King Crimson: Starless and Bible Black

In 2009, fifteen years after last hearing any King Crimson and twenty-five years since hearing this particular record, the opportunity to come across it again, just after relistening to Larks Tongues in Aspic, which rekindled (particularly the awesome "The Talking Drum") an interest in this remarkable band again.

It had actually been Starless and Bible Black that had stuck in my mind all those years, but actually, any memory of why the album had done so was totally unclear.  No particular songs came to mind, it was just some general impression somehow.

At any rate, that first time going back through the recording, what was striking was the effort Robert Fripp put into presenting a mix of live material (with audience reaction removed) and studio tracks as if to present the idea that the band's qualities were essentially the same in both settings.  At the same time, he has characterized the albums as love letters and concerts as hot dates, which might be construed as the idea that it was in performance that the band was best understood and appreciated.

On Starless, the lines between live and in studio work are blurred and improvisation plays a significant role in the proceedings.  The latter is especially highlighted in the remarkable "Trio," in which the band, noted for increasingly intense and powerful concerts, turned in a contemplative, hushed performance in which drummer Bill Bruford, who could be both a powerhouse and a sensitive accompanist, sat out.  Robert Fripp felt that, for making that unselfish move, the drummer deserved a writing credit.

"We'll Let You Know" and "The Mincer" are both largely improvised concert excerpts, although some studio overdubbing was applied to the former.  "Starless and Bible Black" is a powerful piece, with a piercing, probing Fripp solo backed by the duo propulsion of bassist (and vocalist) John Wetton and Bruford.

A word about violinst David Cross, who also played viola, mellotron and electric piano, as well.  Fripp brought him into the group to provide a lighter touch as counterweight to the heaviness of the others.  Over time, he was marginalized and simply overpowered by the intensity of the other musicians.  Yet, he plays beautifully on the violin in many places, esepcially on "The Night Warch", and dutifully did what needed to be done elsewhere.

As for the vocal pieces, there're all fine efforts, including the much-maligned "The Great Deceiver," which has an opening line reference to "health food faggot," which led American critics and fans to condemn lyricist Richard Palmer-James' homophobia.  He and Fripp, however, have stressed that the use of the term was about a vegetarian form of an English meatball in this song about Beelzebub.

"Lament" and "The Night Watch" are both interesting in terms of their introspective views concerning a musician's life on the road, in the case of the former, and the powerful experience of gazing about Rembrandt's famed painting in Amsterdam, in the instance of the latter.  Wetton's dusky vocals are served quite well in the two songs.

The pinnacle of this record and one of the great King Crimson tunes of them all is the staggering "Fracture," which includes the rhythm section providing powerful backing to Fripp's amazing speed, dexterity and control in his phenomenal playing.

As with other signature performances, Fripp didn't rely on pyrotechnics and acrobatics in his playing, so much as precision, power and placement of notes where they needed to be.  "Fracture" is a textbook example of that and it's also a stellar full band performance and a stunning way to end this very interesting and diverse album.

The 2011 release of the 40th Anniversary edition, mainly remastered by Porcupine Tree guitarist Steven Wilson and Fripp, on Fripp's DGM label includes many bonus tracks, as does the accompanying DVD, which offers 5.1 surround, MLP lossless stereo, and PCM stereo versions and more bonuses, too.  The best bonuses, though, are the video performances of "Easy Money" from Larks Tongues and the improvisation "Fragged Dusty Wall Carpet" from a gig at Central Park in June 1973.  Getting this edition is well worth it for those items, excepts from Fripp's 2000 and 2011 diaries, when preparing 30th and 40th anniversary editions and Crimson biographer Sid Smith's always-interesting liners.

King Crimson: Larks' Tongues in Aspic

As pointed out before, thirty years ago this blogger was invited to go to a King Crimson performance and promptly and flatly turned it down because of a disgust about the perceived nature of "prog."  A sampling of borrowed albums from the patient friend revealed that the band had evolved considerably from its early days and was worth giving a shot.  And, what a show that was, though Crimson broke up about a month or so later.

When a rediscovery of KC happened five years ago (a whole quarter century later), it was just after a planned 40th anniversary itinerary was scratched due to a misunderstanding over schedules between Robert Fripp and Adrian Belew.  A couple of years later, Fripp announced his retirement from public performance and a resurgence of King Crimson seemed to be more and more unlikely.

However, once Fripp won a settlement over royalties with Universal Music Group and completed a long-developing book project, as well as other significant changes in his working life, a surprise announcement was made a year ago:  King Crimson was returning to "active service" via a tour of the U.S. this fall.

Last night, this blogger attended the second of two shows at the beautiful historic Orpheum Theatre in downtown Los Angeles and what an experience it was.  It took about a third of the show to get fully acclimated to the three-drummer front line and the sheer mass, density and intensity of the sound generated by the stellar crew of Pat Mastelotto, Bill Rieflin and Gavin Harrison.  It also took that time to be able to recalibrate listening so that the amazing reed work of Mel Collins could be truly appreciated, as well as Fripp's always impressive guitar work.

A friend who had little exposure (pardon the unintended pun for those of you who know RF's solo career) to Crimson was thunderstruck by the drummers and the sound, but felt that the vocals were not measuring up to the immense power of the instrumental performances.  This listener felt that Jakko Jakszyk did a very good job of playing with his cool screaming schizoid man decorated guitar (and even a little flute in a duet with Collins) and his singing was good overall.

All-in-all, a powerful, involving and memorable show from a band that always strives for something different, unusual and affecting to its audience.

Which leads to the featured album . . .  The plan was to focus next on 1995's Thrak, an album with a double trio (guitars, basses and drums) that took KC into a new era of power, innovation and excellent songcraft.

But, given that last night's show featured a decided focus on the band's earlier output and that this blogger's return to the fold started with this album, this post looks at 1973's Larks' Tongues in Aspic (a title which might appear ponderously pompous in the prog tradition, especially given where bands like Yes and ELP were going in that era--yet, the title was an off-the-cuff joke from percussionist Jamie Muir that the band found funny enough to adopt.)

The band had been together only a few months after the Islands-era band of 1971-72 finished a tour of America and disbanded.  Fripp first made contact with Muir, a veteran of England's free jazz scene who quickly became a character known for his bearskin clothing and habit of biting into capsules of red food coloring to simulate blood while he prowled the stage, making strange grimaces and bashing out percussion on a standard drum kit and and what was referred to in the liners of LTIA as "allsorts," meaning bongos, metal sheets, bells, whistles and other assorted items.

He then met with Bill Bruford, who was ready to leave Yes, just as that band finished its most popular and acclaimed album, Close to the Edge, and before that group embarked on what became the oft-maligned double album, Tales from Topographic Oceans.  Bruford had admired Crimson's experimental, improvisational and innovative approaches and was looking for a new venue for his interests and talents.

Violinist David Cross was observed playing a gig and, attracted to the idea of providing a "light" counterweight to the heaviness embodied in electric instruments and the Crimson way of playing, Fripp invited the unknown Cross to join the group.

Finally, there was John Wetton, an acquaintance of long standing with Fripp, who was quickly gaining recognition for his strong sound and nimble, inventive playing on the bass, but who also sang and wrote his own material in concert with former Supertramp member Richard Palmer-James.  Wetton was ready to leave Family, a band that had achieved some success in the U.K., but with which Wetton was increasingly feeling out of place.

The quintet came together in the summer of 1972 and quickly found improvisation to be a driving force for the group, while also trying out several songs, most of which later appeared on the trio of releases issued in the next two years.

King Crimson also performed mostly-improvised concerts in Europe and the U.K. through the fall and then, on New Year's Day 1973, convened in a London studio (which lacked some of the necessities for good recording, like an experienced engineer) and made this remarkable record.  Whatever was problematic in sound quality and editing was made up for in terms of the amazing mix of sounds, instrumentation, and performance that resulted.

It's hard to imagine any other major (or minor) rock group in 1973 having the audacity to begin the album with the Africans-style percussion and avant garde sounds that opened "Larks' Tongues in Aspic, Part One," though the mighty crunching riffs that developed during the long track certainly pushed things into very heavy territory, while alternating with Cross's delicate, but well-played violin work.

Following a tradition of delicate ballads came "Book of Saturday," which is a fine tune that could be considered kin to "Cadence and Cascade" and "I Talk to the Wind" from earlier albums.  "Exiles" has a little connection probably to "Epitaph" in the sense that it is a lament of sorts--this one about the trials of being in a rock band--and the next album actually has a song titled "Lament."  It also has a similar quality of a sweeping, majestic instrumental sound with a fine vocal by Wetton.

"Easy Money" has heavy bells, sampled voices and laughter, some undefinable scraping songs and other unusual touches, but it is also (excepting "Larks' Tongues in Aspic, Part 2") the most popular of the songs on this record and the one most likely to have been "radio friendly," if such a term could be applied to Crimson.

But, to this listener, the real gem of this record is "The Talking Drum," which starts off with soft percussion by Muir and then gradually and slowly leads into an extended violin solo by Cross with a menacing (perhaps) drone established by Fripp, while Wetton's performs a hypnotic repetitive bass line and Bruford comes in with a drum beat that holds everything down.  As the tension builds, it is finally resoundingly released as Wetton fattens the bassline with a huge fuzzy sound and Bruford pounds more insistently on the drums.  Then, Fripp unleashes a long guitar solo that emphasizes sound in a way that seems vaguely Middle Eastern with lots of tremolo and sustain that is unlike anything heard with rock guitar.

It was "The Talking Drum" that, when heard in Fall 2009, sparked this blogger's reevaluation of Crimson and what became a determined effort to hear as much of this amazing band's music as possible in subsequent months and years.

After a frenzied finish that seems to mimic wailing, the segue to "Larks' Tongues in Aspic, Part 2" which has become one of the centerpieces of the KC catalog, mixing intensity and softness, prototypical Frippian riffs and a dizzyingly fast, sensationally loud and cathartic conclusion to an album that may not be unified enough for some, but provides a variety, experimentalism, and juxtaposition of heavy and soft sounds that mark this as a really unusual rock record for its time--in fact, it doesn't really sound dated, because it doesn't play like an album of that era.  It almost is of its own era.

As for King Crimson's next steps, some were promoting this tour as a farewell, though its subtitle is "past, present and future," so, presumably, there may be more life in the band yet.  Let's hope so, because, based on last night's electrifying performance, there could be many more interesting musical places this band could go and there are enough who are ready and willing to go along for the ride.

King Crimson: In the Court of the Crimson King

Deciding what the next favorite King Crimson album is after Red is a real tough one.  1981's Discipline is fantastic and could easily have been here instead of In the Court of the Crimson King, but it is also hard to overstate the brilliance of the signature KC tune, "21st Century Schizoid Man," which opens the 1969 debut with a power, adventuresomeness, tightness and precision of performance, and the spectacle that, for better or for worse, is generally lionized (or criticized) as the touchstone of so-called "Progressive Rock."  And, in "Epitaph" and "The Court of the Crimson King" are two other epic pieces that have been considered highlights of an album that The Who's Pete Townshend called an "uncanny masterpiece."

Actually, when King Crimson's original vocalist and bassist Greg Lake (later of Emerson, Lake and Palmer, vanguards [perhaps] of the ultimate [perhaps] in progressive bombast in the 1970s) pointed out in a recent article about "prog" that earlier British rock bands were animated by American blues and soul, while those of the late 60s were looking to more "European" sources, such as classical, including avant-garde, music, there is a lot that makes sense there.

In Ian McDonald, however, a multi-instrumentalist, whose flute and sax playing were spectacular and whose mellotron was a domainant feature, and the amazing drummer Michael Giles, who plays with great rhythmic surety and touch, there is a heavy debt to jazz, particularly on the faster tempo pieces, the "free jazz" that was raging in the 60s, including in Europe, though they were also highly sensitive and restrained, qualities not often associated with "progressive rock," if King Crimson could even be considered such, in the ballads "I Talk to the Wind" and "Moonchild," which might be a tad too "hippie-ish" to some ears.

Guitarist Robert Fripp gets lots of attention for the crunchy riffs and speedy and difficult technical runs on "Schizoid Man," (the amazing harmonic work in the middle passage developed by Giles is a truly impressive KC moment) but he also deserves much credit for the acoustic and electric playing on the other pieces that are not as showy, but just as essential in the orchestration of these pieces.  Despite statements that McDonald was less than enamored with Fripp's unorthodox performing style, Lake has pointed out that the symbiosis between him and the guitarist were fundamental to the sound of that first incarnation.  Fripp's impeccable technical abilities were still in development, but he was developing a style that set him utterly apart from the pyrotechnical showiness that dominated among the guitar gods of the era.

Usually, rhythm sections (Lake and Giles) and front-line sections (in this case, McDonald and Fripp) would be viewed as natural pairings, but Lake's comments and the fact that McDonald and Giles quit at the end of 1969 after an American tour to support the album, released two months prior, are quite interesting.  It should be added that, while Lake is not generally considered as good on his instrument as his band mates were on theirs, he held down the bottom and supplied the rhythm and accompaniment to the soloists just fine, to this listener.  More importantly, he had a fine singing voice and his vocals, particularly on "Epitaph," are indispensable to the high regard this record has.

There is the role of lyricist Peter Sinfield, who also developed the lighting for the band's live shows that, at the time, was considered very inventive.  Sinfield's lyrics have been the subject of much heated debate concerning his wordplay, density, impressionistic content, and perceptions of grandiose, obtuse and overblown self-consciousness that many attach to his contributions.  To YHB, Sinfield is far more restrained and direct on this album than with later releases and "Schizoid Man" and "Epitaph" are, to this listener, the best of his contributions as he wrote with interesting metaphors, highly descriptive language and a greater directness  and comprehension than would be found later.  With "The Court of the Crimson King," Sinfield's lyrics have the kind of impressionistic bent that would be greatly elaborated on later, but more simplified and clearer (even with "purple pipers," "black queens," "pattern jugglers" and "yellow jesters" being central characters.)

Much has been said about the almost miraculous and spiritual nature of the rehearsals and early live shows conducted by the newly-formed band in early 1969, leading to the self-produced recordings of the summer in which the band trusted its instincts and group consensus to build a remarkable record.  A generous loan by Lake's uncle and what the band called its "good fairy," that ineffable musical something that guided the group through a tumultuous and turbulent year, were also essential qualities.

Then, there is the cover art, consisting of an unforgettably disturbing painting of a screaming man (a schizoid man, perhaps?) conceived by Barry Godber, a friend of Sinfield's.  It has its own life apart from the music, while also helping to define it.

Finally, it is worth pointing out that the remixing done for the 40th Anniversary Edition, released by Fripp's independent Discipline Global Mobile (DGM) label, in 2009 by Steven Wilson of The Porcupine Tree, is superior, as is the case with all of the edition's releases.  Bonus tracks include a full version of "Moonchild," which has a much-discussed lengthy and quiet improvisation featuring Fripp, Giles and Lake that they described as magical when it came upon them in the studio, but which has been dismissed as aimless and boring by others; alternate performances of the ballad "I Talk to the Wind"; the backing track to "Epitaph" and a wind session.

You had to be there in 1969 to fully appreciate the phenomenon that was King Crimson, the album that was "In the Court of the Crimson King", and the heavy, loud and intense live shows the group performed in England and America that year.  As Fripp has said, the album only hinted at the power found live, but it still leaves an indelible impression (good or bad) and "21st Century Schizoid Man" is truly one of the greatest of all rock songs (even Kanye West used it as the basis for his hit song, "Power," though Fripp had to speak directly to him to get permission granted!)  Discipline is right up there, though, and it will be the next Crimson album to be spotlighted here.