Years ago - it must have been a long stretch, because the Pirates were playoff-bound at the time - I took a visiting British journalist to a baseball game, as part of the American Experience.

After a while, I gave up trying to describe the intricacies of the sport, and we settled into criticizing what they tried to pass off as "beer" at Three Rivers Stadium. Then we started talking about music.

I don't remember my guest's name, but I do recall him raving about a concert he'd attended some two decades before featuring three bands that went on to diverse fortunes as far as their careers were concerned.

The show in question apparently was a package deal involving a trio of artists that were signed to the Famous Charisma Label. (You'll remember their LPs with the Mad Hatter's Tea Party pictured where they list the songs.)

The headliner, from what he mentioned, was Van der Graaf Generator, a band that has attained legendary status among fans of the genre loosely known as progressive rock. Van der Graaf's current album at the time of the tour, "Pawn Hearts," served as an ample display of the group's approach: lengthy, multi-passage compositions showcasing the apocalyptic lyrics and vocal styles of leader Peter Hammill. The band member attracting the most attention at the time, though, was reed player David Jackson, whose frenetic performing style had won him quite a following to see him in action live.

Despite its popularity, Van der Graaf Generator broke up a short while later, re-formed a couple of years after that and split for good in the late '70s. At least, that's what everyone thought. It took more than a quarter of a century, but the "classic lineup" of Hammill, Jackson, keyboardist Hugh Banton and drummer Guy Evans did the reunion thing just this year with an album called, appropriately enough, "Present."

Also on the bill that long-ago night was Lindisfarne, a folk-rock group that was supporting its second album, "Fog on the Tyne." Note the use of an English landmark in the title, one that's barely recognizable to most Americans. That's appropriate, as Lindisfarne never caught on over here in the slightest. In Britain, it was a different story, at least for a spell. A single called "Meet Me on the Corner" rose up the charts to No. 5, which in turn propelled "Fog On the Tyne" to the No. 1 spot. A follow-up album stiffed, and maybe that's why even in its homeland, Lindisfarne is hardly a household name.

Personally, I've never heard a note of Lindisfarne's music but am picturing a derivative of Fairport Convention. Now, there's the band to check out if you want to hear the British version of folk-rock.

The opening act of my companion's triple-header was what he described as "still in high school, and not very good." Actually, the members were out of high school by then, but were in their very early 20s at the oldest. The band had gone through a lineup shuffle of late, adding a new guitarist and drummer, and it had just released its second album for Charisma, one featuring a cover that seems to portray folks playing croquet with human heads as balls.

That album was "Nursery Cryme," and the band was Genesis, with Peter Gabriel singing and Phil Collins sticking to the drum kit. Guitarist Steve Hackett was aboard for a memorable run, along with stalwarts Tony Banks on keyboards and Michael Rutherford on bass.

Of course, you know the rest of the Genesis-Gabriel-Collins-Mike + the Mechanics-Bankstatement-GTR story. (You might not know all of it, but just picture lots and lots and lots of sales.)

You never know who's going to make it big.