Robert Fripp: Exposure

In July 1974, having finished the recording of the remarkable Red, Robert Fripp dissolved King Crimson, fully intending to never resurrect the band.  He made the amazing Evening Star with Brian Eno in 1975, but largely left music aside while attending to self-improvement.  This was during the period when rock was overwhelmed by the rising tide of punk, which, in turn, flamed out quickly.

Somehow, Fripp made the prescient decision to relocate to the Hell's Kitchen area of Manhattan in New York City, which was the ferment of a music scene that included Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Television, Talking Heads, Blondie and many others during those final years of the Seventies.  He states in the liners to Exposure that he fully intended to avoid music making because of frustration with industry greed, ego and other negative attributes.

In 1977, however, Eno and David Bowie called with a request for Fripp to travel to Berlin and record some guitar parts for a tune on a Bowie album.  On the title track of Heroes, Fripp recorded an amazing and distinctive guitar line that energized the song and his own career.

Part of the new trajectory was Fripp's emergence as a producer and he worked with Peter Gabriel on his second self-titled solo record, the Roches on their debut, and, surprisingly, white soul singer Darryl Hall on his first solo recording while on a break for the highly-successful Hall and Oates.  The original notes to Exposure indicate that Fripp's solo effort was the last of a trilogy including the Gabriel and Hall records and, sure enough, those two made significant contributions to the album.

So did Hell's Kitchen, New York City in general, and the music scene there.  Exposure is a stunning break from the environments in which Fripp worked from 1967 to 1974 and represent a bold leap into the future that was unlike anything his contemporaries had and have done (Robert Plant's more recent solo and collaborative work might be one of the few exceptions.)  It is also described by its creator as autobiographical as he attempted to find a new place for himself in a radically changing music world, but one, that for a brief period, in the post-punk world allowed for some self-development.  Or, as Fripp liked to call it--a drive to 1981 as a "small, mobile, intelligent unit."

Fripp's production work on Hall's Sacred Songs did not meet the approval of Hall's agent or label, which fretted about its lack of popular appeal and imposed stringent condition on its release and, as well, on Hall's contributions to Exposure.  The 1979 release of the latter, then, involved changes necessitated by those conditions.  A 1985 rerelease, based on a 1983 remix, restored Hall's vocals to three of the songs.  This allowed for a two-disc version on Fripp's own Discipline Global Mobile label in 2006.

The recording is a mixture of record conversations and snippets of speeches by a spiritual leader, J.G. Bennett, whom Fripp followed; ambient pieces of the form developed with Eno and dubbed Frippertronics by a then-girlfriend of the guitarist; short guitar-led instrumentals, and a wide variety of songs.  These latter include lovely ballads, such as "Mary," sung by Terry Roche, and the gorgeous "North Star" with vocals by Hall, more uptempo and hard rocking pieces like "You Burn Me Up, I'm a Cigarette," sung by Hall and "Disengage"; "Chicago," which were sung by Hall, but then by Van der Graaf Generator vocalist Peter Hamill, when Hall's versions were not authorized for release; and the duet between Hammill and Roche, "I May Not Have Enough of Me, But I've Had Enough of You."

The tracks that stood out most to this listener, in addition to "North Star" and "Disengage," are the disturbing, but compelling "NY3" and the stunning "Here Comes the Flood."  The former features recordings made by Fripp through the wall of his apartment of his neighbors fighting about a daughter's drug use and unwanted pregnancy and is a remarkably creative expression of music and found sound from someone coming out of the antiquated 1960s, but with both feet firmly planted in the future.  "Here Comes the Flood", on the other hand, is a picture perfect ballad, written with and sung by Gabriel, with Fripp and Eno providing minimal accompaniment.  More relevantly, the lyrics talk about the effects of environmental degredation--hardly the subject of much lyrically in rock, but, of course, of great timely import now.

In addition to the collaborators already mentioned, there is a bevy of talented performers including Phil Collins, then relatively unknown outside of hardcore Genesis fans, but soon to be a megastar with that group and as a solo performer; drummer Jerry Marotta, a sideman of longstanding; Micheal Narada Walden, another session stalwart on drums; XTC organist Barry Andrews, who would next collaborate with Fripp on the short-lived, but interesting and lively League of Gentlemen; steel and rhythm guitarist Sid McGinnis; and the great bassist Tony Levin, who'd been working and still does work with Gabriel, but became a member of the revived King Crimson and is still with that band today.

It is noteworthy that Fripp, who has made many solo recordings since, but all instrumental in the Frippertronics and then its successor, the digitally-made Soundscapes, modes, has not attempted anything like Exposure.  Not that this highly-creative artist should be expected to duplicate this record, but to go back to largely song-based structures with collaborators of the range and quality as those who appeared on it would be interesting to hear.  Almost forty years later, Exposure does not sound at all like an artifact of its time, but has a timeless and rovingly innovative quality that is a standout in the career of a remarkable artist.

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.

Fripp & Eno (No Pussyfooting)

In early September 1972, Brian Eno, having just left Roxy Music and pondering a future in exploring sound for its own sake rather than as a basis as song, invited Robert Fripp, whose latest iteration of King Crimson had been a thoroughly mixed bag and had just dissolved, to his home studio to try out an experiment with two reel-to-reel tape decks that would create a continuous loop with Fripp's guitar augmented with the guitarist's clear and fluid soloing over the top.  The technique was later dubbed Frippertronics and Fripp created several albums and engaged in short tours performing that way in the late 1970s and early 1980s.  In the mid-1990s, he developed a digital version called Soundscapes that spawned more solo recordings, live performances and occasional inclusions of the format in the later lineups of King Crimson.

The experiment was done in one sitting and proved so inspiring that the two decided it was a finished work.  Fripp suggested that the 21-minute piece be called "The Transcendantal Music Corporation," a reflection of some his philosophical interests, but Eno thought the title too serious and opted for "The Heavenly Music Corporation," which is what stuck.

Considering where rock music was in late 1972, even though tape loops were pioneered by modern "classical" composers like Terry Riley and Steve Reich, both featured here previously, the result is astounding.  Eno established an ambient environment that allowed a masterful guitarist like Fripp to weave his crisp soloing through the tape loops and create a warm recording, where much ambient music is often considered mechanical and harsh.

This listener has become quite interested in ambient music over the years, beginning with the cruder efforts of Cabaret Voltaire, whose work, heavily influenced by Eno, in sound manipulation began in 1974, just after this record was released in September 1973.  The difference here is that, like Eno, the trio in CV (Kirk, Mallider and Watson) never claimed to be musicians, but Fripp is an estimable guitarist, playing complex and creative lines and runs without trying to overly impress with speed, volume, and effect.  Eno's supportive recording techniques maximize the guitarist's inventiveness in a way that separates this record from anything before or since.

Eno has more a presence, via a VCS3 synthesizer, used by King Crimson in its 1971-72 incarnation, as well as a digital sequencer and the Revox tape recorders that he modified, on the second track, "Swastika Girls," which was recorded at a professional studio, Command in London (where Crimson did much of its early recording.)  A swirling looping figure starts the piece and Fripp brings in his Gibson Les Paul in with a sort of chiming sound supplemented by a simple one-note bass-like background.  About 7 1/2 minutes in, Fripp comes in with more sweeping, but harsher, guitar figures that breaks up the repetitious, but hypnotic, foundation laid over that first portion.  Fripp's playing is fascinating as he sustains his notes, then bends them and opens up their sound in a series of variations.

"Swastika Girls", incidentally, got its name from a magazine article page Eno stumbled upon that had women in various stages of dress/undress with Nazi uniforms.  Eno taped the page to the mixing desk in the studio and the track had its name.

The record had a subtitle of (No Pussyfooting), with the brackets often omitted in later references, and this was a way for Fripp and Eno to remind themselves not to compromise with their experiments in the face of negative feedback from Eno's Island Records label, which was preparing to release his debut solo record Here Come the Warm Jets, which appeared in January 1974, and Fripp's new bandmates in the 1973-74 edition of King Crimson.

In 2008, Eno and Fripp supervised a reissue on Fripp's Discipline Global Mobile label that included a rarity:  in December 1973 the remarkable BBC DJ John Peel, who championed a vast array of experimental and unusual musicians and bands, played "The Heavenly Music Corporation" on his show, except that the reel was wound "tail out" instead of "front out."  Consequently, the piece was played reversed and when Eno called to alert Peel and his producer to the fact, the call was treated as a hoax.  So, there are reversed versions of both pieces. 

Moreover, a half-speed edition of "The Heavenly Music Corporation" was also issued because it was a practice of some people to listen to vinyl records on the 16 2/3 rpm setting on the turntable (half of the 33 1/3 standard, of course) and try to pick up on the technique and nuances in the music.  This provides a 42-minute version of the track, interesting and more ominous and foreboding (but in a good way) on its own.

The truth is:  this record was way ahead of its time or, perhaps, in its own time.  Years later, ambient music became, more or less, a sub-genre to some of electronic and techno, but it basically started here when it comes to the rock/pop dimensions of it.  Play most music from 1972-73 and see how dated the pieces might be and then try this one.  It just doesn't sound like that era, or any era for that matter. 

The magic of (No Pussyfooting) is its essential timelessness, at least for those who appreciate its approach to sound.  Two years later, in 1975, the duo created Evening Star, a refinement of the process begun on (No Pussyfooting) and another essential recording to be covered here at a future date.  Although Fripp guested on other Eno projects subsequently, the two did not reconvene for a follow-up until 2004's The Equatorial Stars, which is decidedly more ambient and less overtly guitar oriented than the earlier work.   Perhaps some day, the two will work together again and it is amazing to think that their collaboration began four decades ago this year.

Fripp & Eno (No Pussyfooting)  (2008 remaster, Discipline Global Mobile)

Disc 1:

1-5:  The Heavenly Music Corporation  20:52
6-7:  Swastika Girls  18:58
8-12:  The Heavenly Music Corporation (reversed)  20:52

Disc 2:

1-5:  The Heavenly Music Corporation (half-speed)  41:49
6-7:  Swastika Girls (reversed)  18:54

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.

King Crimson: Red

In 1984, YHB was fully immersed in the "alternative rock" of the day, from the more popular R.E.M. and U2 to the independent DYI sounds of Hüsker Dü and Minutemen and lots in between.  So, when a friend and fellow frequent concertgoer asked about going to see King Crimson do a show at the Greek Theatre in L.A., the answer was an immediate, resounding "NO!"

After all, wasn't King Crimson prog?  How uncool and outdated could that be?  Disturbing visions ensued of massive stage sets, florid light shows, bizarre costumes, murky concept albums with sidelong suites about fairies and dragons, endless noodling on overwrought keyboard and guitar solos, and on and on, ad inifinitum.

Undaunted, said friend unloaded a set of LPs (remember those massive black things) and begged for a considered listen.  And, yes, persistence paid off.  The journey through several albums from 1969 to 1984 was a remarkable one. 

Actually, with each successive lineup of the ever-changing Crimson, the sounds actually were stripped down and refined further away from the stereotypical "progessive" sound to a leaner, tighter one (ones?)  From the legendary debut, In the Court of the Crimson King, and its still-astonishing "21st Century Schizoid Man," to the much-maligned Lizard (1970) and Islands (1971), the riveting power of the 1972-74 lineup and its trio of albums and the surprisingly-successful reconstituted Crimson of the early 1980s, it was obvious that, in its relentless changeability, experimentation, and precision, KC became less of a prog band and operated within its own sphere, separate from anything else in the "rock world."

Guitarist Robert Fripp, who denies being the band's leader, but who has been its sole continuing member and has the patents and copyrights under his own name, has had a clever saying:  King Crimson albums are "love letters" and the concerts are "hot dates."  Another way of saying that, great as the albums can be, the band is best experienced live. That statement was fully validated by YHB at the June '84 gig at the Greek. 

An impressed new fan drove home from LA that night and some albums were quickly acquired and absorbed.  Lo and behold, however, KC, again, ceased to exist a month or so later and, so, was left aside in favor of other musical interests.  One EP, 1994's Vroom was purchased and enjoyed, but, otherwise, a quarter century went by without any exposure to Crimson, though some aspects of the band's music, especially the 1974 album, Starless and Bible Black, resonated.  

So, after 25 years, in Fall 1999, it was decided to give Crimson another go and the focus was the 1972-74 period, a popular one for Crimson fans.  What hooked me was the track "The Talking Drum" from 1973's Larks' Tongues in Aspic.  The African-style percussion by Jamie Muir, David Cross's keening violin playing, the alternating repetitive triads of bassist John Wetton (he of Asia fame in the early 80s), Bill Bruford's building and hypnotic drumming, and Fripp's Middle Eastern-style guitar playing, in particular, drew me in.  It seemed that, while in 1984, my references to Crimson were limited to what I knew of "rock" to that point, the many years since brought exposure to classical, jazz and world music and this helped coalesce my interest in what KC had done over the years.  The Starless and Bible Black album featured the amazing closer, Fracture, with Fripp's control, precision and clean tone leading to a thunderous finish.  But, it was the final album of that period, Red, released in October 1974, that proved to be the most impressive.

The quartet finished extensive touring with a powerful performance at New York's Central Park on 1 July 1974, after which Cross was fired over Fripp's objections.  Already disillusioned with the band's direction and enmeshed in a personal crisis requiring soul searching, the guitarist joined Wetton and Bruford in the studio just a week later to make Red and then informed his colleagues that he was offering no opinions as to the direction of the music. 

While these were hardly ideal conditions, if such exist, to make a studio album, the trio, aided by several musicians who had been in Crimson as members or guests (including original member, reed player Ian McDonald, later of Foreigner), created Red, released in October 1974 and which is one of the three essential albums in the Crimson catalog (along with In the Court of the Crimson King and 1981's Discipline.) 

The title track is one of the several pieces in the "canon" that are generally held out to be paramount and it is a great piece.  Another key song is Providence, a live improvisation with a powerful closing that was edited to a rather abrupt end, and which was recorded in the Rhode Island city of that name, and one of several pieces (a few on Starless and Bible Black) that were included on studio albums, but with audience applause and other concert noise edited out, so that the distinction between studio and live performance was blurred--an interesting effect not often used.  Two other songs, Fallen Angel and One Red Nightmare, tend to be downplayed because of the attention give to the others, but Wetton sings well and the band plays tightly.  Bruford's use of cymbals on the latter piece is also noteworthy.

The centerpiece, however, and perhaps the greatest song in long history of King Crimson is Starless, a piece Wetton introduced in the Starless and Bible Black session earlier in the year and which was promptly rejected, though it became a live staple later.  Persistence paid off, because, when taken up for Red, the song became a stunning display of Wetton's smoky vocals evoking the contemplative and dark lyrics, a long middle section of Fripp's repetitive but hypnotic triad of notes, and a complex and frequently frenetic ending section that, in total, had the band, including McDonald and others, virtually capsulizing the five-year history of Crimson in an exhilirating twelve minute tour de force.

Fripp didn't notify Wetton and Bruford, who both seemed to think that stardom was just around the corner for the band, which was to include McDonald as a permanent member, that he was leaving until later in the year.  But, Starless, intended or not, was the ultimate swan song and Red the consummate send-off for a band that was unfairly defined by stereotypical appraisals of progressive rock. 

There'll be much more to say here about King Crimson and its long, varied and notable recordings, but Red is about as apt a place to start as any. A 40th Anniversary edition, issued in 2009, has the original album and three bonus tracks (including the full version of Providence) on a CD and a variety of formats and rare 1974 video of the band performing, though in mono, four tracks, including Starless, from a French TV broadcast on a DVD.  The mix by Steven Wilson of the band Porcupine Tree is truly outstanding (as all of the series are) and the edition is well worth seeking out for both the superior sound and the video content.