Professor Longhair, "Crawfish Fiesta" (Alligator, 1980)

No Mardi Gras party would be complete without a visit from the Professor.

From the late '40s onward, Henry Roeland Byrd (1918-80) was the embodiment of the New Orleans sound, with his rollicking honky-tonk piano and high-pitched voice shouting out lyrics about having a good ol' time.

As Professor Longhair (or "Fess"), Byrd had a sporadic recording career. He hit it big with his first record, the ironically titled "Bald Head," in 1949, and followed it over the years with several songs that have become staples of the Big Easy: "Tipitina," "Hey Now Baby," "Going to the Mardi Gras" and "Mardi Gras in New Orleans," to name a few.

By the early '70s, though, his career had kind of fallen on hard times. That's when a younger musician named Mac Rebennack, who had served as the Professor's studio guitarist a few years before, brought Byrd's music back to the public consciousness under his own pseudonym of Dr. John the Night Tripper. (You'll remember Dr. John/Rebennack's "Right Place, Wrong Time" as a hit around that time.) As a result, Fess' music started being reissued in various anthologies, including the exceptional "Rock 'n' Roll Gumbo," which features Gatemouth Brown doing yeoman's work on guitar and violin.

Rebennac - remember, he played piano on "The Star-Spangled Banner" prior to Super Bowl XL - also plays guitar on "Crawfish Fiesta," which turned out to be the swan song for Fess, who died shortly after the album's release. "Fiesta" features many of his performance staples, including the catchy whistling he'd often do to complement his piano gymnastics (such as on the opening track, "Big Chief.") Some of the album's highlights include a lengthy workout by the Professor's horn section on "Her Mind Is Gone," his duet with conga player Alfred "Uganda" Roberts on "Willie Fugal's Blues" and a remake of the call-and-response song that started it all, "Bald Head."

Professor Longhair may be long gone, but come Mardi Gras time in New Orleans, he continues to be of the most popular men in town.

Holst, "The Planets, Op. 32" - Andre Previn, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra (Telarc, 1986)

When I bought my first compact disc player nearly 20 years ago, one of my first CD purchases was a performance of my favorite work of classical music.

Well, it's one of my favorites, at least. Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor" and Beethoven's Ninth Symphony have to rank right up there.

Let's call Gustav Holst's "The Planets" my favorite work of 20th-century classical music. From the dramatic overtones of "Mars, Bringer of War" to the quieter introspection of "Neptune, The Mystic," the seven movements of the orchestral suite an assortment of well-constructed melodies wrapped in a wide variety of textures.

"The Planets" premiered on this day in 1919 in London, Holst's hometown. On the occasion of the first performance, he said: "If any guide to the music is required, the subtitle

of each piece will be found sufficient, especially if it is used in a broad sense. For instance, 'Jupiter' brings jollity in the ordinary sense, and also the more ceremonial kind of rejoicing associated with religious or national festivities. 'Saturn' brings not only physical decay, but also a vision of fulfillment. 'Mercury' is the symbol of the mind."

I became interested in "The Planets," believe it or not, after hearing elements of it in compositions by some of my favorite rock artists. "Mars," for example, forms the theme of "The Devil's Triangle" on King Crimson's "In the Wake of Poseidon" album. Frank Zappa, a pioneer at integrating classical music with rock, borrowed wholesale from "Jupiter" for "Invocation of Ritual Dance of the Young Pumpkin" and "Brown Shoes Don't Make It," both from the Mothers of Invention's "Absolutely Free."

Regardless of the more modern applications, "The Planets" stands as a very enjoyable listen, one that elevates Gustav Holst (1874-1934) to a high ranking among 20th-century composers.

Robert Johnson, "The Complete Recordings" (Columbia, 1990)

In Robert Johnson's case, complete recordings meant the fruits of just two sessions before his death in August 1938. The results span a pair of CDs, including two takes of a majority of the compositions.

Considering the relatively modest output, Johnson's stature in the realm of popular seems to be way out of proportion. Many regard him as the greatest of all blues artists, beating out men whose careers spanned multiple decades, rather than just a few years. Just about all the songs on the Columbia collection appear in updated form on modern blues and rock albums. As a matter of fact, he's a charter member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, although that particular genre wasn't conceived for another decade and a half after his demise.

Why all the accolades? There's a good story to be told about him, certainly: He sold his soul to the devil in order to play guitar like no other man, and the devil came calling when Robert still was a young man. (A movie based on that fable, Walter Hill's "Crossroads," could've been better. I mean, Ralph Macchio playing better guitar than Steve Vai? Come on!) The more grounded-in-reality version has Johnson, a notorious womanizer, slugging from a bottle of whiskey poisoned by a jealous man, and expiring shortly thereafter. Still a good tale.

Robert Johnson's big break came in the early '60s, when young British guitarists, seeking out the most obscure of American blues artists, came across his hard-to-find "King of the Delta Blues" album. With people like Eric Clapton turning "Cross Road Blues" into the electrified "Crossroads," Robert Johnson became the hottest deceased superstar around. The air of mystery surrounding his life and death didn't hurt matters, either.

A listen to "The Complete Recordings" helps shed light on what all the excitement was about. Get past the understandably low fidelity - although Columbia did a great job with spiffing up the sound - and listen to a guy playing amazing runs on the acoustic guitar while singing with an emotion that seems to show he truly lived the blues.

What's really of interest is hearing the original versions of songs you've come to know so well in the hands of other artists: "I Believe I'll Dust My Broom" (everyone from Elmore James to ZZ Top), "Rambling On My Mind," "From Four Till Late" and "Malted Milk" (more by Clapton), "Come On in My Kitchen" (Delaney and Bonnie, Climax Blues Band), "Terraplane Blues" (Canned Heat), "32-20 Blues" (Gov't Mule), "Walking Blues" (Butterfield Blues Band, Grateful Dead), "Hellhound On My Trail" (Fleetwood Mac), "Traveling Riverside Blues" (Led Zeppelin), "Milkcow's Calf Blues" (The Kinks) and of course, "Love in Vain" (Rolling Stones).

If you want to check out "The Complete Recordings," you're not alone. When Columbia pressed this collection, record company executives anticipated modest sales. Instead, the set was a hit, earning Robert Johnson a Gold Record more than half a century after his death.

It's doubtful if the devil passed the good news along to him.

Various artists, "Loud, Fast & Out of Control: The Wild Sounds of '50s Rock" (Rhino, 1999)

Further evidence that the '50s weren't all Ozzie and Harriet and Wally and The Beaver, no matter what revisionists might lead to you to believe.

The fabulous Rhino Records has assembled a collection of tunes from the days when rock 'n' roll meant rebellion, rather than something you hear playing over the supermarket PA. Youngsters, and a few not-so-youngsters, embraced the new musical style as the perfect escape from the air of repression and conformity that hung over their lives (see "Invasion of the Body Snatchers.") And the old guard was running scared.

In fact, short commentaries pop up on this compilation of various fire-and-brimstone types denouncing rock 'n' roll - right before, say, Eddie Cochran rips into "C'mon Everybody." Such juxpasositions help you understand why "the Wild Sounds of the '50s" brought out the alarmists in droves.

Rhino packs more than 100 tunes onto this four-disc set, representing the best of what rock's nascent era had to offer. Check out a small sampling of the artists: Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, Gene Vincent, Jerry Lee Lewis, Roy Orbison, Bill Haley, Larry Williams, Bo Diddley, Duane Eddy, Carl Perkins ... and of course, Elvis.

Some songs qualify more as belonging to other styles: the rhythm and blues of Big Joe Turner and Fats Domino, the jive of Louis Prima and Keely Smith, the vocal stylings of the Everly Brothers and the Coasters.

But it's all good, including lesser-known gems like Don & Dewey's "Koko Joe," Dwight Pullen's "Sunglasses After Dark" and the manic "Love Me" by The Phantom (long rumored to really be Pat Boone cutting loose).

For listeners who want to take a walk on the wild side - half a century ago - this is the place to go.

My fellow journalist, music enthusiast and IUP graduate Alan J. Wallace submitted this essay for your reading pleasure. I hope you enjoy it and find it as informative as I do.

THE WORLD'S GREATEST UNKNOWN GUITARIST

I first saw the late Danny Gatton play one night in the late 1980s in Richmond, Va., in a room so small that he and his band didn't even use a PA - they just played through the amps. A couple of Deadhead buddies of mine who lived in that area and had seen him before took me to that show, and I'm glad they were there. Without them, I'd have had a much harder time picking my jaw up off the floor at the end of the show.

Prior to that night, I'd never seen any guitar player who could simultaneously play lead and rhythm parts. I'd never seen anyone play so many notes so quickly, yet was capable of conveying such tremendous feeling and expression on ballads. And while there are lots of guitar players who use beer bottles as slides, I'd never seen a guitar player use a full one, allowing the slide action to make the beer foam up and out of the bottle onto the fretboard until the bottle was empty, then grab a towel and wipe up the resulting mess - all without missing a note the entire time.

Gatton could do all of that - and more. And all of that barely begins to describe the level of genius at work when Danny Gatton played.

Indeed, words are inadequate for the task of conveying just how remarkable Gatton was. And while the body of his recorded work is fairly large and quite stunning, it's difficult to fully appreciate what he did just by listening. He made a couple of instructional videos, but I know of no available performance video, and that's a shame. (He did play on "Austin City Limits" in the early '90s, and now that some classic episodes of that PBS series are being released on DVD, I hope that Gatton appearance will be released someday.) For while he was not one to rely on showmanship gimmicks - the full-beer-bottle-slide thing was pretty much as far as he went in that regard - simultaneously seeing and hearing Gatton play reinforced, powerfully, just how rarefied a level of expertise he achieved. Simply put, it's difficult to get the full picture of what he was pulling off just from the sound; you often had to see it, too, to really believe it.

But that recorded legacy is what we're left with, so we should make the most of it. Sadly, shortly after he was dropped by Elektra after his second major-label release failed to sell in big numbers, and apparently in the grip of depression, Gatton took his own life at his Newburg, Md., home on Oct. 20, 1994.

Born in 1945, a lifelong resident of the D.C. area, he began playing when he was 9. He played in various groups in that region, spent some time in Nashville in the late 1960s and hit his stride in the '70s with such D.C.-area bands as Danny & the Fat Boys and Redneck Jazz Explosion, releasing albums on a label created by his parents and run by his mother, NRG Records. In 1978, he played on Commander Cody and the Lost Planet Airmen's "Flying Dreams," which led to a year-and-a-half stint as sideman with country artist Roger Miller, beginning in 1980. During that period, he also hooked up with rockabilly singer Robert Gordon in D.C. - a pairing that would lead to one of his most legendary recordings.

His first solo album, "Unfinished Business," came out on NRG in 1987. That, and Guitar Player magazine naming Gatton "The World's Greatest Unknown Guitar Player" in 1989, led to the Elektra contract. His first Elektra release, "88 Elmira St." (1991), won critical acclaim and a Grammy nomination, but didn't sell well. Neither did his second Elektra release, "Cruisin' Deuces" (1993), though that record brought Gatton guest shots on TV with the bands on the David Letterman and Conan O'Brien shows and his only nationwide tour as a headliner. Prior to that, he had pretty much stayed fairly close to home, mainly playing the Richmond-D.C.-Baltimore circuit, with occasional ventures farther along the eastern seaboard or inland.

So that's the basic bio. What it doesn't tell you is how versatile Gatton was; how his playing displayed mastery of rockabilly, country, bluegrass, rock, jazz, blues, R&B ... you name it; how his performances so often showcased one of the better senses of musical humor I've ever encountered, such as the frequent appearance of the theme song to "The Simpsons" and "Linus and Lucy" in medleys; his penchant for tossing in brief quotes from other songs in the middle of whatever tune he ostensibly was playing at the time; and what a student of his craft he was - in his playing, you could hear the influence of such seminal guitarists as Les Paul, Scotty Moore and Charlie Christian.

These days, it's not easy to find Gatton's recordings in music stores, and some of the best are out of print. But there's still a good deal of his stuff available commercially at reasonable prices, through such sources as amazon.com, and it's well worth exploring. There are too many albums to address each one, but here are a few to consider as starting points:

* "In Concert 9/9/94" (Big Mo Records, 1996). Recorded live at the Birchmere in Alexandria, Va., just weeks before his death, this is Gatton in peak form, a complete, unedited, "unsweetened" set, just as it was performed, and in a stripped-down context. Accompanied only by upright bass player John Previti and drummer Timm Biery, Gatton plays a double-neck Fender Custom - a standard six-string guitar neck over a six-string bass neck that gives him an even more expansive range of musical options. And to give you an idea of how wide-ranging his repertoire was, check the set list. It opens with "Sunnymoon for Two" by jazz great Sonny Rollins and includes Chuck Mangione's "Land of Make Believe," Gatton's own "Blues Newburg" and "88 Elmira," and a 20-minute-or-so jam-heavy sequence, divided into four tracks that flow one into the next, that starts with "Apache," segues into quotes from a few surf tunes, stops for a while in the land of Duke Ellington's "Caravan," visits with "Linus and Lucy" and culminates in a blazing-fast medley that's kicked off by a version of "Orange Blossom Special." This is the definitive late-period Gatton performance document.

* "Robert Gordon with Danny Gatton - "Live / 'The Humbler'" (NRG, 1996). More than any other single recording, this is the one that cemented Gatton's reputation among fellow musicians. It's not sonically sophisticated because it's a mono recording, mastered on cassette, that was made surreptitiously by the sound crew at a club in Berkeley, Calif. The crew was inspired to take this unusual step because they were so blown away by what they heard from Gatton at the afternoon soundcheck; it's mono because there were problems with the sound system. In the audience was L.A. studio stalwart Amos Garrett, a fellow guitar player who is quoted in the liner notes as saying Gatton's playing that night "was literally a humbling performance." Garrett got his hands on a cassette copy, which quickly became known as "The Humbler Tape" and circulated widely among musicians. After Gatton's death, the original cassette was located (one of the sound crew guys had hung onto it) and the result was this official release. The material is principally rockabilly ("Ubangi Stomp," "Good Rockin?Äô Tonight," "Twenty Flight Rock," Gene Vincent's "Cruisin'," along with country ("There Stands the Glass") and an oddball cover (Springsteen's "Fire"), and Danny wasn't the bandleader, but this show is all about his playing. Unfortunately, it's out of print and has become a rarity; copies that surface online have been going for $60 or more lately - a roundabout sort of testament to just how remarkable this performance is, given its sonic and technical limitations. (One other note: the bass player on this show, Tony Garnier, went on to a long stint backing Bob Dylan.)

* "Danny Gatton's Redneck Jazz Explosion Recorded Live December 31, 1978" (NRG, 1995). An instrumental quartet often classified as country-jazz fusion (that's not a misprint or typo), Redneck Jazz Explosion featured Gatton and Nashville pedal steel master Buddy Emmons trading licks. This New Year's Eve show at D.C.'s Cellar Door is another that circulated for years in various bootleg forms before finally seeing official release. It's also notable for documenting Gatton's use of what he called his Magic Dingus Box, a pre-digital effects package for his guitar. The set list is typically eclectic, including Horace Silver's "Opus de Funk," Rimsky-Korsakov's "Song of India," Benny Golson's "Killer Joe," "Land of Make Believe" and "Tequila."

* "Unfinished Business" (NRG, 1987; has been reissued). A fine overview of Gatton in the studio, his first solo record provides a mix of covers: "Cherokee," "Melancholy Serenade" (the theme from the old Jackie Gleason TV show), Charlie Byrd's "Homage to Charlie Christian," "Georgia on My Mind" and Gatton originals ("Lappin' it Up," "Nit Pickin'," "Sky King"). The backing players vary somewhat from track to track and the album isn't really a cohesive whole, but it's a consistently fascinating ride that gives insight into Gatton's versatility and virtuosity.

* "88 Elmira St." and "Cruisin' Deuces" (Elektra, 1991 and 1993, respectively). Gatton's only major-label releases are both fine studio efforts. "Elmira" is mainly original material, but includes a stand-alone take of "The Simpsons" and a cover of Brian Wilson's "In My Room." "Deuces" includes a track called "Sun Medley" that combines "Mystery Train," "My Baby Left Me" and "That's Alright" with Delbert McClinton handling vocals, plus a number of originals. Both Elektra albums also feature a wide cast of backing players who toured with Gatton in the late '80s and early '90s, including Previti; the late Billy Windsor, a longtime Gatton partner on rhythm guitar; multi-instrumentalist Bill Holloman on trumpet, clarinet, sax, trombone, Hammond B-3, vibes, piano and synthesizers; and Shannon Ford on drums.

Of course, these albums just scratch the surface. Fire up your Web browser and find far more to explore from "The World's Greatest Unknown Guitarist."

ILLUSTRATION: This was the poster for Danny Gatton's second and final Pittsburgh appearance as a bandleader, on July 31, 1993, at Graffiti. His first was on May 28, 1991, also at Graffiti.

Santana, "Live at the Fillmore '68" (Columbia/Legacy, 1997)

The Woodstock festival created quite a few stars, but none burned quite so brightly as Santana. The band was practically unknown outside its native San Francisco when promoter Bill Graham strongly suggested that the Woodstock promoters include Santana on the bill, and later he strongly suggested that Michael Wadleigh include Santana's performance in his film of the event.

Whatever the case, it clicked. The buzz surrounding Santana after its Woodstock turn propelled its debut album, released in September 1969, a few weeks after the festival, to a No. 4 showing on the charts. And its next two releases, "Abraxas" and "Santana III," both hit No. 1.

Some recordings of dubious legitimacy documenting the band's pre-Woodstock work circulated for years before Columbia's "Live from the Vaults" series issued a two-CD set recorded at the Fillmore West in December 1968.

The exceptional-sounding compilation captures an already-polished Santana cruising through four songs that would appear on the debut, plus five tunes that hadn't appeared on previous Santana releases.

Kicking off the album are three later favorites, "Jingo," "Persuasion" and "Treat," all of which are considerably longer than the better-known versions. But the added times are used to great advantage, as the players manage to keep things interesting for extended periods. The real treat is hearing the song of that name, which starts and wraps up with nimble piano work by Gregg Role, sandwiching an intense jam.

"Soul Sacrifice," the band's selection in the "Woodstock" movie, also is a lengthy excursion, although this version is not as fully realized as the filmed one, especially with regard to Carlos Santana's guitar leads. It still makes for an interesting listen.

Rolie sings the blues on a previously unheard tune called "As the Years Go Passing By," and the rest of the set is given over to cool-sounding jams, including the half-hour "Freeway" to wrap up the proceedings.

The lineup for the '68 recording differs from the players at Woodstock. By then, drummer Bob Livingston had been replaced by Michael Shrieve, and percussionist Marcus Malone by the dynamic duo of Michael Carabello and Jose Chepito Areas. But the earlier incarnation of Santana put on a heck of a show, too.

Phish, "Rift" (Elektra, 1993)

It had been a long decade, but the '80s had been over for a couple of years.

By late 1992, I had been summarily dismissing anything "new" in the way of music for quite a while. Too much exposure to Katrina & the Waves and A Flock of Seagulls had jaded me beyond all repair.

Then a colleague, whose taste in tunes I respect (he's a Pink Floyd fan), brought one of his brother's "new" discs to the office so I could have a listen. The brother and his buddy, college students at the time, had seen the band and were mightly impressed.

I listened to the disc, was impressed myself, and asked, "What's the name of this band again?"

"Phish. With a 'Ph.'"

So I purchased that particular album, "A Picture of Nectar" (this was long before CD burners existed), and gave it a closer listen. Wow, those guys could play! And no programmed synthesizers or percussion loops. Just honest-to-goodness jamming, the kind I'd thought the '80s had obliterated.

A couple of months later, I happened to be in a record store and noticed a new offering in the "Phish" section, a disc sporting an intriguingly blue cover. An inquiry revealed that Elektra Records had delivered the new album, called "Rift," that very day. So I bought one.

Phish, of course, went on to become the superstar representative of the jamband scene before apparently breaking up for good a few years back. Their approach to playing - not the music itself, though - often drew comparisons to the Grateful Dead. And as with the Dead, pundits liked to say that Phish's studio recordings never quite measured up to their live performances.

Amid the Phish canon, "Rift" generally is not held in very high regard. There are reasons. Tom Marshall's lyrics, which usually hover between obtuse and nonsensical, tend to lose many a casual listener. And sometimes it's tough to take a band seriously when they're singing (bassist Mike Gordon's words this time): "I'd like to cut your head off so I can weigh it/Whaddya say?/Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds."

But Phish always seemed to be about having fun, and even though the quartet - Gordon, guitarist Trey Anastasio, keyboardist Paige McConnell and drummer Jon Fishman - was a collection of immensely talented musicians, they never took themselves all that seriously. How else to explain jumping on trampolines, playing vacuum cleaner solos and singing "Freebird" as four-part a cappella, as they did in their pre-superstardom shows? (Like the one in July '93 at the I.C. Light Amphitheater. Tremendous show!)

"Rift" contains some very intricate and memorable compositions: the title track, "It's Ice," "My Friend, My Friend" and "Mound" are some of the highlights. Gloss over "Fast Enough for You," which may have been an attempt at making the band radio-friendly (it never was), and you'll find an album that doesn't quite hang together as a concept piece, as it was apparently intended, but makes for a good listen nonetheless.

I'll admit to posting a lot of stuff about music that's not exactly new. But in the grand scheme of things, it's not that old, either.

If you really want to look way, way back, here's a place to go: the Antique Phonograph Music Program's Web site. The program, which is broadcast on Tuesday evenings on WFUM in Jersey City, features "78s and cylinders ... played on actual period reproducing devices," with some material dating back a full century or more.

The best part is that the station offers the program as podcasts, available for streaming, in a combination of technologies from the early 20th and early 21st centuries.

If you're curious about what it was like to listen to music during the Wilson or Harding administrations, here's your opportunity.

John Coltrane, "The Major Works of John Coltrane" (Impulse!, 1992)

With "A Love Supreme," recorded in late 1964, saxophone great John Coltrane embarked on a series of lengthy pieces that lasted pretty much the remainder of his life, which unfortunately was cut short in 1967, when he was just 40.

Jazz aficianados usually put "A Love Supreme" on a pedestal, citing it as some of the finest work by a true genius. And it's popular among listeners who find the music very tuneful and accessible.

The same can't quite be said for the material on "The Major Works," a compilation that covers Coltrane's lengthiest recordings of 1965. That year goes down in Coltrane annals as when he really started pushing the boundaries (including recording while under the influence of LSD, which was perfectly legal at the time). "The Major Works" serves as evidence that he was operating on another plane entirely.

The centerpiece of the two-disc compilation is "Ascension," a composition that's presented in two separate versions here, both clocking in at right around 40 minutes. The aural excursions of his 11-piece band make for fascinating listening, but not if you're trying to host a party. If you listen to it around the unenlightened, you'll hear the word "noise" in short order. Don't let that scare you away, and make sure you approach with an open mind.

A more concise piece is "Om," at slightly under half an hour. It opens and closes with a rather harrowing incantation, with plenty of exploratory improvisation in the middle, highlighted by the piano playing of McCoy Tyner (the last surviving member of the legendary John Coltrane Quintet). The players took LSD - again, legal at the time - for this session, as documented in several Coltrane biographies.

The two other "major works" are "Kulu Se Mama," with African-influenced vocals provided by its composer, an obscure percussionist named Juno Lewis, and "Selflessness," which sounds more like what we generally think of as jazz than any of the other titles.

If you've heard about John Coltrane and want to check him out for the first time, you might want to start with relative easy listening like "A Love Supreme" (also on Impulse!), "My Favorite Things" (Atlantic) or "Blue Train" (Blue Note). But if you're familiar with him and want to get adventurous - way more adventurous - give "The Major Works" a spin.

Here's something that's pretty cool, as called to my attention by that esteemed enthusiast of fine music, Dr. Spex.

It's a Web site called Wolfgang's Vault: Where Live Music Lives, and it includes a section called Vault Radio that plays songs in the archives of the late Bill Graham, the legendary concert promoter best known for his shows at the various Fillmore venues. (Graham's real name was Wolfgang Grajonka. He escaped from Nazi Germany when he was a kid. But that's another story.)

At the moment, I'm listening to Santana perform "Persuasion" at the Fillmore West in December 1968, the band's sound already finely honed a good nine months before its career-making performance at Woodstock. If you're used to hearing Carlos play "Smooth," check this stuff out for quite a contrast.

And here comes "Peaches En Regalia," one of Frank Zappa's most enduring compositions, as performed by his band the Mothers. (Available on the album "Fillmore East June 1971" on Rykodisc.)

And here comes the Great Society, with Grace Slick singing the original version of "Somebody to Love" on June 10, 1966 - the year before she took it up the charts with Jefferson Airplane. (Available on the album "Collector's Item" on Columbia.)

Looks like I'll have my headphones on the rest of the day!

Pink Floyd, "Animals" (Columbia, 1977)

From the mid- to late '70s, Pink Floyd's status changed from a kind of strange-sounding cult band to ... well, Pink Floyd. The progression of multi-platinum albums during that period - "The Dark Side of the Moon," "Wish You Were Here," "The Wall" - propelled the band to the ranks of the legends.

The one Pink Floyd album of the era that most people forget about is "Animals." Unlike the more well-known recordings, none of its tracks ever appear on "classic rock" playlists. In fact, the bulk of the album consists of just three songs, each 10-plus minutes, bracketed by the two parts of "Pigs on the Wing," brief snippets featuring just acoustic guitar and Roger Waters' vocal.

Waters, in fact, dominates this album, a harbinger of his basically taking over the band for the execution of the conceptual "The Wall." On the surface, "Animals" appears to be a concept album as well, with the song titles - "Dogs," "Pigs (Three Different Ones)" and "Sheep" - sharing an obviously common theme. Fact is, two of the songs are basically rewrites of material performed in concert by Pink Floyd a few years previously, with some elements added to keep up with the "Animals" continuum.

That being said, the album stands as the lost gem in the Floyd catalogue, evidence that the band could really rock out when it chose to do so. The groove in the middle of "Pigs (Three Different Ones)," for example, is infectious, and the porcine sound effects distributed throughout add to the Orwellian feel of the entire album. And for sheer drama, the concluding part of "Dogs," both musically and lyrically, stands up to anything on the band's more famous outings.

Roger's rewrite of the 23rd Psalm in "Sheep" is pretty good, too, although he recites it through a Vocoder, so you'll need a lyric sheet to make up what he's saying.

The album's format supposedly hurt radio play back when it was released - although "Wish You Were Here" is constructed along somewhat similar lines, and it hasn't exactly suffered accordingly. Whatever the case, if you're looking to dig a little bit deeper than Pink Floyd's supermegahits, here's a fine place to start.

PS - Folks who bought "Animals" on 8-track tape way back when might remember that "Pigs On the Wing" appeared as a single track, with the two parts connected by a bridge featuring a fluid solo by guest guitarist Snowy White. Unfortunately, subsequent CD releases of the album have not contained the alternate version, which still appears to be available only on 8-track, unless you can download it somewhere.

Procol Harum, "Shine On Brightly" (A&M, 1968)

The casual music fan knows of Procol Harum primarily because of its debut single, "A White Shade of Pale," which still can be heard daily on "oldies" radio nearly 40 years later. Because the band never had another song that logged anything comparable on the sales charts - a dramatic live performance of "Conquistador" in 1972 came the closest - some tend to think of Procol Harum as somewhat of a one-hit wonder.

Of course, there's far more to the story, which continues to this day with a lineup featuring two original members, pianist/lead vocalist Gary Brooker and organist Matthew Fisher. That early version of the group also included guitarist Robin Trower, who made quite a name for himself as a solo artist in the '70s, and the late drummer Barrie J. Wilson, a name spoken as reverently in certain circles as the Moons and the Bonhams.

The band that took to the studio for its second album had a lot more time to work on it than for the debut, which was cut in just a few days as a rush job to capitalize on the hit single. That being said, it's recognized as one of the best first-time efforts in rock history. "Shine On Brightly," though, shows how polished Procol Harum had become in the space of a year and how the songwriting team of Brooker and lyricist Keith Reid (still composing together, by the way) had risen to the ranks of the best of the era.

This was 1968, when plenty of artists were embracing the "psychedelic" aspect of song structure, tossing in a kitchen sink's worth of bizarre lyrics and sound effects, just to see what would work. While Procol Harum incorporates some of those elements on "Shine On Brightly," they are subtle rather than overt, and as a result the album sounds nowhere near as dated as most of its contemporaries.

To be sure, the stream-of-consciousness narrative of the appropriately titled "Rambling On" and the multi-section, 17-minute "In Held 'Twas In I" certainly were more at home in the late '60s than the 21st century. But those songs still make for fun listening, and you could tell Procol wasn't taking itself incredibly seriously: Reid even mentions the possibility that the "pretentiousness" might make him "cringe with embarassment." Don't think so.

The highlights on the album are numerous, but really standing out is "Skip Softly (My Moonbeams)," which incorporates three distinct sections into its relatively modest length: a highly syncopated opening featuring Brooker's piano chords and Fisher's Leslie-effects organ; a tension-filled middle part with Trower smoking away on fuzz-toned guitar; and a rollicking close with everyone pickup up steam until the fadeout.

Frank Zappa, "Our Man in Nirvana" (FOO-EEE, 1992)

Among the many things that annoyed Frank Zappa was the fact that scumbags could sneak tape recorders into his concerts, make copies of his shows and sell them as bootlegs.

A few years before his death, he came up with a way to capitalize on that type of underhanded activity. Through a custom Rhino Records label called FOO-EEE, Frank released two sets of recordings ("Beat the Boots," Volumes 1 & 2) that had been sold illegally, using the bootleggers' cover art and undoctored reordings - which he admitted that he never bothered to hear for himself.

The result is a widely varied collection as far as sound quality,as might be expected. But to Zappa fans, that's not the point. What's interesting is the opportunity to listen to what he was performing at various points in his career, from 1967 through 1981.

One of my favorites is from Volume 2, a disc titled "Our Man in Nirvana," recorded at the Mothers of Invention's concert of the University of California at Fullerton in November 1968. The recording sounds as if the microphone was buried under someone's sweater, and at various points you can hear the tape grinding to a halt.

But making up for the sonic shortcomings are the performances, particularly the two elongated pieces that take up the majority of the 70-plus-minute CD: "The String Quartet" and "King Kong." Both feature one of history's great guitarists trading off licks with his crack horn section in the band's pioneering efforts to straddle the thin line between rock and jazz.

Unfortunately, this incarnation of the Mothers of Invention lasted only until the following summer, when the fiscal follies of straddling the thin line between rock and jazz became eminently apparent to Mr. Zappa.

Fortunately, documents such as these survive to show what the band was capable of doing.

PS: Although the first volume of "Beat the Boots" still is available as individual discs, the second never was, and went out of print not too long after its release. So tracking down a copy of "Our Man in Nirvana" might be quite a feat.

Gov't Mule, "Live With a Little Help from Our Friends" (Capricorn, 1999)

Guitarist Warren Haynes has established himself as today's Hardest-Working Man in Show Business. (I doubt if 70-something James Brown is quite as active as he used to be.) At various times in the past few years, he's been a member of the Allman Brothers Band, Phil Lesh & Friends, The Dead (as in Grateful, without Jerry) and doing his own solo act.

And he fronts his own band, Gov't Mule, now well into its second decade of combining quality originals with searing covers that pay tribute to many of Warren's heroes from his formative years.

"Live With a Little Help from Our Friends," recorded in Atlanta to ring in New Year's 1999, presents a good snapshot of Gov't Mule's work, with the added bonus of featuring the late Allen Woody, the band's original bassist.

The "Friends" part refers to guest appearances throughout the evening by talents like guitarists Derek Trucks, Jimmy Herring and Marc Ford; keyboardists Bernie Worrell and Chuck Leavell; and horn player Randall Bramblett. Matt Abts, who's been with Gov't Mule since its inception, holds everything down on drums.

The original two-disc set works in several of Warren's originals, but the band seems to really have fun stretching out on numerous old favorites: Black Sabbath's "War Pigs," Free's "Mr. Big," Humble Pie's "Thirty Days in the Hole" and Neil Young's "Cortez the Killer," among them. There's also a half-hour jam on Mongo Santamaria's "Afro-Blue" that must have been recorded in the wee, wee hours of the morning, but the musicians still are going at it full-throttle.

A "Vol. 2" later was released from the evening, highlighted by smoking covers of Albert King's "The Hunter" and Little Feat's "Spanish Moon" (20 minutes worth). And a studio outtake also hits the mark: an instrumental of Frank Zappa's "Pygmy Twylyte."

As if that weren't enough, a four-disc set of the whole shebang also is available, with the guys going to town on the Yardbirds/Led Zeppelin favorite "Dazed and Confused."

If you like good guitar playing, you'll love Warren Haynes. And if you like good ol' rock 'n' roll ... same deal.

With the Jefferson Starship concert coming Sunday at the Palace Theater in Greensburg (please read the article in Friday's issue of our print edition), let's revisit a history lesson I presented a few months ago called Airship 101:

In the beginning, there was Jefferson Airplane, formed by Paul Kantner and Marty Balin, and joined shortly thereafter by Jorma Kaukonen. The name of the band, which was very unusual for 1965, came from a convoluted joke name for Jorma if he were one of those old delta bluesmen - instead of Blind Lemon Jefferson, he was "Blind Thomas Jefferson Airplane." (You'd be surprised at how many band names come from musicians' in-jokes.)

At any rate, Jefferson Airplane was one of the hottest acts going by 1967, when it scored two hits that stand among the upper crust of classic rock: "Somebody to Love" and "White Rabbit." Ironically, neither was an Airplane original. Both were performed by Grace Slick when she was in a short-lived (but highly innovative) band called the Great Society, and she brought the tunes to the Airplane's repertoire when she switched groups in October 1966.

With several lineup shuffles, most notably Marty's departure in 1970, Jefferson Airplane continued as an active unit through a tour that wrapped up in September 1972. Rather than formally break up, members just kind of went their separate ways. Jorma and bassist Jack Casady already had been playing in their own band, Hot Tuna, for a few years. Paul and Grace recorded some solo albums in various configurations before putting together a touring band that included ex-Airplaners Papa John Creach on violin and David Freiberg (who made his name with Quicksilver Messenger Service) on bass and keyboards.

To name the new group, Paul drew on his 1970 album "Blows Against the Empire," which was credited to "Jefferson Starship." And when Marty joined the Starship crew in late '74, his presence cemented the relationship between the new band and the old.

Jefferson Starship almost immediately eclipsed the Airplane's successes of the previous decade, registering a No. 1 album, "Red Octopus," and No. 3 single, "Miracles," in 1975. Subsequent chart success in the next few years came with the songs "With Your Love," "Count On Me" and "Runaway," all sung by Marty.

But both of the Jefferson projects always had been rather volatile situations, and both Marty and Grace were gone by 1979. Replacing them as featured vocalist was Mickey Thomas, whose voice was heard on a consistent basis a few years earlier when he sang Elvin Bishop's hit "Fooled Around and Fell in Love." Despite a radical change not only to Jefferson Starship's lineup but its sound, the band scored major hits with the album "Freedom at Point Zero" and the single "Jane."

Despite Grace eventually rejoining, Jefferson Starship saw its fortunes decline through the early '80s, with such albums as "Wind of Change" and "Nuclear Furniture" drawing neither critical nor commercial interest. By 1984, Paul decided he'd had enough and departed as the last original Jefferson Airplane member still with the organization. As part of his settlement, he took the "Jefferson" with him, and those who remained christened themselves Starship.

In 1985, Starship did something neither of its predecessors had done: score a No. 1 hit with "We Built This City." The band kept it up for a few years with other songs in a similar vein. But Grace eventually bailed out again, and for whatever reasons, Mickey didn't keep the ball rolling on his own.

Meanwhile, on the Jefferson side ...

Jorma and Jack, after splitting up Hot Tuna in 1977, got back together in the mid-'80s and continued the act, usually as an acoustic duo. They'd often have guest performers, and on several dates in 1987 and '88, it was none other than Paul Kantner - who meanwhile had teamed up with Marty Balin, Jack Casady and guitar player Mark "Slick" Aguilar on a project called the KBC Band. And when Grace left Starship, they got the band back together again for an album simply called "Jefferson Airplane" in 1989.

The reunion lasted for just that one album and a brief tour, and when Starship folded a short while later, fans thought they might have heard the last of the story. But in 1992, Paul unveiled a group called Jefferson Starship - the Next Generation, combining new originals with a good bit of Airplane material that hadn't been heard live since the '60s.

Paul later has condensed the name back to Jefferson Starship, and under that designation the band continues to perform. He's had Slick Aguilar on guitar since he started it back up, and at various times it has brought back into the fold people like Marty (who still occasionally performs), Jack, and David, who is a full-time member these days at age 67. Tom Constanten, the Grateful Dead's keyboard player in the late '60s, also is lending his considerable talents and experience to the cause these days.

And one more meanwhile ...

A band called Starship Featuring Mickey Thomas also is active. And if you want to hear "We Built This City," that's where to go.

OK, you've just graduated from Airship 101.

Feed your head.

PHOTOS: 1) Paul Kantner performing in California in the '90s, photographed by Joan O'Neill; 2) Jefferson Starship vocalist Diana Mangano, current portrait

NOTE: For sound bites from a 2001 Jefferson Starship concert, visit our Sound Files.

Tangerine Dream, "Stratosfear" (Virgin, 1976)

By the mid-'70s, the synthesizer seemed destined to rule the musical landscape. The invention of Dr. Robert Moog first caught widespread attention with Walter (now Wendy) Carlos' exploration of classical music, "Switched-On Bach." The instrument's distinctive, other-worldly sound seemed to point the way directly toward the 21st century, and more artists started incorporating it into their work.

Today, the musical results seem mixed, at bests, and many historians tend to dismiss synthesizer-dominated material as somewhat banal and insipid. In some cases, they have ample reason to do so.

But that's not exactly fair, as some works from that era still make for worthwhile listening.

One is "Stratosfear," the American breakthrough offering by the German band Tangerine Dream. The textures and melodies, which the three members produced mainly on synthesizer, still sound fresh three decades later.

The album features four compositions, all containing distinctive and memorable themes. The highlight probably is the opening, title track, which hums along at a steady pace as the band members take turns contributing their variations until the piece culminates with some stunning guitar work by Edgar Froese (the sole constant in the nearly 40-year history of Tangerine Dream).

The other songs also are songs worthy of delivering on their intriguing titles: "The Big Sleep in Search of Hades," "Invisible Limits" and one of my all-time favorites, "3 AM at the Border of the Marsh from Okefenokee."

This album used to make for great listening in vinyl form back in the day, and of course, it's even better in the digital medium. One recommendation: Turn out the lights when you listen. It's that kind of music.

Mahavishnu Orchestra, "The Inner Mounting Flame" (Columbia, 1971)

So, you think you've heard great guitar playing? Get ready to take it to the next level by listening to John McLaughlin go to town on the debut release by one of the great quintets in rock history.

OK, everyone lists the Mahavishnu Orchestra as a jazz band - fusion, to be more precise - because the themes and time signatures ain't exactly rock 'n' roll. But this is stuff you turn up VERY LOUD, as the band used to do at live shows in its heyday.

Joining McLaughlin on this album, the comparable "Birds of Fire" and a live album are Jan Hammer on keyboards, Jerry Goodman on violin, Rick Laird on bass and Billy Cobham on drums. You might recognize Hammer for his "Miami Vice" theme music in the '80s. And "Quadrant 4," the leadoff track from Cobham's solo album "Spectrum," is one of the most recognizable tunes in fusion.

Unfortunately, neither the Mahavishnu Orchestra nor jazz/fusion as a viable genre outlived the '70s. But if you want to hear some very talented musicians play material that goes far beyond 4/4 time, give "The Inner Mounting Flame" a spin.

When I was single, it was so long ago that "hooking up" was something you'd do when you went fishing ...

Anyway, if I weren't happily hitched, the concept would sound intriguing, especially the way they're doing it Saturday night, Feb. 11, at Cefalo's in Carnegie.

A "Valentine Hook-Up" event will feature Decadence, the band specializing in ?Äô80s dance music, along with information tables from a variety of singles organizations, a speed-dating segment and special ice breakers.

The club welcomes all couples for this night of dancing, but also wants singles to know this could also be their night to meet someone new. Cover is $5 a the door.

Hey, 'tis the season.

The late John Fahey's name is no more than vaguely recognizable to most music fans. Yet those who know his work tend to rank him among the great guitarists, right up there with anyone who's tried to broaden the spectrum of sounds to be obtained from the instrument.

How highly is he regarded? Let the liner notes to Vanguard Records' "I Am the Resurrection: A Tribute to John Fahey" (Feb. 14 release) provide the answer:

"In truth," co-producer M. Ward writes, "it's only a short amount of time until John Fahey is recognized as the most innovative guitarists America has ever produced - my hope is that our tribute record acts as a catalyst towards this understanding and appreciation. He is our Django Reinhardt and William Blake wrapped up in one - only better."

Seem like hyperbole? A listen to the album might convince listeners that Ward, who also is one of the performers, knows of what he speaks.

So, who's involved in this endeavor? No brand names pop out among the artists; perhaps the most recognizable ones are Fruit Bats and Calexico. But all the artists do yeoman's work in putting their own stamps on Fahey's complex, often complex, often beautiful music.

Selections run the gamut of styles, from relatively straightforward blues-based compositions to upbeat, ragtimey numbers to Eastern-influenced music to the solemnity of a hymn.

"Variation on 'Commemorative Transfiguration and Communion at Magruder Park'" is a prime example of the last-named, as performed by multi-instrumentalist Sufjan Stevens with the assistance of vocalist Rosie Thomas. Like Fahey, Stevens employs a good bit of dissonance while taking on at least a dozen various stringed instruments, horms and percussive implements, but at no time does he lose the sense of reverence inherent in the subject matter. It should be no surprise that Stevens says he was particularly inspired by watching Fahey perform a song called "In Christ There Is No East or West" on television in the late '60s.

In a bluesier vein is "Sunflower River Blues" by Pelt, featuring Jack Rose on guitar and Mike Gangloff on banjo. The main lick is reminscent of the Rolling Stones take on the Rev. Gary Davis' "Prodigal Son," as it might have been performed by Leo Kottke on his landmark "Six- and 12-String Guitar" - an album that, of course, drew direct influence from the work of John Fahey.

"Blues" is in the title of no less than four compositions on "I Am the Resurrection," but some don't quite fit the blues mold. An example is "Sligo River Blues," performed by Venezuelan guitarist Devendra Banhart, a spare arrangement with vibes accompaniment that has a very calming influence.

Ward's performance contribution, "Bean Vine Blues #2," owes much to Scott Joplin's ragtime repertoire, and it apparently is a fun one for Ward to play: "In my opinion it's probably the only song of Fahey's that I've ever heard with a blatant sense of humor."

Drawing from an era approximately a century after Joplin's heyday is "The Singing Bridge of Memphis, Tennessee (Brooklyn Bridge Version: The Coelcanth)" by Lee Ranadlo of Sonic Youth fame, who toured with Fahey toward the end of the guitarist's life. This is the most avant-garde piece on the album, with Ranaldo employing ambient street noise and piercing feedback to augment the relatively simple, relaxing acoustic guitar strums of the main theme.

Another past collaborator with Fahey, Cul de Sac - the band cut the 1996 album "China Gate" with him - covers "The Portland Cement Factory at Monolith, Ca." with a live recording from 1997. The Chicago-based quartet gives a spooky reading, augmented by Robin Amos' electronics.

An interesting arrangement closes the album: Howe Gelb of Giant Sand plays an 1888 Emerson Grand Upright piano on "My Grandfather's Clock," explaining that Fahey "can play guitar like a piano player, which I relate to from playing the piano like a guitar player."

Perhaps Fahey's most famous composition is "Dance of Death," which is covered here by guitarist Joey Burns and percussionist John Convertino of Calexico. The foreboding song combines a bluesy base with melodic overtones by way of Reinhardt, the enigmatic Belgian gypsy guitarist who has spawned generations of admirers and would-be imitators.

The title of one more album track addresses Terpsichore: "Dance of the Inhabitants of the Palace of King Phillip XIV of Spain," played by Jason Q. Lytle, who augments his guitar playing with synthesizer. His take on John Fahey:

"Although the music Fahey made confused me, it was often done in a repetitious fashion, allowing me to think I understood it at times. When in fact I never understood it, and I was further confused when it had some rambling, seemingly nonsensical title applied to it. These of course were all great reasons to keep listening."

Or, for the uninitiated, great reasons to start listening.