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December 03, 1997  |
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Jazz Cafe London, England |
Press Clippings
Sunday Times Robert Fripp Tue., Apr 19, 2005
Written by Stewart Lee
’Since 1992 it has again been possible
to discuss without whispering the music of 1969-1976," writes King
Crimson’s Robert Fripp in the sleeve notes to the recently issued
early-1970s live collection The Night Watch. "But I offer no apology
for the transparently pratty music played by young dopes wearing
satin." Who does he mean, exactly? After all, though the current
Crimson look like a fashionable firm of New York lawyers, they once
epitomised the Tolkienesque fashions of the post-hippie era. But Fripp,
50 now, and the perfect softly spoken Dorset gentleman, won’t name
names. "I’m loath to be drawn into making comments about other
musicians, but I don’t think I was really part of the progressive
scene," he elaborates, "I was just playing music in that period." King
Crimson began recording and touring again in 1994, to the delight of a
hard core of fans big enough to fill the Albert Hall, but can they ever
escape the stigma of progressive rock, with its Mellotron-toting,
Tory-voting, tax-evading practitioners and their Page Three wives?
Remember now and wince at Yes’s Tales From Topographic Oceans, at
Emerson, Lake and Palmer, and at Rick Wakeman’s King Arthur and the
Knights of the Round Table...on Ice. To add psychological credibility
to the insane anti-hero of American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis makes him
a rabid fan of the Phil Collins-era Genesis, and the preface to Paul
Stump’s recent and disarmingly frank history of Progressive Rock, The
Music’s All That Matters, is defensively entitled Author "Not Mad"
Shock. But the cultural embargo on all
things progressive increasingly smacks of hypocrisy. The post-punk
history of the world ignores John Lydon’s love of Van Der Graaf
Generator, accommodates prog’s more experimental German counterparts
Can and Faust as "crazy dadaist Europeans", and tolerates arrogant
follies of U2 that are every bit as embarrassing as Yes at their most
vain and absurd. The current critical favourites Spiritualised, playing
alongside the English Chamber Orchestra at the Barbican last month,
conjured up memories of Soft Machine’s big-band/art-rock fusion; and
the much-lauded Radiohead’s more sublime moments sound like nothing so
much as mid-1970s King Crimson. Just, from Radiohead’s album The Bends,
lifts the guitar part of Crimson’s Red wholesale. This
week four current core members of King Crimson assemble incognito to
offer four nights of live improvisations at Camden’s Jazz Cafe, under
the moniker of Projekct One. A press release cites "expectations from
audiences of established King Crimson repertoire" as a restric-tive
factor in the band’s deve-lopment. Fripp has responded by forming
Crimson "Projekcts" on both sides of the Atlantic, which he describes
as "research and development fractals of King Crimson", after a recent
Polish tour, where he realised that not playing the 1970s hits to an
audience for whom the ticket price would be a monumental expenditure,
was simply unfair. Such perversity has
always been part of the Crimson working method. Asked how he plucked
the drummer Bill Bruford from Yes in 1972, where his talents perhaps
weren’t being exploited fully, Fripp diplomatically answers: "The muse
descends on a group briefly, and takes them into its confidence and
moves on, but time allows them to digest and apply the confidence that
has been given. What usually happens is that the group tend to move
towards obsolescence following success, and then droll repetition,
whereas Crimson would take the information, deal with it, and then
split up, as a response to the industry and the demands of its public.
We break up, shake off all expectations and move on." In
its three decades King Crimson has shed more expectations than a
reasonably healthy snake might shed skins. Formed in 1969, their first
four albums offered a baroque jazz rock, alternately hobbled by a
pre-ELP Greg Lake singing Pete Sinfield’s sword-and-sorcery fantasy and
sleazy groupie-sex lyrics and elevated by Fripp’s distinctive, restless
guitar playing. The live quadruple CD Epitaph, issued earlier this
year, "shows the 1969 Crimson was not this monolith of received
wisdom", says Fripp, "but actually a cracking little outfit for whom
improvisation was a major part of what we did". Appropriately, a 1970
edition of Top of the Pops saw the future 1970s superstar Greg Lake
playing alongside the then unknown jazz pianist Keith Tippett on
Catfood, Crimson’s sole hit single. In 1972 a
new Crimson, including the free jazz percussionist Jamie Muir, fresh
from Derek Bailey and Evan Parker’s Music Improvisation Company,
recorded a definitive triumvirate of albums culminating in Red, whose
angular, uncompromising and occasionally quite terrifying music was
often pasted together from the more inspired moments of live
recordings. A leanness and economy, and a big improvisatory group
sound, rather than strings of virtuoso solos, differentiated Crimson
from their flashy contemporaries.
In 1981, Fripp re-formed Crimson again after a
lengthy US sabbatical, with American vocalist Adrian Belew on board to
free-associate about urban living over Bruford’s increasingly complex
polyrhythms, the band abandon-ing their off-beat jazzy playing for a
tight, machine precision derived from the New York No Wave symphonics
of Glenn Branca and the minimalism of Steve Reich. "The vocabulary of
rock music had changed," Fripp offers, "and if you were a musician who
was at all involved in speaking with the accent and dialect of the time
to people listening at that time, you had to know that. The
1981-to-1984 Crimson had absorbed and noted some of these lessons and
did not refer very much to the vocabulary of 1972 to 1974."
So why reassemble Crimson in 1994? What has the
band to offer now? How does Fripp know when the time is right? "How
could you not know?" he splutters, breaking for the first time out of
the considered calm that has hitherto characterised his answers. "You
just know! When I met my wife I was a happy bachelor, and I proposed
within a week. Why? Because she was my wife! I didn’t know this was
Toyah Wilcox the star, because I’d been in America, but I instantly
knew her as my wife. Likewise, when music appears that only King
Crimson can play, King Crimson appears to play the music."
Finally, Fripp breaks off - "to give my beautiful
wife a kiss and a cuddle before she goes off to London" - and retires.
"I’m looking forward to listening to Radiohead," he says, genuinely
curious. "I’ve just got back from the States and there’s a copy
upstairs waiting for me."
This article originally appeared as a curtain-raiser to ProjeKct One’s residency at the Jazz Cafe in London.
MORE PRESS CLIPPINGS
Fan Reviews
      Jazz Cafe 12/03/97, Thu., Jun 12, 2008
Written by DeVito
The ProjeKcts were presented as "research and development" arms of King Crimson, but I quickly found that I had no interest in listening to them on those terms. Instead, I simply listen to each ProjeKct on its own terms, as a musical end in itself. The ProjeKcts were primarily improvising groups; this means the tunes don’t always (or even often) lead to a "proper" resolution, or follow the rules of composition -- or even "good taste" (the enemy of art). This is a positive attribute. ProjeKct One feels, to me, like the most fully realized of the ProjeKcts. I think that each of the eight sets played and recorded over this four-night gig is a great album in itself and the whole thing would make a great eight-disc box set. (Actually I made my own 12-disc set, adding an 80-minute "best of" disc for each night.)
December 3 has a lot of variety in its two sets. Highlights, for me, include 3i1 (or, "Industry, Pt. 5"), which goes from quiet menace to upbeat groove-metal; the brilliant 3i2 ("Rough Sea, Red Sky"), which I consider to be a timeless Crimson classic that would fit nicely with any Crimson group since 1972; 3i3 ("Disturbing News from L5/Rat Patrol on Mars"), with Levin’s chunky bowed bass and Bruford’s martial beat; 3i5 ("Red Fog/Swirl"), with a meditative-metal solo from Fripp that dissolves in ascending and whirling soundscapes; 3ii2 ("Big Bass Beat"), with Gunn and Fripp rocking over the Levin-Bruford big beat; the quietly intense 3ii3 ("Atmospheres Rising"); 3ii4 ("Fuzzy Bear"), with one of Levin’s patented monster-bass intros and more searing leaded-glass guitar lines from Gunn and Fripp; and 3ii7 ("Cheese Bags"), a rocker with a very nice coda of swirling soundscapes. P1 was a great band, and we’re lucky all four nights at the Jazz Cafe were recorded, since the group was a one-off. If you have any appreciation for the improvising side of Crimson, I think you’ll really like ProjeKct One (and all the other ProjeKcts). --Chris DeVito
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