In the history of guitar distortion, the humble slide occupies a seminal position. Made of glass (as in a bottleneck) or metal, the slide lets a player not just fret a particular note but whoosh and whine and play in the spaces between the notes. The slide was a vital ally of such bluesmen as Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters and has added colorful textures to the work of innumerable rock guitarists. In the '90s, Sonny Landreth and Chris Whitley have emerged as latter-day masters of the slide guitar.

Whitley came out of nowhere in 1991 with Living With the Law, which presented bluesy rock songs in an evocative sonic landscape. Landreth put the teeth into John Hiatt's band during the late '80s (he played on Hiatt's Slow Turning), and Landreth's 1992 release, Outward Bound, profited from both his flair for pop-rock arrangements and his native feel for Louisiana music. Where Landreth offered musical range, Whitley played with a visceral power, and both appealed to guitar hounds happy to tolerate limited vocal abilities in exchange for musical chops.

Landreth comes out wailing on South of I-10, a collection that seems to reflect the influence of his two special guests: guitarist Mark Knopfler and keyboardist Allen Toussaint. The album's vibrant mix gives Landreth's guitar a beefy heft not unlike that favored by Dire Straits. The participation of Toussaint, a New Orleans master of understated keys and compact compositions, underscores Landreth's knowledge that guitar solos are meaningless outside the context of compelling rhythms and snappy songs.

"Shootin' for the Moon" takes off on the heavenly squall of Landreth's electric slide but works because of its big beat and catchy chorus. "South of I-10" is Landreth's niftiest new tune, with sweetly sustained guitars hovering over a verse that evolves into a groove informed by the danceable rhythms of zydeco. "Congo Square" is the album's tour de force, with Toussaint's electric piano thickening a percussive gumbo that inspires a loose and limber guitar jam worthy of a psychedelic ballroom.

Whitley has taken a more radical turn with Din of Ecstasy, abandoning the spacious, Deadhead Delta vibe of his first album for a style best described as blues-rock alternative. His debut reveled in dramatic textures; its follow-up takes a much more frontal approach, with the rhythm section pounding away behind Whitley's fuzzed-out guitar. The songs are thick with gnarly guitar lines and six-string orchestrations reminiscent of Jimi Hendrix but largely lack the melodies to make them matter. And the often nonsensical Beat-style poetry of the lyrics doesn't help. The line you'll remember (and Whitley might wish you would forget) is "I ain't got no pride in my pants," from "Can't Get Off." The lyric could be read to suggest an onanistic guitarist with riffs that never quite add up to songs.

The problem with Din of Ecstasy isn't that Whitley has forsaken the blues but that he fails to offer a viable rock substitute. Long after the album's last song, Whitley adds a bonus track, "Immortal Blues," that finds a wah-wah electric lead placed alongside the finger-picked accompaniment of his National steel guitar. "Yeah," says Whitley at the end, and he's right to be enthused – it's not a great track but still among the problematic album's best. For his own roots move, Landreth pulls out his National for a jumpy juke-joint duet with Toussaint on J.B. Lenoir's "Mojo Boogie." It's also pretty good but nowhere near the highlight of Landreth's consistently fine South of I-10. (RS 706)

JOHN MILWARD