Most have delivered truly memorable performances, well worth the expense which makes concerts prohibitive to many.
Christy Moore has always been outstanding, as has Loudon Wainwright ; Leonard Cohen was witty and uplifting contrary to all the stereotyping. Van Morrison was profoundly disappointing and Bob Dylan appalling, as he proceeded to murder his own classics one by one.
My main ambitions are to see Tom Waits and Robert Wyatt and I'd travel far to do so, but Waits hardly ever tours and Wyatt never.
Seeing Paul Simon recently at the Motorpoint in Cardiff I became increasingly aware of the significance of his songs in my life.
I once wooed a girl when a teenager by singing 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' while we stood on a small stone bridge over a stream. It worked, though she never supplied the harmonies.
I used to be mistaken for Art Garfunkel in the days when 'Bright Eyes' was top of the charts and , in my first teaching practice, the kids all said - 'Sir, you do look like Art Garfunkel, you do!'
But now he is bald and bespectacled, so..........
With another girlfriend, when a student, we sang 'America' together on a bus travelling up the Ceredigion coast to Aber. Fitting somehow!
But unlike my constant attention to new releases from Waits and Cohen, I'd drifted away from Simon.
Sure, I'd loved 'Graceland' and also many of his solo songs in a 'Best Of...' I possessed ; yet, I still clung to the early ones which I'd sung to my children as lullabies, like 'Scarborough Fair' ( a traditional song, of course), ' Sounds of Silence' and 'El Condor Pasa'.
Then, amongst a good deal of mundane 'legends' and 'amazing' dross, I heard him on the last series of Jools singing 'Wristband' from his new album 'Stranger to Stranger'.
It's a great song, driven by the rhythms of flamenco, melded onto jazz : it takes a simple idea and broadens it gradually into a symbol of society and the way certain people are excluded.
From there to the cd itself and adoring its wide embrace of flamenco, jazz and the peculiarities of classical composer Harry Parch, with his strange array of home-made instruments.
'He won't be doing anything from the old days', someone warned me about the concert.
Luckily, they were wrong.
At first the audience all appeared like us : a conference of retirees and 60s revivalists stuck in our seats.
When the music was about to begin it changed and filled up with younger people ( by that, I mean under 40).
Whenever we refer to the greatest singer-songwriters the names of Dylan, Cohen, Joni Mitchell and Lennon & McCartney spring to mind.
Yet Paul Simon surely belongs up there and the concert was a testament to that, a succession of fascinating versions of his songs always embellished, never mangled.....except the Simon & Garfunkel ones.
He sung those simply, accompanied only by his own intricate guitar-playing....'America', 'The Boxer' and 'Homeward Bound', muted singalongs. These were contrasted by the rousing ones,tempting the audience to their feet and gradually one single gyrating dancer was replaced by aisles of grey channels drifting towards the stage.
Subtly, slowly, the whole arena began to move to the pulsating rhythms of 'Graceland', 'Call Me Al' and 'Mother & Child Reunion'.
Astonishingly, this was his first ever gig in Cymru and he should really have played 'Frank Lloyd Wright' as a celebration.....but still, a minor quibble.
Cries of 'We love yew Paul!' soon turned to 'Why aven yew come yer before?' But all good-natured.
Just as surprising was that he only played three from the new album all night, when it's clearly his best work for a long time.
His band were wonderful, switching from Latin American to South African to jazz interpretations with consummate ease and skill.
Just as we were about to leave after a couple of encores, he sang 'Sounds of Silence' - ' Hello Darkness my old friend.....'
Deep affection for the man and his music.....tidings of the sea at twilight.
In the dusky light below
the grey waves move forward
approaching the stage ,
as he urges musicians
into Latin and African rhythms
the crowd begin to dance
and their arms sway
like anemones in the tide.
No flood or tsunami this,
no sign of barriers raised,
or hurried encroachments ;
the silver tips lap
at the shores of an age,
by a man and his band,
Sirens and the island.