Better late than never for Lindisfarne

British folk rockers Lindisfarne have been soldiering on for 30 years through personnel changes, fluctuations in musical tastes and, in 1996, the death of their lead singer and principal songwriter. Although they were a major act in the United Kingdom, Lindisfarne never really cracked the stateside market, and their show at the Abbey Pub on Saturday was their first Chicago appearance.

The sextet's rough-and-ready sound is mostly a blend of country-folk and blues, and their four string lead vocalists and varied, rootsy instrumental textures make the group seem a bit like Newcastle's answer to the Band. They got off to a slow start Saturday emphasizing material from their last studio release, "Here Comes the Neighbourhood," with multi-instrumentalist Marty Craggs taking the bulk of the lead vocals. Although much of the newer material was indifferent, the band was impressive instrumentally, with founding member Rod Clements playing some exquisite slide guitar and chunky mandolin, and Cragg leavening the mix with his contributions on tin whistle, flute and accordion. Twelve-string guitarist Dave Denholm's high plaintive voice worked well on the 1971 chestnut "City Song."

Guitarist and vocalist Billy Mitchell, who joined the band after vocalist Alan Hull's fatal heart attack in 1995, proved an amiable, nimble front man and a suitable mouthpiece for Hull's tunes. The rhythm section, original drummer Ray Laidlaw and bassist Ian Thomson (late of country rock revivalist Sid Griffin's Coal Porters band), formed a tight, if unobtrusive, back row.

After finishing their first set with a driving version of Woody Guthrie's "Jackhammer Blues," Lindisfarne shifted the focus to their older, more familiar material for the second half. They opened the set with their signature tune, the spooky, evocative "Lady Eleanor," which, along with the jazzy "Money Game" most clearly evoked the band's flower-power folk-rock roots.

Once, the band revisited their older material, and most of the second set were tunes from the early '70s, both their connection with the audience and their own enthusiasm level intensified. For their final encore, the raucous "Clear White Light," Lindisfarne displayed an instrumental and vocal muscle that had eluded them earlier in the evening and showed that this venerable ensemble can still rock out when they choose to.