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Rating: For a few months, I had transitioned from Gloria Gaynor to the Floyd of "Ummagumma." On the advice of Orsetto, my desk mate, I bought the cassette (back then we still used cassettes and tape players) — the original one, in fact, my very first original cassette for three thousand five hundred lire.
Not the bootlegs I was used to, mixes of national Lucio or my favorite number three of Mina. Or worse, those compilations with the hits of the moment, where, however, I had discovered "Reach Out," which back then seemed like an amazing track to me.
Of "Ummagumma," a double album of which I took only the live part, what attracted me the most was the mystery of that title.
And also the cover's mirror play was promising.
The listening was the revelation of another world that I struggled to believe in, not knowing yet that, very soon, that world would be completely swallowed by a placid cow, regurgitating it much more faded and watered down.
One thing, however, was certain: that was the music I wanted to listen to; Battisti, Mina, and Gloria Gaynor could kindly settle in the drawers of memory and be content now and then to send a small glow.
My father was a newsagent at the time, so I could read "Ciao 2001" and "Nuovo Sound." There was also "Gong," but it was a bit difficult for me, considering I was thirteen. Maybe even twelve.
In short, I could perhaps manage to get a cassette a month, and I succeeded in building myself a mini discography almost all progressive.
"Trespass" by Genesis, "Godbluff" by Vdgg, "Live in USA" by PFM, "Burn" by Deep Purple, "Felona e Sorona" by Le Orme, an anthology of Banco del Mutuo Soccorso for the English market.
PFM and Banco didn't displease me, the rest didn’t drive me crazy.
And so my delight remained "Ummagumma."
The real discovery, however, were the extravagant words of a certain Francesco, things like "it's been too long, love, that we are playing chess, they tell me you're winning and laugh like crazy," or that groom who said "but I'm not in anymore, and you're the mad ones."
Then, one day, Orsetto told me about a little party at his house where his sister's boyfriend, a certain Enrico, drunk, yelled, "no, no, the King Crimson, no, no, no, don't take them away from me!!!"
Someone had changed the record, and he was protesting vigorously.
"But how are these King Crimson, Orsetto?"
"Awesome."
Just in those days, an anthology double album was released. I found, and it was already a miracle, the second part. I lived (and still live) in a small town, and the raids to the legendary "Nannucci" in Bologna began only much later.
Although, reading today the program of disc one and disc two, the first one appears decidedly the best, it was quite a blow.
Like "Ummagumma" and even better.
For months, that cassette stayed in the tape player.
To begin with, there were the three most beautiful Crimson ballads ever: "Night Watch," "Book of Saturday," and "Moonchild."
What to say, in these three songs, there really is a tiny piece of my imagination, the sweetest and most melancholy one...the morning and the night..., the uncertain hour...and a kind of fog that hides and reveals...
Above all, "Moonchild" that has the light of feminine and nocturnal tarot cards, the folky magic of a network of just hinted meanings, the healing power of a whisper or a gesture that in that network float like in a dream, just like the very slight rhythmic beat of Mike Giles's fabulous drumming.
Infinitesimal, soft, and suffused with a melody that is not of this world and a voice that seems to be in a magical mute that instead of extinguishing it wraps it in light.
"Moonchild" is music for that strange metaphysical Shreck, a sort of smiling deity with sad eyes and a moon face, which appears inside the cover of "In the Court," their epochal first album.
According to Robert Fripp, that being would even be the Crimson King himself.
I'm not talking, of course, about the screaming "Schizoid Man" on the front cover,
I'm talking about Shreck.
But let's go back to "Moonchild," which actually would last twelve minutes, and not less than three like here.
Ah, and a shame that is missing what "In the Court" immediately follows, namely an incredible free-form experimentation, impalpable, liquid, and full of nightly magics that become, gradually, more and more dissonant...
What a shame it's missing, also because it's the best way to arrive, full of a sense of anticipation, at "In the Court of the Crimson King," which is present here, in fact very present.
"In the Court of the Crimson King" is a sort of monumental folk song, with somewhat tacky symphonies (just a little?) and flute frills, a fabulous primer (of the best and worst) of the prog to come.
As a kid, it thrilled me. Today the same, although it is especially that timeless melody that I like, and the rest clashes with another kid, the post-punk one. But it doesn't matter; it's good for puppies to vent.
Then there are the other two timeless melodies...not as enchanting as the moon girl and the king, of course, but timeless nevertheless...
"Night Watch" starts with the delicate cacophony of Fripp's electric guitar, to which sweet rattles are then added, a fabulous violin, and God knows what else in an improvisation that reaches intangible whirlwinds of avant-garde delicacy...then here comes the Crimson melody, poignant and magical, and a guitar that almost cries...
"Book of Saturday" is probably just a beautiful song, but one of those that never leaves you. In "Larks' Tongues in Aspic," it is there, like an island of rest after the adventurous journey of a title track that is one of their most beautiful pieces ever, suspended as it is between crazy percussive magics, free form, and killer riffs of a guitar very far from rock conventions.
Here in "A Young Person's Guide," only a small fragment is included, which is a shard of rough diamond of just a few minutes, sufficient, then as now, to drive me crazy. Something that goes from nothing to apotheosis, a one-two-three that is a turbulent river, a waterfall, and whirlpools that end up becoming calm waters.
Then there's an instrumental without percussion, a magic of mellotron, violin, and flute: “Trio.”
"Trio" is a strange and delicate watercolor that starts with a pianissimo of sounds that then become more and more lunar and ringing...
It's a trill of night creatures in a crescendo of infinitesimals...
It's a marvel.
In this anthology disc, which is only, I repeat, the second part of the young listener's guide, there is only a tiny piece of the Crimson planet, the most romantic one.
Sure, there are the exceptions of the tail of "Lark's Tongues in Aspic" and "Cat Food" and "Groon," sharp shards of ultra-modern and nervous sound, but it's the romantic side that prevails.
Listening to disc one, with its incredible loads of elevens, things change. There, examples of Crimson power (a monolith always ready to explode, but as if held back and anchored to itself) don't lack.
But for me, in this double album, disc one doesn't exist. I have never even listened to it.
And I truly care about disc two.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Epitaph (08:52)
The wall on which the prophets wrote is cracking at the seams.
Upon the instruments of death the sunlight brightly gleams.
When every man is torn apart with nightmares and with dreams,
Will no one lay the laurel wreath when silence drowns the screams?
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.
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 if no one sets the rules.
The fate of all mankind I see is in the hands of fools.
03 Ladies Of The Road (05:27)
A flower lady's daughter
As sweet as holy water
Said: Im the school reporter
Please teach me, well I taught her.
Two fingered levi'd sister
Said, peace, I stopped I kissed her.
Said, Im 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 we stole in our 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 we stole in our youth.
All of you know that the girls of the road
Been around but are versed in the truth.
06 Starless (12:17)
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 omens to be
Starless and bible black
Old friend charity
Cruel twisted smile
And the smile signals emptiness
For me
Starless and bible black
08 Book Of Saturday (02:52)
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 choose...
10 Cat Food (02:43)
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!"
15 In The Court Of The Crimson King (09:21)
--The Court Of The Crimson King--
including The Return Of The Fire Witch
and The Dance Of The Puppets
(McDonald-Sinfield)
The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournament'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.
The keeper of the city keys
Put shutters on the dreams.
I wait outside the pilgrim'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 grey 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 gently pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.
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