NEW YORK — Richard Thompson, the revered British guitarist and singer, made a rare appearance on Friday night at Joe's Pub, with a show he called "A Thousand Years of Pop Music." These are some of the things he played:

  • A ballad about the Battle of Agincourt, fought in 1415. "There's a lot of wonderful songs in England about beating the French," Thompson said with a droll chuckle.

  • An aria from "Dido and Aeneas," the first English opera, composed by Henry Purcell in the late 1680s. "This is at the end," he said, "before the queen of Carthage kills herself. Nevertheless, it's a ripping song."

  • A tune from the 1800s that Thompson introduced as "one of the many British ballads about dressing up as women."

  • A song from the 1885 Gilbert and Sullivan operetta "The Mikado."

  • "I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter," the 1935 hit by jazzman Fats Waller.

  • "Drinkin' Wine Spo-Dee-O-Dee," the Sticks McGhee chug-a-lug classic from 1947 (covered last year by Kid Rock).

  • Hank Williams' 1951 country lament, "(I Heard That) Lonesome Whistle Blow."
Thompson also tossed off versions of "Money, Money, Money," by ABBA, and the Beatles' "It Won't Be Long." There was a Gary Glitter glam-rock anthem in there somewhere, too.

This stellar display of musical erudition was all the more remarkable for being performed solely by Thompson, with his capering guitar; percussionist Michael Jerome, thumping with admirable concision on a variety of ethnic drums; and, providing harmonies on several songs, singer Judith Owen, who, interestingly, also happens to be the wife of comic writer and actor Harry Shearer ("This Is Spinal Tap"). The group's spare sound was enriched by a deft application of microphone reverb effects.

Joe's Pub — actually a small club next door to the late Joe Papp's Public Theatre — was an ideal environment for Thompson's intimate instrumental displays. Even those unfamiliar with his long and extraordinary musical career (there were a few in attendance) were suitably appreciative.

But some longtime Thompson admirers — those who remembered his work with the late-'60s English folk-rock band Fairport Convention and (especially) the six sublime albums he recorded, starting in 1974, with his former wife, the incandescent singer Linda Thompson — felt a faint sense of frustration at this show.

For one thing, Richard Thompson is a very fine songwriter, the most vividly gifted in a genre of which he seems to be the sole occupant. (It's difficult to isolate the intricately intertwined influences in his music.) His greatest songs — like the epic "Night Comes In" (which reflects his spiritual immersion in the mystical Sufi branch of Islam) and the horrifying acoustic lullaby "The End of the Rainbow" (sample lyric, addressed to a drowsing infant: "There's nothing to grow up for anymore") — are simply unforgettable. In this show (naturally, given its concept), he played none of them.

More crucially, Thompson is also a masterful electric guitarist, one of the most breathtaking players ever to strap on a Stratocaster. I don't exaggerate! His acoustic technique is a marvel, it's true. But to appreciate his true genius, you have to hear his spiraling solos and shimmering filigrees within the context of a full band, preferably one of his romping Anglo-roots outfits, in which bass and drums are subsumed within a whirl of archaic instruments such as krummhorns, shawms and pennywhistles. At Joe's Pub, of course, there wasn't a Strat in sight.

Over the years, I've often attempted to explain the riveting appeal of Richard Thompson's music to those who were unaware of it. This is hard to do; the songs and their execution are so intricately ravishing. Since you won't be able to see him any time soon (he's headed back to Europe, where he's a staple on the festival circuit), I can only recommend that you seek out his albums. The 1969 Fairport Convention release, Liege & Lief, a monument of English folk-rock, wouldn't be a bad place to start; and guitarists will no doubt be both tickled and deflated by his 1981 instrumental opus, Strict Tempo! (on which, among other things, he offers up a solo rendition of Duke Ellington's "Rockin' in Rhythm").

But the still-beating heart of Richard Thompson's art is to be found on the records he recorded with his wife Linda, especially their first, I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight; and the 1975 Pour Down Like Silver (which contains the spellbinding "Night Comes In"); and — this is really The One — their luminous 1982 swan song, Shoot Out the Lights.

There is of course a lot of excellent music that remains unheard by large numbers of people. But not much of it is as unjustly under-appreciated as the revelatory work of this unique artist. Fortunately, in your own small, record-buying way, you can do something about that.

—Kurt Loder