Sunday, 21 July 2013

King Crimson: Lizard

Lizard

Best song: Lizard

Worst song: Lizard

Overall grade: 5

I’m very tempted to write two reviews for this album, because it has a really strange quality that not many others do. Sometimes when I listen to it, I love it and I’d put it as possibly their best work. And other times, I think it’s a big old mess and then I don’t know what I ever saw in it. I just can’t seem to make up my mind either way. King Crimson are a very contradictory band, but not usually within the same album.
I’ll start with some facts, because I know I won’t change my mind on these next time I listen… first, the main thing this album is not is another version of the debut, and anyone expecting that (as I’m sure they were at the time) will get a big shock. Everyone always thinks of Crimson as Robert Fripp’s baby, but in actual fact he didn’t do a huge amount of writing on the first album. On the second he did more, but considering how much influence was taken from the debut, I don’t count it. Therefore, this is the first album where Fripp really dominates as a songwriter, and what he does is he takes ‘Cat Food’ and makes it into an entire album. That was an odd little track to start with, so when stretched out to the length of a whole album you can just imagine how eclectic that might sound.
Reasons this album might be KC’s best work: it has a lot of variety and there’s always something going on; a very small portion of passages are dull. Jon Anderson sings on one of these tracks! (Well, part of one.) That’s the first example of Yes giving a member to King Crimson, although they got this one back. Seriously, his voice is great and it really suits the tone of the song. There’s another song, ‘Happy Family’, that I once heard described as a maze, and I can’t think of a more perfect description – it has this whole complicated, where-is-this-going? thing about it, but comes together. Most of the record has a really full sound, lots of instruments playing at once (including some interesting things like a cornet and a cor anglais) which I like – I think of that as the complete opposite to ‘Moonchild’. There’s a strong jazz influence throughout and a balance between the freaky, frightening type of jazz and the fun, happy jazz. The whole thing is very complex and the fact that the band managed to pull off this complexity makes the album a big achievement.
Reasons this album might be a huge mess: No Greg Lake. Okay, I have to get over that, I have to stop comparing Lake-sung Crimson songs to the others. Ignore that point. Real arguments – sometimes the songs seem more like medleys than songs, with a lot of musical ideas that could be interesting but that are just flung together haphazardly. Pete Sinfield’s lyrics are worse than ever. Do not make the mistake of trying to read along while you’re listening… if you’re someone who finds lyrics important, you’ll hate this. ‘Lady of the Dancing Water’ shows the band being less successful with slower material as before – maybe that’s why they went on to move in a heavier direction. It’s not an album you can ever really get used to, you have to work to enjoy it, every time. Not something for when you’re tired. The whole album’s basically an experiment in just how much weirdness the band could get away with. And the biggest negative of all: I have a huge amount of respect for this album, but I could never get emotionally attached to it like I am to ‘Selling England by the Pound’, for instance.
And yes, as I’m sure you’re wondering by now, the best song and worst song are the SAME song. Because depending on my feelings on the day, it’s either a highly inventive and fascinating example of a prog sidelong or an accidental recording of the band messing around in the studio on their break.

So, when I’m analysing it, I can see its many, many strengths and that’s why I’m giving it a really good grade. But I can’t justify giving it the 6 or 7 that I often want to, because of the very real possibility that tomorrow I might listen to it and end up throwing it across the room in despair. If Robert Fripp actually tried to make an album that has this effect, then he’s even more of a terrible genius than I previously thought.

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