It's pretty much an article of faith among classic rock listeners that Led Zeppelin's untitled LP is the band's best album, and "Stairway to Heaven" the band's best song.

Risking labels of blasphemer, I disagree on both counts. Zep's fourth album is just barely less great than the more stylistically varied and adventurous Houses of the Holy. "Stairway" is not only not the group's best song, it's not even the best song on this record; "When the Levee Breaks" is. (For the record, "Hey Hey What Can I Do" is the best Zep song of all time--and you know I'm right.)

While we are quibbling, let's get some other minor trivia points straight: the album is not now, nor has it ever been officially called "IV," "Runes," or "Zoso"--it is simply untitled; "Stairway" contains no backward masking; the guy depicted on the cover painting is no familial relation to any of the band members.

Now that we've got that out of the way--and before you think I have some type of revisionist classic rock stick up my behind (or "Four Sticks," as the case may be), let's talk about the most influential hard rock album of all time.

Where III was lush with warm acoustic tones, Untitled rocks and roars with abandon. Opener "Black Dog" sets the mood, awash in a stuttering riff and Plant's double-entendre lyrics. "Rock and Roll" is loose and simple, and showcases Bonham's thunderous drumming, while the lovely "Goin' to California" shows that the band hadn't completely abandoned III's acoustic template.

And then there's "Stairway." It is undoubtedly one of the most complex, intricate, and comprehensive statements in the rock genre; the tiered tempos and general epic majesty presaged the loud-soft dynamics of grunge and gave a generation of listeners fits as to lyrical meaning.

Yet for all its resonance, "Stairway" pales ever so slightly to the LP-closing "When the Levee Breaks." That track is all lurching, amplified blues backed by Bonham's monstrous thudding and a Page riff that could sink a battleship. "When the levee breaks," Plant moans, "mama, you got to move."

"Levee" represents all that Led Zeppelin was in the 1970's: the greatest hard rock band of all time, doing the most simple thing and doing it well. They were talented enough to make a complicated masterpiece like "Stairway to Heaven," but when you get down to it, Zeppelin was a blues band, first and foremost.

Wowee Zowee is a puzzling album. Released in 1995, hard on the heels of the landmark Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, Zowee baffled critics who thought it at the least too sloppy and at the most an unfocused mess. More than ten years on, Pavement's genius in Wowee Zowee is evident; if it's not the watershed-slacker-concept LP that Crooked Rain was, that was sort of the point. If you're not going to be typical rock stars, you've got to prove it.

Pavement's critics had always looked on the band with a bit of suspicion. Were the California-by-way-of-everywhere group true indie saviors? Knowing hustlers, pulling the wool over the music industry's eyes? Or something else?

Wowee Zowee cements the "something else" argument. The songwriting is nowhere near as cohesive as previous Pavement records, and the band seems intent on trying every imaginable style. Songs run from the sweet, cynical balladry of "We Dance" to the furious, fuzzed-out punk of "Serpentine Pad." There are great songs here, too, especially the Beck-styled slacker jazz of "Extradition" and the Gram Parson's-like country jangle of "Father to a Sister of Thought." "Rattled by the Rush" was even borrowed (or stolen, depending upon whom you talk to) by the sitcom Friends for its interlude music.

What Zowee lacks in cohesion it makes up for in experimental spirit and energy. It was a mistake to think that Pavement were going to save rock and roll, as Rolling Stone magazine had pronounced in 1994. All of the conundrums of an indie rock band being thrust into the harsh spotlight of the mainstream are refuted nicely by Wowee Zowee, Pavement's last worthwhile outing.

What has U2 wrought? On the one hand, the Dublin, Ireland foursome are post-punk legends for their pioneering mix of stadium-shaking anthems and overt political and religious sentiments. On the other hand, as an influence, U2 has been dreadful. Think not? Take one look at the list of bands that consider U2 must-see Zoo TV: from new wave failures The Alarm through Creed and P.O.D, the Sons of Bono have left a trail of histrionics that would make Darius Rucker blush. (Well...)

Live have always straddled that not-so-fine line between epic and embarrassing. Their debut, 1992's Mental Jewelry, hinted at the quasi-spiritual with "Operation Spirit." But it was 1994's millions selling Throwing Copper that made Live huge. With its sweeping anthems and mystical ideas straight out of freshman philosophy class, Copper boasted no less than five hit singles and shot Live to the top of the Modern Rock charts.

It was time for subtlety--or at least a heavy dose of creepiness. 1997's Secret Samadhi is excellent. Despite the awkward title (much parodied at the time of its release as "Secret Salami"), Live's third LP downplays the band's broad statements in favor of introspection. It works. Tracks like "Ghost," "Freaks," and the reverb-y, angular "Lakini's Juice" are terrific.

Samadhi also contains what may be Live's best song: the album opener, "The Rattlesnake." Cryptic without being goofy, the song uses a loud/soft dynamic and whispered lyrics to great effect. Singer Ed K. nearly spits the words, which describe a "crazy, crazy mixed up town." Live had discovered the joys of bitterness.

Alas, it wouldn't last. Live would soon descend (ascend?) back into the ranks of the unwashed--and unsubtle--U2 flock. But for one of the most underappreciated and surprising albums of the 1990s, pick up Secret Samadhi.

You can probably get it for a buck at that used CD store down the street...

Robert Plant is such a talented singer that pretty much any style works well for him. Whether the mystic proto-metal of Led Zeppelin, the more subtle arrangements of solo works like Principle of Moments, or the energetic 50's rock and soul of the Honeydrippers, Plant has astounding range. But at his most basic, Robert Plant is a blues singer.

That's what makes 2002's Dreamland so terrific. The covers album includes blues standards ("Funny In My Mind") and folk gems (Dylan's "One More Cup of Coffee"), each song rearranged, reimagined, and somehow infused with both simplicity and a near-spiritual depth.

Dreamland's best moments are its quietest--or its creepiest. The haunting "Morning Dew" finds Plant at a near-whisper, moaning the lyrics to resonant effect. The Jimi Hendrix standard "Hey Joe" is deconstructed and rebuilt as a menacing lullaby.

In a sense, Dreamland is pretty much like any other Plant solo album--dynamite. When you are as talented--and as motivated--as Robert Plant is, solo works become a true passion rather than just a side project.

Putting Guns n Roses into perspective means understanding the late 1980s. What passed for heavy metal was neither heavy nor metal, as hairspray and hits went hand in hand and the only prerequisite for charting was a halfway hummable ballad. It's one of the great ironies of rock that anyone cared whether some gussied-up long-haired pretty boy was once dumped by a supermodel, but that's what was on the radio. That's what sold.

Enter Guns. They were sleazy like the Stones, punk- and metal informed, took copious amounts of illicit substances, and, most of all, rocked like hell. Appetite For Destruction, their proper debut, is one of the best LPS of all time. Foul-mouthed, super-charged, energetic and frenetic, Axl Rose, guitarist Slash, and the rest of Guns n Roses took Aerosmith's dirty boogie to its logical extreme.

Yet it is the songs of Appetite that endure, not the attitude. The anthemic "Paradise City" and the furious glam-stomp of "Rocket Queen" are undeniable, while "Mr. Brownstone" is a shambolic, Stones-y cautionary tale. "Sweet Child O' Mine" even taught the pretty boys how to really do a power ballad--emphasis on power, hold the supermodels.

Before Rose shot it all to crap with his Illusions of grandeur and pretentious piano plunking, Guns were one of the great bands in rock. It may not have lasted long, but this group should be remembered for doing what punk once did on a larger scale -- kicking the industry in the behind with all the real reasons for rock's existence.