it was an impulsive move, but he has no regrets. “Maybe it was perverse. . . . But I always like things to be a little haphazard, a little chaotic.”

As a key player, Wynn observed firsthand the corrupting influence of success on the idealistic Los Angeles grass-roots rock world, but he sees signs of a return to its early values.

“In the late ‘70s, early ‘80s, the main competition was to write a song that was better than the one your favorite band wrote yesterday,” he says. “The excitement of going to see X or Green on Red or the Blasters play and hear their newest song and saying, ‘That’s amazing, I’m gonna write a better one.’ That was a really healthy competition.

“What killed the scene was success. The bands started competing for other things. When you’re competing to write a better song than your friend, that’s healthy. When you’re competing to sell more records than your friend, that’s unhealthy.

“I think now it’s getting back to the way it was the early days, where people show up at little clubs and do the same thing again. It’s getting back to a scene that’s supportive and competitive in the right way.”

As a solo artist, Wynn tends to focus primarily on the craft of songwriting--his list of heroes is dominated by such composers as Randy Newman, Lyle Lovett, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Nick Cave and Van Morrison.

“These people to me are writers first,” he says. “Personalities, singers, musicians, good copy, whatever else they are, is secondary. They write the song and then they figure out how they’re gonna come to grips with it. That’s the company I would want to keep.

“Since I’ve been solo, the only thing that excites me is writing an amazing song, translating it to record in an amazing way and playing in front of people in the same amazing way. You always hope you can be popular enough so you can keep doing it. That’s the only level of popularity that matters to me. If I can make enough off this record to make another record, that’s great.

“When you get to grizzled veteran status, (sales figures) don’t matter. You know you’re in it for the long haul. The greatest day was turning 30, being a solo artist and realizing the numbers don’t matter anymore. I’m gonna be doing this when I’m 50, when I’m 60. I want to be Alberta Hunter and be 80 years old and making some strange little blues record. This is all I want to do.”