KING CRIMSON ALBUMS. WORST TO BEST. By Laurence Buxton 2019.

One of the few prog rock bands to have their reputation enhanced rather than shattered (and one of the few, along with van der Graaf generator) to avoid skewering from the back-to-basics punk rock movement) King Crimson’s edgy, angular art-rock remains as unsettling and distinctive now as when their debut came out in 1969. The famous saying is that if Wagner were in a rock band it’d be King Crimson, and it’s an appropriate analogy.

   So why is this? Firstly it’s that the band’s guitarist and longtime musical director, Robert Fripp, was determined not to let the group settle into a rut – having once described the group as “a way of doing things” it only takes a listen of virtually any of their records to confirm that Crimson’s ‘way of doing things’ is different to anyone else’s. Having perfected a dark-hued, challenging take on the symphonic pop-rock of the mellow Moody Blues and particularly the pessimistic Barclay James Harvest, the group then threw in jazzy elements in (Lizard), experimental improvisation (LTiA), brutal grooves (Red), gamelan and new wave (Discipline) and just about everything together (Thrak and onwards). Somehow, despite their relatively inaccessibility and largely impersonal approach to lyrics – rarely has a rock band been quite so distant from their origins – the band have kept up with the times. Fripp’s ruthless nature – alienating or firing lyricists or musicians as they get deemed surplus to requirements, may just have facilitated this.

   Indeed not only do the group’s atonal, discordant and menacing soundscapes and detached worldview come across as simulataneously ancient and timeless but their frequent problems and collapses over the years have often worked in their favour. This arguably helped them avoid the harsh critical backlash that the more airy-fairy, ‘noodly’ proggers received, for all the success of Yes and Genesis. When Fripp dissolved the band in 1974 following Red’s release he sidestepped the ‘punk revolution’ neatly, though the fire and fury of that record was enough to scorch the spiked hair of Johnny Rotten and co. Furthermore when he worked as a session musician in the late 1970s he grew an understanding of new wave which meant that reforming Crimson, notably with the quirky, David-Byrne-like Adrian Belew, produced the fresh but equally magical Discipline; the rise of the alternative scene brought the band to new recognition in the 1990s: bands such as Tool and the Mars Volta openly claim KC as an influence. Even hip-hop artists have now started doing the same, and signature song 21st Century Schizoid Man’s sampling on Kanye West’s hit Power indicated that this most distinctive, often scarily intense group could still inspire those at the opposite end of the popular music spectrum.

   Yet for all that the group would struggle to command a consistent affection across their releases, even to a hardcore fan. Rarely has a band, even in the prog rock category, challenged the listened quite so directly and made shifts in style so jarring. To take just the three first records a skeletal jazz improvisation can sit between a bombastic ballad and stirring, mediaeval-themed stately number (In The Court Of The Crimson King), an unusually humorous, almost knockabout jazzy number can sit in front of a three-part, nightmarish rewrite of Gustav Holtz’s Mars and a short, dreamy lovesong can be followed by a side-long, multi-part jazz experiment culminating in speeding-up circus music (Lizard). Sometimes these experiments truly fall flat on their faces – the band, even Fripp, openly disparage Lizard, whilst their 1980s records eventually descended into an awkward attempt both to hit the singles market and recapture the experiental zeal of their 70s work. Recent records (notably The Construkction of Light) have also been lambasted, notably for a paucity of new ideas. Yet listen to the standard of the musicianship on the best records (such as the jazzy interplay on the instrumental mid-section of 21st Century Schizoid Man, the bewildering jamming on Larks Tongues In Aspic Part 1 or Fripp’s soloing on Red’s Providence): the group has chops, and when it comes to building tension (take Epitaph from the debut or the closing Starless from Red) there is no outfit near them.

   So please read my selections of their albums (worst to best) below, and comment your opinions on this daring, dangerous band, and if you haven’t heard them, give them a go – once heard, never forgotten. Enjoy!

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13) The Construktion Of Light

Misspelt title, misconstrued project. If ever there’s a King Crimson record that’s ‘more of the same’, it’s this one. Lacking the excitement of the ‘double trio’ that made Thrak such an impactful (if flawed) record, the quarter of Adrian Belew, Robert Fripp, Trey Gunn and Pat Mastelotto go over largely familiar ground here, without the wild and woolly moments which caught the ear before.

   There’s a couple of interesting diversions – Belew’s amusing, Tom Waits-style vocals on Frakctured, the free-association worldplay on ‘bonus track’ Heaven And Earth , closes the record with a drum-and-bass / jungle influenced direction with surprising success, but for the large part the record is flatly-produced and lacking the sense of adventure which the band had always been known for. Despite the group’s occasionally failed experients this album is almost universally regarded as the band’s low point: Construktion is the sound of a band that was not known for sticking still long enough to get stuck in a rut getting stuck in one.

12) In The Wake Of Poseidon

With the band rocked by the departures of Ian McDonald and Michael Giles, Robert Fripp was left with a quandary – break with the successful format of the debut or head for new territory of his own? In the end, he did both – the first half follows the original’s sound to a tee, perhaps the most blatantly derivative material ever produced by a band – Pictures Of A City is a sleazier carbon-copy of Schizoid Man, lacking its impact; the title track, with its oddly-French tones in the coda, reworks Epitaph but in a lyrically almost-indecipherable way, hinting at the frustrations that would lead to Fripp eventually dismissing lyricist Peter Sinfield in the future.

   The second half, though, moves into both a jazzier direction (the jaunty Cat Food, with Keith Tippett making his debut) and in a downright scarier one too with its atonal, nightmarish reworking of Mars (The Devil’s Triangle). Despite pipping its debut in its UK chart performance and lacking a forgettable ‘Moonchild moment’ this sophomore effort is, sad to say, some way its inferior.

11) Islands

The final record of the ‘first era’ of the band, Islands sees a more subdued set of performances than expected from King Crimson. The material is, in truth, very mixed – opener Formentera Lady is a weepy, drippy ballad that goes on far too long and doesn’t seem to suit new singer/bassist Boz Burrell, whilst the female vocalese late on is ear torture. The Letter is a typical Sinfield melodrama with perhaps one of the band’s less memorable melodies, and Ladies Of The Night is another (by now increasingly tired) tirade at groupies, complete with a Lennonesque style vocal delivery from Burrell.

   Yet the other three numbers stand out for different reasons – Prelude: Song Of The Gulls is a delicate classical number from Fripp which dates back to the band’s parent band Giles, Giles and Fripp; the aggressive banjo-like guitar duel with a particularly doomy mellotron on A Sailor’s Tale predicts the band’s dark, abrasive and improvisatory future and the title number is a beautifully-building, melancholy yet peaceful ballad, perhaps the prettiest the band ever created.

10) Three Of A Perfect Pair

The relationship between singer/guitarist Adrian Belew & Robert Fripp was reportedly on the wane by now, leading to a record where, despite the democratic credits associating all numbers to all four members, Belew largely took the dominant role on the first side and Fripp on the second. Unsurprisingly this means there’s new wave pop on Side 1, including Man With An Open Heart, perhaps their most chart-friendly number yet – whilst side 2 contains more experimental, ambient pieces.

   There are also two surprises in the record’s back end – Dig Me, which sees Belew adapt a McCartney-style chorus to the story of a wrecked car awaiting demolition and coaxing twisted metal noises from his guitar for the verses, and Larks Tongues in Aspic part 3, which is very different to the (themselves very diverse) parts 1 & 2. Nonetheless it’s not difficult to see that the band was by now heading for a long hiatus due to the sheer difference in Belew and Fripp’s visions, though at least it had lasted three consecutive albums with the same lineup this time.

9) Lizard

This bizarre record came out in 1970, when prog rock was sending some of its more crazy offerings towards the album charts, and even actually getting to the top of them. With bassist/singer Greg Lake having left to join ELP Gordon Haskell came in full-time, whilst new drummer Andy McCulloch contributes as many fills and flourishes to the sound as possible. Jazzy tempo-changes, acoustic guitars, melodic flutes and woodwind sections seemingly sweeten the palatte, but it’s a false impression – opening number Cirkus, probably the record’s strongest moment, highlights just how challenging the record would be even in comparison to previous ones.

   Shortly after the record was completed a fed-up Haskell departed (as did McCulloch), leaving the band in disarray and a feud between Haskell and Fripp that would endure even into the former’s ultimately successful solo career. Jon Anderson of Yes makes a guest appearance in the first part of the side-long title track, but even by the standards of side-long ‘epics’ it’s a confusing listen which makes little good use of Mel Collins’ talents. Bewildering even to the people that made it, Lizard is for prog afficianados.

8) Beat

The concept of Beat – with all the tracks concerning beat poets – means that it can never be fully-considered to be the sell-out some accuse of it: to date it is also King Crimson’s sole concept album. Also there’s one unforgettable, if close to unlistenable, moment with the closing number, Requiem, where an unhappy Fripp lets rip on lead like never quite before or since, shattering the zen-like calm of the shimmering background drone similar to some of his work on David Bowie’s Heroes

   Elsewhere there’s a mix of surprisingly radio-friendly Police-like material (Heartbeat), another take on Thela Hun Ginjeet from Discipline – the furiously thrashing Neurotica – and songs which took the 80s sound to new, dense levels such as the lilting and chiming Two Hands. It was a less happy recording experience for the band, with the generally easy-going Belew expelling Fripp from the studio at one point, but whilst it’s not the equal of Discipline with rambling, plodding numbers like The Howler on here, but it’s not nearly as bad as its reputation would suggest.

7) Thrak

KC’s return with a double trio was a dramatic one even for this ‘no-half-measures’ band. Effectively it takes two guitar/bass/drum bands and puts the two together to see what happens: unsurprisingly with this outfit you get a wild, unwieldy and often terrifyingly heavy experience. The record is pretty sprawling, and can be split into three rather than four parts.

   The middle section – arguably the LP’s strongest – is book-ended by the short, darkly brooding Inner Garden songs and contains new slants: People displays a Depeche Mode feel to the choruses and One Time is a despairing but melodically-brilliant ballad. Unfortunately the throwbacks to Red’s ominous, darkly grooving title track seems to copy it too slavishly and the Beatles influences become a little too obvious: Dinosaur is an amped-up White Album style number and the following Walking On Air is a George Harrison-style swooner. The record outstays its welcome with the denseness of the sound occasionally overpowering it and the mix not containing enough to separate all the instruments – notably the two drummers – but at least half of it ranks near to the finest the band put out.

6) Starless And Bible Black

King Crimson’s experimental, abrasive and heavy direction had seen a truly remarkable reinvention with Larks Tongue In Aspic, and here Crimson tried to blend the twisted, atonal and unpredictable art rock and distinctive, sombre ballads of that offering with live recordings, to showcase their improvisational skills.

   Unfortunately Jamie Muir had already departed by this point and the percussionist’s absence is keenly felt: the remaining musicians have said how fond they were of the eccentric crowd favourite before he went into a monastery and how his loss unbalanced them.
The spiky, startling edge Muir provided behind Bruford’s backbeat is therefore gone, but that doesn’t mean the LP is a more becalmed listen: opening rocker ‘The Great Deceiver’ is a furious diatribe at the falseness of the tourism industry around the Vatican; ‘Lament’ turns suddenly from Beatlesesque brooder into angular arpeggios and dramatic drumbreaks, whilst Trio sees Bruford get a writing credit for merely placing his drumsticks across his chest, feeling the track would benefit from his silence. Overall though it’s a more uneven, oppressive listen than the startling Larks or the more straightforwardly-rocking Red, with Muir’s absence and Cross’ declining influence robbing the record of the stimulating nature of its predecessor.

5) The Power To Believe

KC’s last studio release to date, this takes what could have been a merely derivative record and actually capitalises on cherry-picking the finest moments from KC’s illustrious career. There’s the brief ‘Peace’-style numbers that appeared throughout In The Wake Of Poseiden, the wild forays into eastern and experimental music on Larks Tongues In Aspic part 1 and even the pompous symphonic strains of In The Court Of The Crimson King are hinted at in Elektrik’s intro and outro.

   There are still new moments, however – the most entertaining is undoubtedly Happy With What You Have To Be Happy With – it’s a full-on headbanger which skewers college-boy rock with a volume and vigour such bands could only dream of. Dangerous Curves, meanwhile, allows drummer Pat Mastelotto in particular to fully update the band’s frightening ability to build tension to an absolute crescendo: one of the group’s most successful spine-chillers. The Power To Believe is occasionally a little too indebted to the band’s past but has enough fresh material to make it interesting in its own right, far more than The Construktion Of Light managed to be.

4) Discipline

A stunning reinvention for the band: what’s most noteworthy is that Fripp didn’t even initially wish to bring Crimson back at all. Having successfully worked as a session guitarist with the likes of David Bowie and Peter Gabriel and even dabbled in new wave album releases, the founder member brought back drummer Bill Bruford and recruited two highly-capable American session men – vocalist/guitarist Adrian Belew and liquid bassist Tony Levin.

   The chemistry produced something as sparklingly inventive as anything from the previous incarnations’ high points, but something unique too – the Talking Heads-style art-rock of Elephant Talk, with Belew working his way through ‘talk’-associated words from A onwards, the startling gamelan of Frame By Frame; the hectic rush of Thela Hun Ginjeet which mimics the mayhem of city life and was inspired by Belew almost being mugged. There is at least one moment which recalls Crimson of old, however: Indiscipline contains the stop-start dynamics that made the old records so dramatic, and would be revisited increasingly as time went on. Overall it’s a distinctly different but classic King Crimson release, another clever reinvention that the band arguably haven’t topped since.

3) In The Court Of The Crimson King

A truly game-changing record for the music industry, Court takes a truly bleak worldview in the year that gave us Altamont, on a release which might be overly oppressive if most of the record wasn’t so thrilling and groundbreaking. From its nightmarish cover – tragically its artist died shortly after the record’s release – urgent drumming and confrontational guitar to the blasts of atonal sax and dusty, doom-laden mellotron, the LP spelt out a grim, cynical and pessimistic future.

   Peter Sinfield posted perhaps his finest lyrics here, especially on the legendary heavy rock-jazz fusion 21st Century Schizoid Man and the doubt-filled epic ballad Epitaph: a world away from the overly ornate and pretentious work he would go on to produce. The dynamics on the record are generally superb, giving an almighty clout to the crashing introduction, pre-verses and discordant woodwind shrieks of the unsettling conclusion in 21st Century Schizoid Man – the steady build of the Mellotron before the gloomy bridge in Epitaph and the false ending tricking the listener into comfort before the hellishly intense coda to the title track. It has to be said that the later parts of Moonchild drag the record into watery, directionless jazz which it could have done without, but this is still a landmark release not just for Crimson but for rock music in general.

2) Red

A glowering, snarling farewell (for now) for King Crimson, the group could have been hindered by the troubled creation of the record yet seemed uniquely inspired instead. Robert Fripp had ‘withheld his opinion’ during its making, though oddly Fripp remains credited as a vital force and has praised Wetton and Bruford’s ‘flying wall’ of a rhythm section. The departure of Cross (who does appear here, albeit limited to the live improv Providence) and the controversial reappearance of old members Mel Collins and Ian McDonald added extra tensions, but again the record is enhanced rather than damaged by this.

   There’s a fearsome force to the input of the guest musicians which augments the less complex and ‘noodly’ trio of Fripp, Wetton and Bruford, apparent right from the opening notes of the title track with its truly alarming main riff and ultra-heavy bridge. Violence abounds in the next number Fallen Angel, with the rising and falling Fripp arpeggios sounding like an alarm, whilst One More Red Nightmare, referencing Wetton’s fear of flying, switches between crunching, panicked verses and funky, meaty instrumental choruses. Providence proves a far more dynamic, cleverly structured number than Moonchild on the debut whilst Starless is one of the great prog rock compositions from the symphonic first part (referencing the band’s debut) through the expert build of tension in the middle – Fripp’s one-note soloing is truly eerie – to the fast-paced jazzy explosion at the song’s conclusion. Red was a hell of a way for the band to bow out, at least until the 1980s, and clearly one of their finest moments.

1) Larks Tongues In Aspic

The constant breakups of King Crimson seemed to be a precursor for the inevitable full-time demise, and Fripp could have been left solely in the role of over-talented session musician for the rest of his career. Instead, whilst still influenced by the band’s debut record’s sound and structure and taking in new influences and peers (Bartok and the Mahavishnu Orchestra) the record became a jaw-dropping new adventure for the group. Helped no end by the prodigious talent of former Yes drummer Bill Bruford and the forceful yet agile abilities of former Family man John Wetton the band also got the best use out of lesser-known members: violinist/Mellotron player David Cross and percussionist Jamie Muir, the latter of whom acted as an unorthodox teacher to the already prodigiously-talented Bruford.

   Furthermore the band’s new dynamic managed to be incredibly restrained and detailed at the same time: observe how the hugely experimental opening track veers from thumb pianos and background drones to the hugely ominous Fripp powerchords and buzzes and sawing Cross violin; then from hard crunch to improvisational art-rock, to Eastern-themed melodies. Book Of Saturdays and Exiles both revisit In The Court Of The Crimson King’s style, but updated to make use of the new band and particularly new lyricist Richard Palmer-James who scales back on Peter Sinfield’s more poetic, flowery style. The pimping tale Easy Money is a menacing funk with overtones more of Pink Floyd than of R&B music, whilst the slowly-building drama of The Talking Drum leads into the experimental prog metal classic of the title track’s second part. It’s a record that needs to be listened to several times to get its full impact, but when it clicks it’s the kind of statement that shatters pre-conceptions of what music should sound like. For all the brilliance of Red and Discipline and indeed of the debut this is perhaps the band’s finest hour.

THE END

(if you would like to comment I'm on www.laurencebuxton@gmail.com)