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: Discipline

In 1974, disillusioned with the direction of King Crimson, traveling on the road, and dealing with the music business, as well as feeling in a spiritual crisis, Robert Fripp disbanded the group that had just made the revelatory recording Red.  After working on a final statement in the form of the live album U.S.A., released in 1975, Fripp stopped making music and took a ten-month course at the International Academy for Continuous Education, created by John G. Bennett as a means for studying the aim of the spiritual life based largely on the teachings of the Russian-Armenian G.I. Gurdjieff (whose music was performed by pianist Keith Jarrett, profiled in this blog, in a 1980 recording.)

Fripp then did something remarkable for someone who came up in the music world of the late 1960s, he moved to New York and immersed himself in the independent music scene there.  Meantime, he was lured back into performing when Brian Eno, with whom Fripp made the innovative 1973 album No Pussyfooting, asked him to work on some tracks for David Bowie's 1977 album, Heroes, with Fripp's distinctive guitar providing the backbone for the title track.   Fripp went on to produce an Peter Gabriel solo record, one by the folk act, The Roches, and even a solo album by Daryl Hall.  Finally, Fripp created a remarkable album of his own, Exposure, which was released in 1979 and which will be profiled here later.  In 1980, Fripp resurrected the name of his first significant group, The League of Gentlemen, and teamed with XTC keyboardist Barry Andrews (later in Shriekback), Sara Lee, a bassist who later played with Gang of Four and the B-52s among others, and drummer Johnny Toobad, replaced later by Kevin Wilkinson, who subsequently was in China Crisis and Squeeze.)  The band released one album and toured for much of that year before the project was terminated.

Determined not to go back to the past, Fripp then conceived of a group called Discipline.  Bassist Tony Levin, who had worked on the Peter Gabriel solo record (and has been touring with him lately), impressed Fripp greatly, as had an amazing guitarist and singer, Adrian Belew, who was hired by Frank Zappa from obscurity and subsequently worked with Bowie and Talking Heads.  The one link to the King Crimson past was Fripp's offer to drummer Bill Bruford to join the new quartet.  After rehearsing, Discipline began playing shows and developed an immediate rapport.  Soon, however, it became apparent to Fripp and the others that the new group was actually King Crimson and Discipline was jettisoned, though it would, in 1993, be resurrected as part of Fripp's independent label, Discipline Global Mobile.

The 1981 version of King Crimson bore almost no resemblance to the earlier iterations, which was one of the most remarkable aspects of it.  Belew was the first guitarist to work with Fripp and his extensive use of the whammy-bar and other pyrotechnics were stunning, as well as being an excellent counterpoint to Fripp's more subdued, but complex and idiosyncratic sound.  Based on a new-found interest in Balinese gamelan music, the two also developed a highly integrated cross-picking sound that made King Crimson distinctive.  Levin's use of the new Chapman Stick, which is a guitar-like instrument that is able to play bass and melody lines as well as ambient like textures and thick chords, was also highly unusual and he also played the traditional bass.  Finally, Bruford was asked (restricted?) by Fripp to disdain too much use of the cymbal and be more of a rhythmic accompaniment to the group and also used a new technology, an electronic drum kit by Simmons, augmented by some acoustic pieces.

 
The record the band issued that year, Discipline, was not only light years removed from earlier King Crimson lineups and recordings, but was radically different from anything else of the time.  It is a testament to Fripp's desire and that of his bandmates to be forward thinking in terms of sound, but it was also essential to have the rhythmic flexibility and virtuosity of Levin and Bruford, who made a fantastic team, and to have the rare combination of a staggering guitarist, a fine vocalist and good songwriter in Belew.  Belew, in particular, provided a goofy humor and an engaging warmth to his other talents to make this new version of KC something different and timely.

As has been stated here before, it is hard to look at In the Court of the Crimson King (1969), Red (1974) and Discipline (1981) and choose which one is "best."  They are dramatically varied from one another, but have that unifying spirit of experimentalism and adventure that marks the spirit of King Crimson.  It has to be said, though, that Discipline is more accessible and has a continuity and seamlessness that the others don't possess, although "21st Century Schizoid Man" and "Starless" are epochal recordings that stand head-and-shoulders, in this listener's opinion, above everything else the band did, excepting perhaps "Lark's Tongues in Aspic, Part 2," and a personal favorite, the fascinating "The Talking Drum," both from 1973's Larks Tongues in Aspic.

But, "Indiscpline" is right up there.  Belew's agitated soliloquy based on his wife's reaction to a work of art she created is accompanied by some fabulous instrumental accompaniment, including a guitar solo by Fripp reminiscent of the one found on "A Sailor's Tale" from 1971's Islands, Levin's anchoring bass playing, and Bruford's rare opportunity to rove around his kit, but highlighted by his beautifully tight roll just before Belew tears into his distinctive solo.

"Elephant Talk" has a cool lyrical format, in which Belew spouts out words from each of the letters from A to, you got it, E--he has a knack for clever lyrical conceits that break down some of the heaviness of the KC sound and Fripp's processed "mouse" solo is fascinating.  "Frame by Frame" has a nice soaring vocal by Belew with backing vocals from Levin, something not found in previous versions of the band. 

"Thela Hun Gingeet" is an anagram for "Heat in the Jungle" with another unusual compositional element--during rehearsals, Belew explained his idea to the band about what the song was about, the hardness of an urban street environment, when Fripp suggested he take his portable tape recorded and go out into the street and record what was there.  Belew was then actually set upon by some men who thought he was an undercover cop with the singer/vocalist protesting that he was in a band recording an album and that he was on the street for that reason.  Somehow, the men decided to walk away only to have Belew run into a police officer.  Returning to the studio and visible shaken and upset, Belew retold the incident to his fellow band members, but Fripp had the presence of mind to ask the recording engineer to tape what Belew related.  This was added to the song to give it a disconcerting element of unreality--though, at first listen, it seemed to this blogger to be contrived, though still effective as a vocal device.

Aside from "Indiscipline" the other highlight is the gorgeous "Matte Kudasai," for which Fripp had a previously-existing guitar line, but it is Belew's vocal that stands out.  Later incarnations of the group would come up with such Belew signatures as "One Time" and "Eyes Wide Open."  While fans of the older versions of KC would point to "I Talk to the Wind," "Cadence and Cascade" and others as being emblematic of the balladic aspect of the group, "Matte Kudasai" is both beautiful, but less baroque.

Discipline concludes with two instrumentals, the evocative "The Sheltering Sky" and "Discipline," which features that complex, interwoven, cross-picking playing by Fripp and Belew mentioned above.  In all, this album is a striking, original and daring leap to a modern sound that most 1960s era bands and performers could not conceive of trying.  It is notable that John Wetton, whose powerful and nimble bass playing and smoky vocals on the classic 1972-74 KC lineup, became a pop rock phenomenon with Asia just a year later.  The differences of where he went (albeit leading to great riches, if not longevity) compared to where Fripp headed are telling.

An early CD version of the album, in 1989, as with all of those made at the time, was heralded as "definitive."  Of course, this was not so, and a 30th anniversary disc came out about a decade later in 2001.  Then, with further technological advances, came the 40th anniversary version in various formats (including 5.1 DTS Digital Surround, MLP Lossless and PCM Stereo) and with some bonus material.  Produced and mixed by Fripp and Steven Wilson of The Porcupine Tree who has overseen most of the reissued 40th anniversary material, the sound is excellent.

The Eighties version of Crimson released two more albums, the underrated Beat (1982) and Three of a Perfect Pair (1984) and, after the excellence of Discipline, it was probably unfair to ask the band to come near to reaching that level.  This listener first heard the band in spring 1984 when a friend wanted to see KC play at the Greek Theater in Los Angeles.  After curtly declining in some disdain, visions of prog excess (side-long suites about court jesters, dancing in the sun, and Tarkus, etc.) roiling about in the brain, the friend asked for a listen to a few Crimson records to demonstrate that they were different.  Indeed they were--a run through ITCOTCK, Starless and Bible Black, Red and, most strikingly, Discipline clearly showed this.

The June concert was amazing.  The tall, balding Levin providing a notable presence aside from his unbelievable playing, Bruford expertly laying down electronic and analog rhythms, Belew crooning, elephant talking, and whammy-bar wailing his way into the audience's hearts, and Fripp, as always, calmly seated at the side and playing off the various strengths of his fellow band members and himself.  A month or so later, it was over as Fripp decided to walk away from Crimson once again.

For this listener, the budding interest in the band ended--it was an unexpected detour from the alternative rock that ruled the roost.  In 1994, the VROOOM CD was picked up out of sheer curiosity and, though it was intriguing, nothing further came of it.  Then, in 2009, a nagging question about whether Crimson would still be of interest (Starless and Bible Black, in particular, kept popping into the cranium) led to a hesitant purchase of Larks Tongues in Aspic and it was "The Talking Drum" that did it.  Since then, it has been a near-continuous exploration of all things Crimson and Fripp, though the news that the grand plans for the 40th anniversary year ground to a halt followed by Fripp's "retirement" was disappointing.

Suddenly, with a long-standing dispute over royalties with Universal Music Group and other difficulties resolved, this September Fripp announced another version of Crimson would be "in service" by that time in 2014.  The news was tempered some by the revelation that Belew was not invited and the vocalist would be Jakko Jakszyk, who performed on a recent KC "projekct" with Fripp, Mel Collins from the 1970-72 KC era, Gavin Harrison (of The Porcupine Tree and the short 2008 Crimson mini-tour).  The "projekct" has been defined as a sort of "research and development" aspect of portions of the larger Crim to move to the next phase. 

Now that the five men who worked on A Scarcity of Miracles are in the new lineup along with two other drummers, KC vet Pat Mastelotto and Bill Rieflin, formerly of Ministry and REM and who has worked with Fripp on other projects, including The Humans, the band of Fripp's wife Toyah Willcox, it will be interesting to see what new directions will come of it.  Undoubtedly, much of the attention will be focused on Jakszyk, who will, fairly or not, be compared to Greg Lake, John Wetton and Adrian Belew.

Whatever happens, it is sure to be interesting and unexpected and nothing less can be expected from the iconoclastic, enigmatic, but remarkably and resiliently creative Robert Fripp.

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.