The stand-out however, is Sailor’s Tale which breaks with the symphonic and jazz-inspired leanings of their previous albums. Propelled by Ian Wallace’s insistent cymbal and Mel Collins’ acerbic sax break, it also introduces a spikier, fractious metal-edged guitar sound that ultimately points the way towards Larks’ Tongues In Aspic. Originally released at the end of 1971, Islands also marks the end of lyricist Peter Sinfield’s tenure in the group.

The bulk of Islands was recorded in between Crimson’s gigs at Command Studios during September with most of the overdubbing and mixing completed in early October. “It is difficult to convey the level of exhaustion during this last week” explains Fripp. “I’d get home about 3-4 in the morning from the studio, pull out a pencil and write orchestral parts for Song Of The Gulls, before getting to bed anywhere between six and eight. Up around ten to leave for the studio for noon. The final night began around 18:00 and never ended for me — Peter bailed in the early hours and I carried on. Richard Williams came in to listen to the playback/run-through the following late morning. Then the van arrived after lunch. I got in, fell asleep, we drove to the first show of the tour, and I woke up shortly before we arrived.” The final night that Fripp refers to was the same evening that overdubbing on Sailor’s Tale was finished. “The solo was, and is, from some other world” notes Fripp. “Technically, the right hand could only have been developed by someone familiar with the banjo. My connection to this was through Don Strike (his old guitar tutor in Bournemouth). Other references would include Sonny Sharrock (notably with Herbie Mann) and the idea of Peter Townshend’s flailing. And maybe a subversion/perversion of early Scotty Moore, with echo delay, at the Sun sessions. But none of this seems relevant somehow. Late at night, faced with a solo to be played, for which there was no solo available, something happened: a young guitar player was confronted by necessity. And then something remarkable happened.” There are many standout moments on this musically diverse album; Formentera Lady’s laid-back sunny dreamscapes with lyrics inspired by Sinfield’s recent holidays in the Balearic islands; the free-jazz tussle within The Letters’ chilling melodrama which incorporates the heavy chorus from the 1969 band’s track, Drop In; the skewed, mutant blues guitar licks and raucous sax of Ladies of the Road; the genteel classic music climes of Song of the Gulls; the emotional reverie of the title track.  Arguably, the most stylistically diverse KC release to date, it features some fine vocals from Boz, including heroically singing into a studio fire bucket for Ladies Of The Road as he suffered from a raging hangover. There are also superb jazzy flourishes as well as understated and detailed playing throughout from Ian Wallace. Mel Collins also displays both sides of his musical personality with moments that are both tender and brutal. If Lizard represented a wild party between the progressive strand of rock music and the UK jazz scene, Islands was broadly speaking, more akin to a gentler, laid-back kind of communion. Though his talents are under-used on Formentera Lady, Harry Miller was one of the most gifted bassists of his generation who, at the time of this recording, was founding his own independent record label, Ogun. Along with Keith Tippett’s delicate additions on the title track comes his cornet player, Mark Charig, whose free-flowing and impassioned blasts, over the top of Fripp’s folksy harmonium, adds poignant warmth to the stirring coda of one of Fripp’s most beautiful melodies. However, it’s Sailor’s Tale which arguably overshadows everything here. The solo makes a break with the symphonic and jazz-inspired leanings of previous albums, clawing its way into a spikier, fractious metal-edged territory. It’s the sound of Fripp hammering out a new map of where he wanted to explore next. 

Upon its release, the album netted a good reaction from the music press of the day though there were some notes of caution. Sounds' Steve Peacock lauded the album for its "rare sense of ease and grace" and hailed it as a "Great Leap Forward”.  Richard Williams in a preview of Islands also regarded the album as something of a departure, congratulating Crimson on the summery warmth of Formentera Lady. "At this point," Williams warned the potential buyer, "you may even be wondering if the shop assistant gave you the right album.  But you'll be enjoying it." One unnamed critic was enthusiastic in the extreme. “Despite the shoddy packaging, this is one of the most extraordinary albums ever to emerge out of the general idiom of rock. It’s impossible to describe the warm, lambent feeling obtained by a juxtaposition of Mark Charig’s cornet over a pedal harmonium on the title track’s long, gradual climax, or the breathtaking rightness of Fripp’s splintery chorded solo on ‘A Sailor’s Tale.’ And it’s not pretentious and it’s not self-indulgent.” However, the Melody Maker’s verdict was less certain. “Islands is altogether different from their former work. Where their preceding albums had a dominant strain of almost overbearing intensity, which matched the dark imagery of the lyrics, this is more muted and soft,” and concluded, “This isn’t the master album that Fripp threatens to produce, but the day can’t be far off.” For his part, self-confessed Crimso aficionado Nick Logan, writing in the NME, observed “Islands confirms a growing belief that Crimso have evolved into a skillful but somehow cold and dispassionate band. Warmth is what is lacking.” Having previously been responsible for commissioning other artists to produce album covers, Islands saw Sinfield step into the spotlight, much as he had done with the cover of the Cat Food single in March 1970. In the UK, Islands came presented in an unmarked single sleeve bearing a photograph of the Trifid Nebula nestling in the constellation of Sagittarius. The inner sleeve was a fragile cream-coloured gatefold with delicate islands created by Sinfield's patented method of food dye dripped onto blotting paper on the outside. Inside, a collage of five individual portraits and three group shots of the band in concert marked the first time the faces of the band had ever appeared on an album sleeve. On its release in the USA, the inner gatefold was used as the outer cover. “The change of cover for the US was because the UK cover was considered so feeble,” explained Fripp. “The cover artist for the UK cover was Peter. Peter’s ‘move on stage’ through the use of the VCS3 now expanded to include designing the cover as well. If this works, fine. But Peter’s cover wasn’t striking and wasn’t in the same league as the other Crimson covers. The Nebula really wasn’t much of a cover either, because it hadn’t been chosen as a cover."