With his shag haircut, wiry frame, and low-slung guitar, Jeff Beck epitomizes the cocky, hot-rod guitarist. But that’s hardly surprising—he invented the concept in the early ’60s by combining the flash of rockabilly with the urgency of Chicago blues, and dipping the results in a bubbling caldron of fuzz and feedback. The insanity began when he joined the Yardbirds in 1965, replacing Eric Clapton, who’d left the band because he felt the music was getting too commercial. But for Beck, the Yardbirds offered a perfect opportunity to inject overdriven lines and feedback laced-solos into three-minute pop songs. His snaky, super-sustaining phrases in “Heart Full of Soul,” “Shapes of Things,” and “Evil Hearted You” (all from Having a Rave Up) were simply unprecedented, sounding more like the mutant offspring of sitar and saxophone than something that sprang from a six-string electric. Not only did Beck sound radical, he dressed and acted the part, setting the stage for rock-star guitarists to follow, including Jimi Hendrix. Amazingly, this birth of flash was documented in the 1966 movie Blow Up, which features a scene with the Yardbirds where Beck impales his sputtering Vox amp with his guitar, and then stomps it to pieces.

After playing with the Yardbirds for only 18 months, Beck left the band at the height of their fame to form the Jeff Beck Group with then-unknown pub rockers Rod Stewart and Ron Wood. Friends and fans must have shaken their heads in disbelief, but Beck had a vision: take classic Willie Dixon and Howlin’ Wolf numbers, play them slower and louder than anyone had ever dared, add bellowing, sandpaper vocals, and thread his searing Les Paul tones through the whole grinding wall of sound.

The result was Truth—a pivotal album in the history of rock guitar and the genesis of British heavy metal. The rhythm section is a wicked blend of Nicky Hopkins’ barrelhouse piano, Ron Wood’s growling bass, and big, bombastic drums played by Aynsley Dunbar, Mickey Waller, and Keith Moon. Soaring above the ensemble, Stewart and Beck dart and tangle like Chinese fighting kites. The album opens with a dark and menacing remake of “Shape of Things,” a move designed to dispel any notion that the Jeff Beck Group was a rehash of the poppy Yardbirds. In the Howlin’ Wolf classic, “I Ain’t Superstitious,” Beck uses his wah like a sledgehammer, brutally reshaping Willie Dixon’s once-familiar riff.

With its brass-knuckle assault on blues, Truth created a sensation the moment it was released. In addition to handing Jimmy Page a blueprint, the earthy Truth reached No. 15 on the album charts in the U.S.—an amazing feat in a nation still smitten by the flower-power acid pop of the Doors and Jefferson Airplane.

After a quick but successful tour of the U.S., Beck and the lads entered the studio to record a follow up to Truth. With a heavier, more frantic sound than its predecessor, 1969’s Beck-Ola contains mind-bending versions of Elvis Presley’s “All Shook Up” and “Jailhouse Rock,” as well as such slamming originals as “Spanish Boots” and “Rice Pudding.” But before the band could launch a tour to support Beck-Ola, Beck was in a serious car wreck that sidelined him for six months, and Stewart and Wood split to join the Faces.

Beck-Ola and Truth are all that remain from this brief and fiery collision of talent, energy, and ego. But thanks to Sony/Legacy, newly remastered and enhanced versions of these masterpieces are now available. Previously unreleased bonus tracks (a whopping eight on Truth, and four on Beck-Ola) allow diehard fans and newcomers alike new insights into Beck’s wild fretwork. Both London blues and Beck never sounded better.