The best live albums often have extramusical moments that give us an almost cinematic sense of scene, of the performer's interaction with the audience: B.B. King's magisterial, well-worn patter on Live at the Regal; Charlie Parker's mocking, edge-of-hysteria announcements on The Greatest Jazz Concert Ever; the MC's introductory rap on James Brown's Live at the Apollo, which begins, "Are you ready for star time?"

And then there's Ricky Skaggs' Live in London, which should come with a blank cassette onto which you could dub the music. The introduction by Charles Haid of Hill Street Blues is obnoxiously countrified, and Skaggs' painfully protracted patter begins with "a great big howdy from Nashville, Tennessee" and goes downhill from there. It's a shame, because Skaggs was near the top of his form at these May 1985 concerts. Five of the ten songs are ones he's never recorded before; the best of them are the old Ray Price hit "I've Got a New Heartache" and Peter Rowan's "You Make Me Feel Like a Man," a new song that sounds like a country classic. On the familiar songs, the energy level is even higher than on the studio versions, and the pizazz never comes at the price of perfection. Skaggs' band is fast fingered and well rehearsed, and Skaggs himself is a thoroughly intimidating guitarist. On "Don't Get Above Your Raising," his playing combines the bite of rock & roll, the inventiveness of jazz and the melancholy of country music.

Skaggs' singing is more problematic. His clear Kentucky tenor is always strong and agile, and he can make it sound affectingly pure ("You Make Me Feel Like a Man") or nastily bluesy ("Honey [Open That Door]"). But in "Uncle Pen," whose words whip by at tongue-twisting speed, his delivery is affectless and sketchy. And "Don't Get Above Your Raising," a duet with Elvis Costello, sets up some very unfortunate comparisons. Costello's guitar playing may sound feeble next to Skaggs', but when they trade off vocals on the verses, the gap between great ability and genius becomes embarrassingly clear. As sung by Skaggs, the song is a comic complaint about a stuck-up country girl. When Costello takes over, it becomes an Elvis Costello song: a descent into self-pity, misogyny and class hostility.

Granted, Costello is a highly self-conscious artiste, but the greatest country singers (Hank Williams, George Jones) also imprint a personal vision on whatever they sing. Skaggs, despite his wonderful skills, still has his work cut out for him. And work alone may not do the trick. (RS 469)

DAVID GATES