I first heard “In The Court Of The Crimson King” when I was seven years old. Those who know me may be quick to quip something droll like “well, that explains a lot”, and in retrospect, the album cover alone can be quite a mind fuck for someone so young. But it was the contents within the wax that was the real brain bender. This music was brilliant, challenging, beautiful and scary all at the same time.
“Court” would play almost non stop at my house over much of 1969. Over the course of each subsequent year, each new King Crimson album from “In The Wake Of Poseidon” to “Red” would be bought and placed into heavy rotation on the family’s imitation wood grain stereo console.
Everything about the music seemed larger than life, especially through the eyes of an adolescent. The matte finish of the record jackets, the artwork, the complexities of the music itself, all seemed to be coming from a mountainous peak way up high in the sky.
Even though these childhood fantasies would wane and adolescence would reveal among other things that King Crimson were just a band, it was still surprising that some eight years later the main force behind them was a mere 100 or so miles from my doorstep in Hells Kitchen, NY trying to decide if he even wanted to be a musician anymore.
Robert Fripp disbanded King Crimson sometime during late 1974. Over seven studio albums he went from lead guitarist to almost being kicked out of the band to becoming their only constant member and prime motivator.
After a brief period where he considered among other things joining the priesthood, Fripp would instead would become a free lance axe for hire, playing guitar and sometimes producing records by Peter Gabriel and David Bowie. These sessions kept him busy but may have been somewhat unfulfilling, because in 1977, Fripp traveled to NYC to check out the burgeoning downtown music scene, keen on attempting to hone a new approach and get back his creative spark.
He played and recorded with Blondie and Talking Heads as well as producing the female vocal group The Roches. He also embarked upon a series of collaborations with artists such as Daryl Hall, Eno, Peter Hammill, Jerry Morrata, Phil Collins, Tony Levin, and Terre Roche. Many of these endeavors would be ultimately released on his first solo album, “Exposure”, released in June of 1979.
It comes as no surprise that this eclectic mix of artists would produce one of the most bizarre combinations of styles and sounds ever assembled under a groove. What is surprising is how seamlessly it all flows together. Daryl Hall delivers some of the most beautiful vocals he’s ever recorded on the positively immaculate “North Star”.
Other tracks like “Breathless” and “Disengage” rock ferociously with guitar riffage as heavy as anything Fripp had ever attempted during the Crimson years. The album’s second track, “You Burn Me Up, I’m A Cigarette”, is both a nod to the NYC new wave scene combined with the flavor of classics by rock pioneers such as Jerry Lee Lewis and Chuck Berry.
By the time the sheer beauty of “Water Music” and “Here Comes The Flood” wash over my now over stimulated ear drums, I find myself looking down at my watch, wondering where the last 45 minutes or so have gone. As it was in 1969, 1979, and today the music of Robert Fripp remains beautiful, brilliant, challenging and scary all at the same time.
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