King Crimson

You can almost hear it, the scream of the schizoid man, looking at the transfigured image on the cover of this absolute masterpiece of British progressive rock. Through his grotesque depiction, Barry Godber manages to create an inexorable vortex that, starting from the oral cavity of the "prophetic monster", reaches all the way to the listener's ear.

"In The Court of the Crimson King" is the debut effort of King Crimson, a work that will inevitably remain a self-contained microcosm, despite the impeccable records the Robert Fripp-led band would go on to make. Surreal, enchanted atmospheres, long romantic suites and intricate sonic architectures mark an album that, all these years later, still manages to sound modern.

It's 1969, a period in which the British scene had already seen the emergence of towering acts such as Genesis, Soft Machine and Yes. We're in the full swing of the progressive era, shaped by multiple genres such as jazz, classical music and contemporary atonal music. Robert Fripp's genius, together with his first lineup, led by the excellent lyricist Peter Sinfield, carefully mold these five tracks, masterfully chained together, in an attempt to forge a new musical order.

Greg Lake's distorted voice, the future leader of Emerson, Lake & Palmer, opens the first act of the performance: "21th Century Schizoid Man". A disorienting opener to say the least, a frenetic, noisy yet melodic composition, which fits perfectly with the album's second track: "I Talk To The Wind". Ian McDonald's flute joins the lucid calm of Lake's voice, in an unreal stillness that hints at the muted sadness of the following track, the mournful "Epitaph". The mellotron makes its voice heard, the monster screams in pain: it's an epitaph ("Confusion will be my epitaph") concerning the whole of humanity; "But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying" Lake prophesies at the end of the track.

The first act closes and we return to the dreamlike illusion and stagnant stillness of "Moonchild". Lake's voice grows ever fainter until it gives way to the dissonant agony of the other musicians' instruments, in a pure free-form gem. Preparations are underway, the band members, following Fripp's lead, are about to enter the court of the Crimson King. It's the final act: "The Court of the Crimson King". The sound of the mellotron becomes increasingly pressing and Lake finishes his part followed by his bandmates, who respond with an obsessive, piercing choral tone. Particularly magnificent is Ian McDonald's flute solo. It seems like the end, but taking a glance inside the cover, we're greeted by the grotesque yet reassuring smile of a decidedly more human face. It almost seems to celebrate the madness already heralded centuries earlier by Erasmus and pursued with courage by Fripp and his bandmates.

And so the first chapter of King Crimson comes to a close. The lineups would change numerous times over the following thirty years, orbiting around Fripp's imposing figure, who would shift gears, moving from the purest progressive rock of the early days to later musings, sometimes admirable, sometimes perhaps a bit too pretentious. Times change, and listening to the band's later work, it's now hard to hear the scream of the 21st Century Schizoid Man, but what remains is his hallucinated gaze, still guarding the sounds of a work that remains unique of its kind to this day.

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31/10/2006