â€œKing Crimson is, as always, more a way of doing things. When there is nothing to be done, nothing is done: Crimson disappears. When there is music to be played, Crimson reappears. If all of life were this simpleâ€?.
King Crimson was conceived in November 1968 and born on January 13th 1969 in the Fulham Palace Cafe, London (Fripp/Ian McDonald/Greg Lake/Michael Giles/Pete Sinfield), coming to prominence after supporting The Rolling Stones at Hyde Park. Their ground-breaking debut In The Court Of The Crimson King (1969) described by Pete Townshend as “an uncanny masterpiece”, began a career that has spanned four decades and influenced many bands and individuals including Yes, Genesis, Tool, and Porcupine Tree. Despite the original line-up imploding after an American tour King Crimson continued to produce constantly challenging and intriguing music on albums such as In The Wake of Poseidon (1970), Lizard (1970), Islands (1971), Earthbound (1972), Larks’ Tongues in Aspic (1973) and Red (1974). Following Red, an exhausted Fripp declared “King Crimson is completely over for ever and ever.” After a period outside the music industry, Robert Fripp returned to work on solo projects (including Frippertronics and his first solo album, Exposure in 1979) and collaborations with artists such as, Daryll Hall, Blondie, Brian Eno, Peter Gabriel, David Bowie.
In 1981, Fripp reconvened King Crimson along with Adrian Belew (Zappa/Bowie/Talking Heads), Tony Levin (Paul Simon/John Lennon/Peter Gabriel) and his old sparring partner, Bill Bruford. “The bleak Crim view lightened” according to Fripp as their musical vocabulary widened and Crimson combined gamelan, funk and rock grooves that would threaten to “tear out and flatten ear hairs within a mile.” Albums which followed include Discipline (1981), Beat (1982) and Three Of A Perfect Pair (1984) and a stunning live album from their last ever performance in 1984, Absent Lovers (finally released in 1998). Following a lengthy period outside the music industry mainstream - during which Fripp not only established Guitar Craft, engaged in a protracted but ultimately successful legal battle with his former mangers, and collaborated with David Sylvian—King Crimson re-emerged in 1994 with Trey Gunn (touch guitar) and Pat Mastelotto (drums). Joining forces with Belew, Levin, Bruford and Fripp and dubbed the Double Trio, they recorded an ep VROOOM (1994) and THRAK (1995) and a suite of live improvs, THRaKaTTaK (1996). In 1997, the group subdivided into research and development units collectively known as the ProjeKcts, producing an exciting and inventive blend that mixed hard-core improv and electronica (King Crimson The ProjeKcts box set 1999). With Tony Levin temporarily leaving to work with Seal and Peter Gabriel, and Bill Bruford returning full-time to his ongoing Earthworks jazz group, King Crimson entered the new millennium with The ConstruKction of Light (2000). In the same year the double duo of Belew, Fripp Gunn and Mastelotto produced a live set, Heavy ConstruKction, before returning to the studio to record the critically acclaimed, The Power To Believe (2003).
December, 1968: Giles, Giles and Fripp join with Sinfield and MacDonald and born the King Crimson
1969-71 The impact of this group, featuring Fripp, Giles, Lake, McDonald, Sinfield, is difficult to convey 25 years afterwards unless one were part of it: something like the explosive impact of punk seven years later. A considerable influence on the musicians and groups of its generation, it is also the only Crimson which could have been a massive commercial success. Inevitably, it drew as much hostility as support. The only record from this period - “In The Court Of The Crimson King” - failed to convey the power of its live performance but hints at the intensity which characterises classic Crimson of any period. Contemporary ears might find the music part of another era unless they drop listening at the music and listen through it. The sonic landscape remains as bleak an authentic Crimscape as it gets. Neither heavy metal nor hard rock have been able to blow me away since I spent 1969 playing “Schizoid Man” and a mellotronic stroboscopic “Mars” throughout England and the US.
My own perspective on Crimson is obviously rather different from the other founder members of the 1969 band. My impression is that they consider their Crimson to be the only real Crimson, a view with which I have sympathy but disagree. We would probably agree that this founding Crimson was charmed. There was something completely other which touched this group and which we called our “good fairy”. After reflecting on how we went from abject failure to global commercial and musical success in nine months, I concluded after several years of reflection that sometimes music leans over and takes us into its confidence. This was one of those times. But we were also young men, too immature to handle the strains involved in rapidly moving from failure to international success. The group’s birthday was on January 13th. 1969 at the Fulham Palace Cafe in London. It broke up in Los Angeles, December 1969. - Robert Fripp
Said the straight man to the late man Where have you been I’ve been here and I’ve been there And I’ve been in between. I talk to the wind My words are all carried away I talk to the wind The wind does not hear The wind cannot hear. I’m on the outside looking inside What do I see Much confusion, disillusion All around me.
Cat’s foot iron claw Neuro-surgeons scream for more At paranoia’s poison door. Twenty first century schizoid man. Blood rack barbed wire Polititians’ funeral pyre Innocents raped with napalm fire Twenty first century schizoid man. Death seed blind man’s greed Poets’ starving children bleed Nothing he’s got he really needs Twenty first century schizoid man.
You don’t possess me Don’t impress me Just upset my mind Can’t instruct me or conduct me Just use up my time I talk to the wind My words are all carried away I talk to the wind The wind does not hear The wind cannot hear.
The wall on which the prophets wrote Is cracking at the seams. Upon the instruments if death The sunlight brightly gleams. When every man is torn apart With nightmares and with dreams, Will no one lay the laurel wreath As silence drowns the screams. Between the iron gates of fate, The seeds of time were sown, And watered by the deeds of those Who know and who are known; Knowledge is a deadly friend When no one sets the rules. The fate of all mankind I see Is in the hands of fools. Confusion will be my epitaph. As I crawl a cracked and broken path If we make it we can all sit back and laugh. But I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying, Yes I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying.
The dance of the puppets The rusted chains of prison moons Are shattered by the sun. I walk a road, horizons change The tournamentâ€™s begun. The purple piper plays his tune, The choir softly sing; Three lullabies in an ancient tongue, For the court of the crimson king.
Call her moonchild Dancing in the shallows of a river Lovely moonchild Dreaming in the shadow of the willow. Talking to the trees of the cobweb strange Sleeping on the steps of a fountain Waving silver wands to the night-birds song Waiting for the sun on the mountain. Sheâ€™s a moonchild Gathering the flowers in a garden. Lovely moonchild Drifting on the echoes of the hours. Sailing on the wind in a milk white gown Dropping circle stones on a sun dial Playing hide and seek with the ghosts of dawn Waiting for a smile from a sun child.
The keeper of the city keys Put shutters on the dreams. I wait outside the pilgrimâ€™s door With insufficient schemes. The black queen chants The funeral march, The cracked brass bells will ring; To summon back the fire witch To the court of the crimson king.
The gardener plants an evergreen Whilst trampling on a flower. I chase the wind of a prism ship To taste the sweet and sour. The pattern juggler lifts his hand; The orchestra begin. As slowly turns the grinding wheel In the court of the crimson king. On soft gray mornings widows cry The wise men share a joke; I run to grasp divining signs To satisfy the hoax. The yellow jester does not play But gentle pulls the strings And smiles as the puppets dance
I am the ocean Lit by the flame I am the mountain Peace is my name I am the river Touched by the wind I am the story I never end.
Concrete cold face cased in steel Stark sharp glass-eyed crack and peel Bright light scream beam brake and squeal Red white green white neon wheel. Dream flesh love chase perfumed skin Greased hand teeth hide tinseled sin Spice ice dance chance sickly grin Pasteboard time slot sweat and spin.
Blind stick blind drunk cannot see Mouth dry tongue tied cannot speak Concrete dream flesh broken shell Lost soul lost trace lost in hell.
Cadence and Cascade Kept a man named Jade; Cool in the shade While his audience played. Purred, whispered, â€œSpend us too: We only serve for youâ€?. Sliding mystified On the wine of the tide Stared pale-eyed As his veil fell aside. Sad paper courtesan They found him just a man. Caravan hotel Where the sequin spell fell Custom of the game. Cadence oiled in love Licked his velvet gloved hand Cascade kissed his name. Sad paper courtesan They knew him just a man.
Bishop’s kings spin judgement’s blade Scratch “Faith” on nameless graves. Harvest hags Hoard ash and sand Rack rope and chain for slaves Who fireside fear fermented words Then rear to spoil the feast; Whilst in the aisle the mad man smiles To him it matters least. Plato’s spawn cold ivyed eyes Snare truth in bone and globe. Harlequins coin pointless games Sneer jokes in parrot’s robe. Two women weep, Dame Scarlet Screen Sheds sudden theatre rain, Whilst dark in dream the Midnight Queen Knows every human pain. In air, fire, earth and water World on the scales. Air, fire, earth and water Balance of change World on the scales On the scales.
Heroes hands drain stones for blood To whet the scaling knife. Magi blind with visions light Net death in dread of life. Their children kneel in Jesus till They learn the price of nail; Whilst all around our mother earth Waits balanced on the scales.
Lady Supermarket with an apple in her basket Knocks in the manager’s door; Grooning to the muzak from a speaker in shoe rack Lays out her goods on the floor; Everything she’s chosen is conveniently frozen. “Eat it and come back for more!” Lady Window Shopper with a new one in the hopper Whips up a chemical brew; Croaking to a neighbour while she polishes a sabre Knows how to flavour a stew. Never need to worry with a tin of ‘Hurri Curri’: “Poisoned especially for you!” No use to complain If you’re caught out in the rain; Your mother’s quite insane. Cat food cat food cat food again. Lady Yellow Stamper with a fillet in a hamper Dying to finish the course; Goodies for the table with a fable on the label Drowning in miracle sauce. Don’t think I am that rude if I tell you that it’s cat food, “Not even fit for a horse!”
Peace is a word Of the sea and the wind. Peace is a bird who sings As you smile. Peace is the love Of a foe as a friend; Peace is the love you bring To a child
Searching for me You look everywhere, Except beside you. Searching for you You look everywhere, But not inside you.
Peace is a stream From the heart of a man; Peace is a man, whose breadth Is the dawn. Peace is a dawn On a day without end; Peace is the end, like death Of the war.
Night: her sable dome scattered with diamonds, Fused my dust from a light year, Squeezed me to her breast, sowed me with carbon, Strung my warp across time Gave me each a horse, sunrise and graveyard, Told me only I was her; Bid me face the east closed me in questions Built the sky for my dawn... Cleaned my feet of mud, followed the empty Zebra ride to the Cirkus, Past a painted cage, spoke to the paybox Glove which wrote on my tonguePushed me down a slide to the arena, Megaphonium fanfare. In his cloak of words strode the ringmaster Bid me join the parade... “Worship!” cried the clown, “I am a T.I. Making bandsmen go clockwork, See the slinky seal Cirkus policeman; Bareback ladies have fish.” Strongmen by his feet, plate-spinning statesman, Acrobatically jugglingBids his tamers go quiet the tumblers Lest the mirror stop turning... Elephants forgot, force-fed on stale chalk, Ate the floors of their cages. Strongmen lost their hair, paybox collapsed and Lions sharpened their teeth. Gloves raced round the ring, stallions stampeded Pandemonium seesaw... I ran for the door, ringmasters shouted, “All the fun of the Cirkus!”
Indoor fireworks amuse your kitchen staff Dusting plastic garlic plants They snigger in the draught When you ride through the parlour Wearing nothing but your armourPlaying Indoor Games. One string puppet shows amuse Your sycophantic friends Who cheer your rancid recipes In fear they might offend, Whilst you loaf on your sofa Sporting falsies and a togaPlaying Indoor Games, Indoor Games.
Your mean teetotum spins arouse your seventh wife Who pats her sixty little skins And reinsures your life, Whilst you sulk in your sauna â€˜Cos you lost your jigsaw cornerPlaying Indoor Games, Indoor Games. Each afternoon you train baboons to sing Or swim in purple perspex water wings. Come Saturday jump hopper, chelsea brigade, High bender-trender itâ€™s all Indoor Games. No ball bagatelle incites Your children to conspire, They slide across your frying pan And fertilize your fire; Still you and Jones go madder Broken bones-broken ladderHey Ho...
Happy family, one hand clap, four went by and none come back. Brother Judas, ash and sack, swallowed aphrodisiac. Rufus, Silas, Jonah too sang, “We’ll blow our own canoes,” Poked a finger in the zoo, punctured all the ballyhoo Whipped the world and beat the clock, wound up with their share of stock. Silver Rolls from golden rock, shaken by a knock, knock, knock. Happy family, wave that grin, what goes round must surely spin; Cheesecake, mousetrap, Grip-Pipe-Thynne cried out, “We’re not Rin Tin Tin.”
Uncle Rufus grew his nose, threw away his circus clothes Cousin Silas grew a beard, drew another flask of weird Nasty Jonah grew a wife, Judas drew his pruning knife. Happy family one hand clap, four went on but none came back Happy family, pale applause, each to his revolving doors. Silas searching, Rufus neat, Jonah caustic, Jude so sweet. Let their sergeant mirror spin if we lose the barbers win; Happy family one hand clap, four went on but none came back
Grass in your hair stretched like a lion in the sun Restlessly turned moistened your mouth with your tongue. Pouring my wine in your eyes caged mine glowing Touching your face my fingers strayed knowing. I called you lady of the dancing water. Blown autumn leaves shed to the fire where you laid me Burn slow to ash just as my days now seem to be. I feel you still always your eyes glowing Remembered hours salt, earth and flowers flowing Farewell my lady of the dancing water.
[Prince Rupert Awakes] Farewell the temple master’s bells His kiosk and his black worm seed Courtship solely of his word With Eden guaranteed. For now Prince Rupert’s tears of glass Make saffron sabbath eyelids bleed Scar the sacred tablet of wax On which the Lizards feed. Wake your reason’s hollow vote Wear your blizzard season coat Burn a bridge and burn a boat Stake a Lizard by the throat. Go Polonius or kneel The reapers name their harvest dawn All your tarnished devil’s spoons Will rust beneath our corn. Now bears Prince Rupert’s garden roam Across his rain tree shaded lawn Lizard bones become the clayAnd there a Swan is born Wake your reasons’ hollow vote Wear your blizzard season coat Burn a bridge and burn a boat Stake a Lizard by the throat.
Gone soon Piepowder’s moss-weed court Round which upholstered Lizards sold Visions to their leaden flock Of rainbows’ ends and gold. Now tales Prince Rupert’s peacock brings Of walls and trumpets thousand fold Prophets chained for burning masks And reels of dream unrolled... [Bolero - The Peacock’s Tale]
[The Battle Of Glass Tears] Night enfolds her cloak of holes Around the river meadow. Old moon-light stalks by broken ploughs Hides spokeless wheels in shadow. Sentries lean on thorn wood spears Blow on their hands, stare eastwards. Burnt with dream and taut with fear Dawn’s misty shawl upon them. Three hills apart great armies stir Spit oat and curse as day breaks. Forming lines of horse and steel By even yards march forward. [Big Top]
Houses iced in whitewash guard a pale shore-line Cornered by the cactus and the pine. Here I wander where sweet sage and strange herbs grow Down a sun-baked crumpled stony road. Dusty wheels leaning rusting in the sun; Snuff brown walls where Spanish lizards run. Here I’m shadowed by a dragon fig tree’s fan Ringed by ants and musing over man. I’ll unwind my old strings while the sun shine down Won’t climb any high thing while the sun shine. Formentera Lady sing your song for me Formentera Lady sweet lover. Lamplights glows on old guitars the travellers strum; Insence children dance to an Indian drum. Here Odysseus charmed for dark Circe fell, Still her perfume lingers still her spell. Time’s grey hand won’t catch me while the sun shine down Untie and unlatch me while the stars shine. Formentera Lady dance your dance for me Formentera Lady dark lover.
With quill and silver knife She carved a poison pen Wrote to her lover’s wife: “Your husband’s seed has fed my flesh”. As if a leper’s face That tainted letter graced The wife with choke-stone throat Ran to the day with tear-blind eyes.
mpaled on nails of ice And raked with emerald fire The wife with soul of snow With steady hands begins to write: “I’m still, I need no life To serve on boys and men What’s mine was yours is dead I take my leave of mortal flesh”
A flower lady’s daughter As sweet as holy water Said: “I’m the school reporter Please teach me”, well I taught her. Two fingered levi’d sister Said, “Peace”, I stopped I kissed her. Said, “I’m a male resister”, I smiled and just unzipped her. High diving chinese trender Black hair and black suspender Said, “Please me no surrender Just love to feel your Fender”.
All of you know that the girls of the road Are like apples you stole in your youth. All of you know that the girls of the road Been around but are versed in the truth.
Stone-headed Frisco spacer Ate all the meat I gave her Said would I like to taste hers And even craved the flavour “Like marron-glaced fish bones Oh lady hit the road!” All of you know that the girls of the road Are like apples you stole in your youth. All of you know that the girls of the road Been around but are versed in the truth.
Earth, stream and tree encircled by sea Waves sweep the sand from my island. My sunsets fade. Field and glade wait only for rain Grain after grain love erodes my High weathered walls which fend off the tide Cradle the wind to my island. Gaunt granite climbs where gulls wheel and glide Mournfully glide o’er my island. My dawn bride’s veil, damp and pale, Dissolves in the sun. Love’s web is spun - cats prowl, mice run Wreathe snatch-hand briars where owls know my eyes Violet skies Touch my island, Touch me. Beneath the wind turned wave Infinite peace Islands join hands ‘Neathe heaven’s sea. Dark harbour quays like fingers of stone Hungrily reach from my island. Clutch sailor’s words - pearls and gourds Are strewn on my shore. Equal in love, bound in circles. Earth, stream and tree return to the sea Waves sweep sand from my island, from me.
The 1973/4 touring version of Crimson was, at the time, mistakenly considered to be part of the musical arena defined by Yes, Genesis and Emerson, Lake & Palmer. These three groups were all hugely successful commercially and all influenced by the first King Crimson, but the live Crimson in 1973/4 was on its own territory. It drew mainly on a European vocabulary both for its writing and improvising. Increasingly it needed improvisation to stay alive: this was its life blood. But that didn’t show much in the studio albums. In concert, it stepped sideways and jumped. It went places where other musicians of that rock generation mainly avoided. This team looked into the darker spaces of the psyche and reported back on what it found. The 1969 Crimscapes were bleak and written; the 1973/4 Crimscapes were darker, and mainly improvised. The formation of the group in 1972 included Jamie Muir. Jamie was far too intelligent and well-balanced a human being to stay with the group for long, although he completed the recording taking place during early 1973 - “Larks’ Tongues In Aspic”. The four-piece which remained never settled in the 16 months of live work which followed, and after which David Cross left. The violin is not an instrument of heavy metal, even hard rock. As the group developed a more muscular stance David’s place in the band lost context and he became increasingly an electric pianist and mellotronist (if such is possible).
Between 1973/4 KC had an increasingly loud bass player of staggering strength and imagination, arguably the finest young English player in his field at the time. The drummer had the temperament of a classical musician who wanted to be a jazzer and worked in rock groups. He found in King Crimson a group which gave him the freedom to spread, experiment, grow, move about and hit things hard and often. The violinist was placed in an increasingly impossible situation. A musical and personal distance began to open between him and the rest of the group. The balance between David and Jamie, constructed in the original quintet formation, was lost. He added delicacy, and wood. But the front line couldn’t match the power of the rhythm section or their volume, and the guitar was stronger than the violin. So, King Crimson 1973/4 was not a balanced group, or perhaps it was balanced in disarray. It was sometimes frightening, and not a comfortable place to be. Inherently unstable, sharing differing aims and going in different directions, finally, it went there. After 16 months as a quartet it became a trio for three months whereupon King Crimson “ceased to exist”.
If I only could deceive you Forgetting the game Every time I try to leave you You laugh just the same ‘Cause my wheels never touch the road And the jumble of lies we told Just returns to my back to weigh me down... We lay cards upon the table The backs of our hands And I swear I like your people The boys in the band Reminiscences gone astray Coming back to enjoy the fray In a tangle of night and daylight sounds...
All completeness in the morning Asleep on your side I’ll be waking up the crewmen Banana-boat ride She responds like a limousine Brought alive on the silent screen To the shuddering breath of yesterday... There’s the succour of the needy Incredible scenes I’ll believe you in the future Your life and death dreams As the cavalry of despair Takes a stand in the lady’s hair For the favour of making sweet sixteen... You make my life and times A book of bluesy Saturdays And I have to chose...
Your admirers on the street Gotta hoot and stamp their feet In the heat from your physique As you twinkle by in moccasin sneakers All completeness in the morning Now...in this faraway land Strange...that the palms of my hands Should be damp with expectancy Spring...and the air’s turning mild City lights...and the glimpse of a child Of the alleyway infantry Friends...do they know what I mean Rain...and the gathering green Of an afternoon out-of-town But Lord I had to go My trail was laid too slow behind me To face the call of fame Or make a drunkard’s name for me Though now this other life Has brought a different understanding And from these endless days Shall come a broader sympathy And though I count the hours To be alone’s no injury... My home...was a place near the sand
And I thought my heart would break When you doubled up at the stake With your fingers all a-shake You could never tell a winner from a snake but you always make money Easy money With your figure and your face Strutting out at every race Throw a glass around the place Show the colour of your crimson suspenders We would take the money home Sit around the family throne My old dog could chew his bone For two weeks we could appease the Almighty Easy money Got no truck with the la-di-da Keep my bread in an old fruit jar Drive you out in a motor-car Getting fat on your lucky star just making Easy money
Health-food faggot with a bartered bride Likes to comb his hair with a dipper ride Once had a friend with a cloven foot Once he called the tune in a chequered quit Great Deceiver In the door on the floor in a paper bag There’s a shoe-shine boy with a gin-shop slag She raised him up and she called him son And she canonised the ground that he walked upon Great Deceiver Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary Cigarettes, ice cream, cadillacs blue jeans In the night he’s a star in the Milky Way He’s a man of the world by the light of day A golden smile and a proposition And the breath of God smells of sweet sedition Great Deceiver Sing hymns make love get high fall dead He’ll bring his perfume to your bed He’ll charm your life ‘til the cold winds blow Then he’ll sell your dreams to a picture show Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary Cadillacs, blue jeans, dixieland playing on the ferry Cadillacs, blues jeans, drop a glass full of antique sherry
I guess I tried to show you how I’d take the crowd with my guitar And business men would clap their hands And clip another fat cigar And publishers would spread the news And print my music far and wide And all the kids who played the blues Would learn my licks with a bottle neck slide But now it seems the bubble’s burst Although you know there was a time When love songs gathered in my head With poetry in every line And strong men strove to hold the doors While with my friends I passed the age When people stomped on dirty floors Before I trod the rock’n’roll stage I’ll thank the man who’s on the ‘phone And if he has the time to spend The problem I’ll explain once more And indicate a sum to lend That ten percent is now a joke Maybe thirty, even thirty-five I’ll say my daddy’s had a stroke He’d have one now, if he only was alive I like the way you look at me You’re laughing too down there inside I took my chance and you took yours You crewed my ship, we missed the tide I like the way the music goes There’s a few good guys who can play it right I like the way it moves my toes Just say when you want to go and dance all night...
Shine, shine, the light of good works shine The watch before the city gates depicted in their prime That golden light all grimy now Three hundred years have passed The worthy Captain and his squad of troopers standing fast The artist knew their faces well The husbands of his lady friends His creditors and councillors In armour bright, the merchant men Official moments of the guild In poses keen from bygone days The city fathers frozen there Upon the canvas dark with age The smell of paint, a flask of wine And turn those faces all to me The blunderbuss and halberd-shaft And Dutch respectability They make their entrance one by one Defenders of that way of life The redbrick home, the bourgeoisie Guitar lessons for the wife So many years we suffered here Our country racked with Spanish wars Now comes a chance to find ourselves And quiet reigns behind our doors We think about posterity again And so the pride of little men The burghers good and true Still living through the painterâ€™s hand Request you all to understand
Tears of joy at the birth of a brother Never alone from that time Sixteen Years through knife fights and danger Strangely why his life not mine West side skyline crying Fallen angel dying Risk a life to make a dime Lifetimes spent on the streets of a city Make us the people we are Switchblade stings in one tenth of a moment Better get back to the car Snow white side streets of cold New York City Stained with his blood it all went wrong Sick and tired blue wicked and wild God only knows for how long Fallen angel Fallen angel West side skyline Crying for an angel dying Life expiring in the city Fallen angel...
Pan American nightmare Ten thousand feet fun-fair Convinved that I donâ€™t care Itâ€™s safe as houses I swear I was just sitting musing The virtues of cruising When altitude dropping My ears started popping One more red nightmare Sweat beginning to pour down My neck as I turn round I heard fortune shouting Just get off of this outing A farewell swan song See you know how turbulence can be The stewardess made me One more red nightmare
Reality stirred me My angel had heard me The prayer had been answered A reprieve has been granted The dream was now broken Thought rudely awoken Really safe and sound Asleep on the Greyhound One more red nightmare
Sundown dazzling day Gold through my eyes But my eyes turned within Only see Starless and bible black
Ice blue silver sky Fades into grey To a grey hope that oh years to be Starless and bible black
Old friend charity Cruel twisted smile And the smile signals emptiness For me Starless and bible black
Emerson, Lake & Palmer (1970)
Peter Sinfield Still (1973)
MacDonalds and Giles (1971)
UK (1973) Wetton and Brufordâ€™s Fusion Side project
The first performance, at Moles in Bath, was on April 30th 1981; the last at The Spectrum, Montreal, on July 11th 1984. The Tony, Ade, Billy & Bob Crimson were more song based than earlier versions of Crimson, but could still tear out and flatten ear hairs within a mile. The 1981/4 Crimson was the first which did not have a full complement of English players. This was 50/50 Anglo American. The bleak Crim view lightened, the musical boundaries became wider, the hostility of the English music press continued. In one case, that of John Gill, this continued for nearly ten years beyond the completion of the fourth-formation Crimson’s tour of duty in mid-1984. Each live Crimson has featured some aspect of new or current technology. This Crim featured two Roland GR300 guitar synthesisers, Chapman Stick and Simmonds electronic drums. The 1981/4 Crimson recorded three studio albums “Discipline” (1981); “Beat” (1982); “Three of a Perfect Pair” (1984)
Talk, it’s only talk Arguments, agreements, advice, answers, Articulate announcements It’s only talk Talk, it’s only talk Babble, burble, banter, bicker bicker bicker Brouhaha, boulderdash, ballyhoo It’s only talk Back talk Talk talk talk, it’s only talk Comments, cliches, commentary, controversy Chatter, chit-chat, chit-chat, chit-chat, Conversation, contradiction, criticism It’s only talk Cheap talk Talk, talk, it’s only talk Debates, discussions These are words with a D this time Dialogue, dualogue, diatribe, Dissention, declamation Double talk, double talk Talk, talk, it’s all talk Too much talk Small talk Talk that trash Expressions, editorials, expugnations, exclamations, enfadulations It’s all talk Elephant talk, elephant talk, elephant talk
Frame by frame, If by drowning. In your arms, In your arms, Analysis. Step by step, Down by numbers. In your arms, In your arms, Analysis.
Still, by the window pane, Pain, like the rain thatâ€™s falling. She waits in the air, Matte Kudasai. She sleeps in a chair In her sad America. When, when was the night so long, Long, like the notes Iâ€™m sending. She waits in the air, Matte Kudasai. She sleeps in a chair In her sad America.
I do remember one thing. It took hours and hours but.. by the time I was done with it, I was so involved, I didnâ€™t know what to think. I carried it around with me for days and days.. playing little games like not looking at it for a whole day and then.. looking at it. to see if I still liked it. I did. I I I I I
repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat..
myself myself myself myself
The more I look at it, the more I like it. I do think itâ€™s good. The fact is.. no matter how closely I study it, no matter how I take it apart, no matter how I break it down, It remains consistant. I wish you were here to see it. I like it.
when when when when
under under under under
stress. stress. stress. stress.
Thela Hun Ginjeet, Thela Hun Ginjeet Thela Hun Ginjeet, Thela Hun Ginjeet Thela Hun Ginjeet, Thela Hun Ginjeet Thela Hun Ginjeet, Thela Hun Ginjeet Oua tari mei Thela Hun Ginjeet Oua tari mei Heat In the jungle street
I’m wheels, I am moving wheels I am a 1952 studebaker coupe I’m wheels, I am moving wheels moving wheels I am a 1952 starlite coupe... En route.....les Souterrains Des visions du Cody...Sartori a Paris... Strange spaghetti in this solemn city... There’s a postcard we’re all seen before... Past wild-haired teens in dark clothing With hands-full of autographed napkins we eat apples in vans with sandwiches ... rush Into the lobby life of hurry up and wait Hurry up and wait for all the odd-shaped keys Which lead to new soap and envelopes... Hotel room homesickness on a fresh blue bed And the longest-ever phone call home.....no Sleep no sleep no sleep no sleep and no mad Video machine to eat time... a cityscene I can’t explain, the Seine alone at 4am The Seine alone at 4a.m....Neal and Jack and me Absent lovers, absent lovers...
I need to feel your heartbeat heartbeat so close, feels like mine all mine I need to feel your heartbeat heartbeat so close it feels like mine all mine... I remember the feeling my hands in your hair hands in your hair I remember the feeling of the rhythm we made the rhythm we made I need to land sometime right next to you feel your heartbeat heartbeat right next to me.....
I come back...come back you see my return my returning face is smiling smile of a waiting man... I be home soon soon soon soon cry on your shoulder your shoulder against my burning tears tears of a waiting man... one two three four one two three... I wait every moment I wait, wait for my chance I wait for my friend to say hello, you waiting man feel no fret feel no fret feel no fret you can wait and feel no fret and so I wait so I wait so I wait so I wait I return face is smiling be home soon cry on your shoulder tears of a waiting man every moment wait for my chance my friend say hello feel no fret you can wait and I wait and I wait and home I am...
Good morning, it’s 3am in this great roaring city full of garbage eaters ravaging parking spots beneath my plaza window I see cheetah in their tight skins and tired heels all-night hippo in the diner crossing the street swarthy heards of young impala flambastic gibbon even a struggling monza and over there that brilliant head ornament on that Japanese macaque but look closely at the hammerhead hand in hand with the mandrill, it’s a sight you’re unlikely to see anywhere else on the planet... the stench and noise, yes, yes, the howler’s resonating repertoire is not too bad when mixed with the more musical twern of the tropical warbler but the impatient taxi blare the squawking elderly ibis and the glass-eye snapper hawking papers I can certainly live without also be cautious of the poisonous boomslang laughter social droppings of the fruit bat and purple queen fish and who’s that babbler conversing with a magazine stand? evidently he’s getting a good reply...
arrive in neurotica through neon heat disease I swear at the swarming heards I sweat the foul terrain I rove the moving scenery I have no fin no wing no stinger no claw no camouflage I have no more to say... Say...isn’t that an elephant fish on the corner over there look at that blush baby mud puppy noolbenger rhinoderma marmoset spring peeper shingleback skink siren skate starling sun-gazer spoonbill and suckers, they seem to be everywhere, well it’s a live revue random animal parts now playing nightly right here in neurotica... so long...
Oh they’re touching They’re touching each other They’re feeling They push and move And love each other, love each other They fit together like two hands... I am a face in the painting on the wall I pose and shudder And watch from the foot of the bed Sometimes I think I can Feel everything... The wind is blowing My hair in their direction The wind is bending my hair There are no windows in the painting No open windows, no open windows, no...
Here is the angel of the world’s desire Placed on trial To hide in shrouded alley sihouettes With cigarette coiled To stike at passing voices Dark and suspect Here is the howling ire Here is the sacred face of rendevous In subway sour Whose grand delusions prey like intellect In lunatic minds Intent and focused on The long thin matches To light the howling fire... No, no, not me, Burn, I don’t wanna burn.....
She is susceptible he is impossible they have their cross to share three of a perfect pair... he has his contradicting views she has her cyclothymic moods they make a study in despair three of a perfect pair... one, one too many schizophrenic tendencies keeps it complicated keeps it agggravated and full of this hopelessness what a perfect mess...
Look at the signs look at the symptoms look at the slight calm before the storm I feel the silence I feel the signals I feel the strain tension in my head well, what more can be said... not a model man not a saviour or a saint imperfect in a word make no mistake but I give you everything I have take me as I am...
In the dream I fall into the sleepless sea with a swell of panic and pain my veins are aching for the distant reef in the crush of emotional waves... alright, get a hold of yourself an’ don’t fight it, it’s over your head it’s alright, the rumble in your ears it’s alright to feel a little fear an’ don’t fight it, it’s over your head it’s alright, you wake up in your bed... silhouettes like shivering ancient feelings they cover my foreign floors and walls submarines are lurking in my foggy ceiling they keep me sleepless at night... hey, can you picture the sight the figures on the beach in the searing night and the roaring hurt of my silent fight... can you pull me out of this sleepless night can you pull me out?...
She wouldn’t need to be a bird without a wing or be a servant to a telephone ring she could be sleeping in the comfort of another bed it wouldn’t matter to a man with an open heart here comes right now... she could be moody, dramatic as a play or be evasive as a shadow in the shade could be irregular and singing in her underwear... it wouldn’t matter to a man with an open heart here comes right now... her wild and wise womanly introspectiveness her faults and files of foolishness... wouldn’t matter to a man with an open heart... here comes right now...
It’s here I sit and rust amid this ruin and rancor like tire irons toothy grills and car parts before me...the acid rain floods my floorboard, burns my pores, and rots my upholstry.. once I was worshipped, polished magnificently, now I lay in decay by the dirty angry bay... I’m ready to leave I wanna get out of here I’m ready to ride away I don’t want to die in here I’m ready to ride mmy skin is metallic now, no longer an elegant powder blue... my body unhinged and sleeping in the jungle of motor block manifolds and metal relics... what was deluxe becomes debris, I never questioned loyalty, but this dead end demolishes the dream of an open highway... dig me...but don’t...bury me
HIATUS_ teaching_ another projects_gui tarcraft_yes_peter gabrilel_bowie_david syilvian
King Crimson lives in different bodies at different times. The present incarnation, the Double Trio, is the fifth live ensemble since 1969. The conception was January 7th. 1994, and their birthday April 18th. 1994, both in Woodstock, New York. This King Crimson was a long time in preparation. Music bearing an unmistakable Crimson accent had been flying by my ear since 1986/87. I took the personal decision to put King Crimson back into action during the second half of 1990 but without a clear idea of how that might be. The picture of a Double Trio formation appeared in a flash while I was driving past our village church towards Salisbury one afternoon in the Autumn of 1992. The double trio was not what I intended, expected, nor wanted but I trusted this point of seeing sufficiently to act upon it. The recording of “VROOOM” (1994) was set as a challenge, with the aim of pulling together six busy musicians to write and rehearse a new and available repertoire, and is in effect, the recording of our first rehearsals together. King Crimson rehearsed for a further two weeks and flew to Argentina on September 22nd. for one week of rehearsals and two weeks of live work, to play-in both the band and new material. “B’BOOM: Official Bootleg - Live in Argentina” (1995) is King Crimson painted in broad strokes and true to the spirit of one evening during October 1994 at the Broadway Theatre in Buenos Aires as Crimson returned to public performance for the first time in 10 years and 3 months. The first full studio album since 1984 - “THRAK” - was recorded at Peter Gabriel’s Real World Studios between October - December 1994, and released on Virgin. “THRaKaTTaK” (1996) is a compilation of live improvs taken from DAT recordings of the front-of-house mixing desk during the KC tour of Japan and the USA during October and November 1995. This album would have been quite impossible unless the group, through Discipline Global Mobile, were in the position to act on its wilder impulses.
Marine 475, 410, 400,062, 1009, 1097,65, NonMarine 10, 190,510, 1148 Motor 254 Aviation 545
Long ago and far away in a different age when I was a dumb young guy fossilized photos of my life then illustrate what an easy prey I must have been standing in the sun, idiot savant something like a monument I’m a dinosaur, somebody is digging my bones ignorance has alway been something I excel in followed by naivete and pride doesn’t take a scientist to see how any clever predator could have a piece of me standing in the sun, idiot savant something like a monument I’m a dinosaur, somebody is digging my bones when I look back on the past it’s a wonder I’m not yet extinct all the mistakes and bad judgements I made nearly pushed me to the brink it doesn’t pay to be too nice it’s the one thing I have learned still, I made my fossil bed now I toss and turn I’m a dinosaur, somebody is digging my bones
Close your eyes and look at me I’ll be standing by your side in between the deep blue sea and the sheltering sky if we find no words to say to the rhythm of the waves then we’ll both surrender there walking on air and the worries of the day lie down under cover of the fading clouds the secrets of the night come alive in your eyes you don’t have to hurry you don’t have to try cause you don’t have a care you’re walking on air Autumn has come to restin her garden come to paint the trees with emptiness and no pardon so many things have come undonelike the leaves on the ground and suddenly she begins to crybut she doesn’t know why heavy are the words that fall through the air to burden her shoulders caught up in the trees her soliloguy,“don’t leave me alone”
People fly people flee people clam and say “it wasn’t me” people fish people beef people arm to teeth yes, you’ve got people on the tube walking on the moon people at the bottom of the sea people in tombs people in igloos even a tribe of pygmies people are the main spring turning the world around people, they’re the main spring spinning this world upside down
Rome now comes to sit in her garden mingling the breeze with memories of a time when there was a room in pale yellow hues her room with a view where love made a bed of happiness in muslin and lace sweet is the voice from far away that speaks sotto voce and is lingering there in the golden air to quiet the day.
people sun people toast people tire shile other people smoke people bowl people rock people pay to see two people box
Sex sleep eat drink dream primal tribal aplle egg vegetable eel I have a new canoe but it does not have a wheel
watch me face me dress me baby me phone me wire me house me bug me fire me
private velvet animal oldsmobile mind I’m sitting in the fireplace burning up my time
people are the main spring spinning the world around people, they’re the main spring turning this world inside out
private velvet animal empty t.v. they’re fishing in the kitchen but they haven’t caught up to me primal tribal chemical digital night I’ve got to get dressed to go out of my mind sex sleep eat drink dream
In 1997 King Crimson entered a phase of fractalization. ProjeKct One, Bill Bruford, Robert Fripp, Trey Gunn and Tony Levin, at the Jazz Cafe, London, December 1-4th. 1997, was the first improvisation oriented King Crimson sub-group project of several. The aim of these smaller Crimson projeKcts being to function as Research & Development for the Greater Crim. ProjeKct Two consisting of Adrian Belew, Trey Gunn and Robert Fripp, actually played before ProjeKct One, and the sessions produced the “Space Groove” release in 1998. Then followed ProjeKct Four in late 1998, which was made up of Tony Levin, Pat Mastelotto, Fripp and Gunn, and finally ProjeKct Three in early 1999 with Mastelotto, Fripp and Gunn. A 4 CD Box Set, “The ProjeKcts”, along with a companion “Best Of” CD, “The Deception of the Thrush: A Beginners’ Guide to ProjeKcts”, were released later that year.
1998 - DGM genesis The aim of DGM is to connect music, musician and audience in a way that supports the power of music, the integrity of the musician and the needs of the audience
ProzaKc Blues Well I woke up this morning In a, In a cloud of despair I ran my hand across my head And pulled out a pile of worried hair I went to my physician Who was buried in his thoughts He said, “Son, you’ve been reading too much Elephant Talk” (Chit-chat) He said, “The thing about depression is, well, you just can’t let it get you down. You have to see the world for what it is: a circus full of freaks and clowns and you’ll never please everybody, it’s a well established fact.” He said, “I recommend a fifth of Jack and a bottle of Prozac” What can you give a man Who has everything? Can you give him back his edge? Can you make him want to sing? No, you can only take from him, and there’s nothing he can do. I’ve got the “driving me to drink and eat a bottle of Prozac” blues. Well, I woke up this morning and I shaved off my head. By the time I realized what I had done, I was already dead I went to see the gatekeeper who was standing by Heaven’s door He said, “I hope you brought a good supply of... you know” (Oh, don’t worry)
Pain day sky beauty die black joy Love empty day life die pain passion Joy black day hate beauty die life Joy ache empty day pain die love Passion joy black light And if God is dead, what am I A fleck of dirt on the wing of a fly Hurtling to earth Through a hole in the sky A hole in the sky And if Warhol’s a genius, what am I A speck of lint on the penis of an alien Buried in gelatin Beneath the sands of Venus Time sun hurt trust peace dark rage Sad white rain sun anger hurt soft Trust night rage rain white hope dark Sacred sun time trust hurt rage anger Rain white light And if a bird can speak, who once was a dinosaur And a dog can dream; should it be implausible That a man might supervise The construction of light The construction of light Pain day sky beauty black die joy Love empty time sun hurt trust peace Dark rage sad white rain hate anger Hope sacred passion life night ache soft Light
Into the Frying Pan I was just now thinking about the jaws of life How they chew you up and spit you right Back into the frying pan And how life unwinds round and around Up and down You think you’re fine But then, you’re back in the frying pan Frying pan
Coda: I Have a Dream
And how life unwinds you think you’re fine but then...
Tragedies of Kennedys, refugees, AIDS disease Photos of Hiroshima, the Holocaust, and Kosovo Tim McVeigh, Saddam Hussein, the bombing of the World Trade Hostages in Bosnia, atrocities, South Africa, Abortion and Kevorkian, Vietnam, napalm, Lady Di, and Lennon died a violent crime, Columbine, “I have a dream that one day...” Rodney King, O.J., symbols of our lifes and times, “One giant leap for mankind”
The World's My Oyster Soup Kitchen Floor Wax Museum Hat bandana Graham cracker jackhammer In a nail file suit your self service man The world’s my oyster soup kitchen floor wax museum Autographed pictures of Shakespeare fishing gear Head phone Madison Square garden hose The world’s my oyster soup kitchen floor wax museum Get set Get wet Get fat Get fit Get a life Get it on Get it up Get it off of me The world’s my oyster soup kitchen floor wax museum Get sacked Get the facts Get a load of this Get pissed Get real Get over it Get it over with The world’s my oyster soup bowling ball of wax museum Cannibal dog house plan B happy As a lark’s tongue in cheek bone china doll The world’s my oyster soup kitchen floor wax museum Don’t ask Y2 cake and eat it too Nothing lasts for evergreen thumbscrew The world’s my oyster soup kitchen door frame by frame Get back Slap back Backtalk Halfback Backtrack Talk back Back to back I’ll be back to get you back the world’s my oyster soup kitchen floor wax museum Get bumped Get pumped Get dumped Get the funk Get sick Get fixed Get jiggy with it the world’s my oyster souffle mignon Get set Get wet Get fat Get fit Get along little doggie Get it off of me Oyster soup kitchen floor wax museum Get sacked Get the facts Get a load of this The world’s my oyster soup kitchen floor wax museum
She carries me through days of apathy She washes over me She saved my life in a manner of speaking When she gave me back the power to believe
Here it comes, here comes another day Another decision on the way Well here it comes, here comes a covered display Of preferences to make Here comes a knock on the door Open it for an opportunity Well here it comes, here comes a physical rain Of memories to be made Eyes wide open Eyes wide open all the time ‘N there it was, it was the perfect take And were you asleep or awake? There it was, it was a perfect time To speak your mind ‘N there it was, it was the chance of a lifetime It flew right by and what did you do? Well there it was, it was another day For memories to be made Eyes wide open Eyes wide open all the time I’ve got my eyes wide open all the time Eyes wide open Because you never know What you might see Memories to be made Eyes wide open Eyes wide open all the time I’ve got my eyes wide open Eyes wide open Because you never know What you might see
Six billion ants crawling on a plate Six billion ants crawling on a plate None of them give back as much as they take Six billion ants crawling on a plate Doesn’t mean you should just because you can It doesn’t mean you should just because you can Like Abraham and Ishmael fighting over sand It doesn’t mean you should just because you can That is a fact of life That is a fact of life Now some of us build and some of us teach Some of us build, some of us teach And some of us kill what some of us eat Nobody knows what happens when you die Nobody knows what happens when you die Believe what you want, it doesn’t mean you’re right
And when I have some words This is the way I’ll sing Through a distortion box To make them menacing Yeah, then I’m gonna have to write a chorus We’re gonna need to have a chorus And this would seem to be as good as any other place to sing it till I’m blue in the face Yes, I’m gonna have to write a chorus I’m gonna need to have a chorus And this would seem to be as good as any other place to sing it till I’m blue in the face Happy with what you have to be happy with You have to be happy with what you have To be happy with what you have Happy with what you have to be happy with You have to be happy with what you have To be happy with what you have You have to be happy with what you have to happy with And for a second verse Of terse economy I’ll brew another pot Of ambiguity
tool eno stevenwilson
Another Crimsons about Fripp Fripp About another Crimsons
“Frippwas wasvery veryupset upsetand andI “Fripp hasn’t forgiven to this d haven’t forgiven me myself to th
I probably probably day”. his day”.
“TheKing KingCrimson Crimsonisis “The brilliantmoment momentthat thatnot should brilliant over inover the time”. should in that time”.
a strange bastard” “I“He waswas a strange bastard”.
PS takes a book and reads from a contemporary description of Machiavelli, author of “The Prince”. “My dealings with Robert were not straightforward”.
“I thoroughly enjoyed my tim with them. Robert would com “I’m a nice guy and work qui in with the chords, we’d liste them and usually got it in on two takes”.
me me icklyâ€?. en to ne or
Remembers Fripp as a David Cross is a generous generous musician, who musician, and happy to was now happy to listen to listen to other peopleâ€™s other peopleâ€™s ideas. ideas.
â€œTime and time again I find Time and time again Tony Le Robertand hasspecial a unique and sp unique vision. vision of where the band sh goâ€?.
devin that has a pecial hould
“I seem to have been a mon “RF has been a monumental irritant to RF the years to me over theover years”.
numental l irritant sâ€?.
“Hum? a lot about myself “There’s There’sdislike”. a lot about Peter t tensely tensely dislike”.
f that I inthat I in-
a joyless exercise in futility
“I couldn’t concentrate on m career as a musician in t
“Going back to early King Crimson, the re of the creative impulse came from these y they were doing, yet were able to do it.”
music, so I made the choice to give up my the front line to deal with the business.”
emarkable young men who didn’t know what
“Do you believe that Rostropovich was playing a cello just for a living? Do you believe that Hendrix was playing for money? Music is a language in which we can express our struggle with what it is to be a human being. This is at the center of what created King Crimson. Today I remain responsible for that… how can I lie to that? If I do, I cease to be human.”
â€œThe Seven-Headed Beas
r 23, 2013
st of Crim is in Go! mode.â€?
Booklet is part of my graduation project, which consists of a King Crimson box set with 13 CDs and more this booklet. There a few error......