PHILIPPE MANOEUVRE CHRONIC MAGAZINE ROCK & FOLK July 1975 No. 102 page 85/87 9 ° Album 1975 33 rpm Ref: Island 6396 043 This column is not intended to fans of King Crimson. They already know what is this album. I'm sure they are by train from the listen shedding tears on the dissolution of Roi Cramoisi, and they do must hardly appreciate that a serious guitarist as Fripp vienne do e rock with Eno. I was not a fan of King Crimson, because we can not buy any record production and after having missed the first album, there were two, three, five, what do I know. .. But here's the latest: there I boarded the train, and it's live in the USA bonus. To my discharge, it must admit that King Crimson, like all other groups that produce a neat music within which the binary is not rigor, need to be affublés of a of the "progressive label "that I personally have always translated as" avant-gardistointellectualliste ". A nightmare. In 1974, King Crimson was a hot ball of radium, inhabited by a genius (King Frippson ..uh, hu). I mean, Fripp is a guitarist Lovecraftian, really, pulling the strings of rattling, visceral fouaillements, the most miraculous joining never heard sounds. But he is not alone. John Wetton clicks his bass like a hammer, the mellotrons purify of shivering cracks that saw the violin. What is remarkable is that we can not speak of rhythm, soloists; everything is intertwined, and the whole is a very articulate mess that creeps in stadiums where howl kids. "Boogie" You realize? They yelled "boogie" with Robert Fripp! Who would have dared imagine this by here? But there .... "Larks Tongues In Aspic 2" became in contact with the fever of the ballrooms, a huge electric battery. A wicked fracas who abandons you pantelant to the labyrinth the threshold where the Minotaur was replaced by the Schizo of 21 ° century ... Nobody by living emerge. Worse, this album will appeal to rockers, hard hard, and they'll find in this long beat a science station wagon that was believed forgotten for "Led Zeppelin 2". But with King Crimson or swing or tempo. A polyrhythm, table. And there are one or two slow songs, recorded in the studio, we would not dare listen in the dark as they suggest a teeming and batrachian invasion. Back battery Bill Bruford, and you'd swear he stretched his toms human skin. And when rising moon, the teeth shear bars dobbies, chapped lips suck the red desert. Glace and embers, in the manner of colors of the pouch. Definitely, there is enough in there to keep you busy for years. An eternal spasm. And you can even dance to "21st Century Schizoid Man".
