B.B. King still sounds magnificent, which is especially impressive considering that he was born during the presidency of Calvin Coolidge.

At 82, King now complains of bad knees, a bad back and diabetes, but last night at the Landmark Theatre, he made only two concessions to age. One was that he sat for the entire performance. And the other is that he didn't perform as much music as he used to.

"Only politicians talk more than I do," he said, and then went on to prove it by interspersing charming stories from his youth and lessons about segregation between his songs, plus well-deserved praise for his tight, hot band.

He called these musicians "the best blues band in the world," and he might be right, or at least would be when they are at full strength. A place was set for an eighth performer who did not materialize, and the microphone was quickly taken away. Fans who saw them perform just a year ago at the Richmond Forum may remember that the band then boasted four brass players.

Then again, fans who saw them perform just a year ago may remember a lot about the show. Last night's show was largely a repeat, down to the same canned jokes and mugged expressions. King has perfected the art of being adorable, and this crowd-pleasing part of his persona now contributes to half of his show.

But the other half is the music, and there is still no one who can bring it like Riley B. King. Ranked by Rolling Stone as the third-greatest guitarist of all time (behind Jimi Hendrix and Duane Allman), King pulls that unmistakable sweet and fuzzy tone out of his beloved guitar, Lucille.

Every note he plucks -- no chords -- reveals the ecstasy of sorrow, the paradoxical joy of the blues. His eight-decade-old fingers still fly with ease over the strings, and although most of his expressions seem practiced, when he is playing the look on his face is sheer bliss.

King is also a powerhouse singer, but last night it was not always easy to tell. Unless I was in a dead spot in the Landmark, which is always a possibility, a muddied sound mix made it hard to distinguish some parts of such songs as "Every Day I Have the Blues" and "Bluesman (Understand)."

Opening for King was Papa Mali, a swamp-blues-playing slide guitarist of little distinction. Playing a decidedly uneven set of standards and originals, Mali also burned the retinas of many in the audience with the spotlight's reflected glare off his shiny guitar. On his better songs, he played with technical proficiency, but it was at best a labored virtuosity.