King Crimson
Discipline

THE REVIEW

Discipline, King Crimson 1980

"Discipline is never an end in itself, only a means to an end."

King Crimson, after the magnificent and very sad farewell of Red in 1974, returned at the dawn of the '80s with a totally renewed and revised formula, free from labels and reference points.
The only confirmed member was Bruford (technically more terrifying than ever), joined by two virtuoso American musicians: Adrian Belew (rhythm guitar) and Tony Levin (Chapman Stick and bass).
Naturally, all the instrumentalists revolved around the stern master Robert Fripp, who, in his impeccable English style, did not fail to amaze all audiences and especially the critics.
What Fripp and Bruford wanted to create was something new and totally uncontrollable, allowing free expression to the two contrasting sides of the brilliant guitarist: absolute artistic rigor and total madness, with the addition of cohesion, a cohesion between instruments that had never been heard before, not only in terms of sound mixture but especially in the ability to naturally accommodate the virtuosic outbursts of their companions (as demonstrated by the track "The Sheltering Sky").

The album opens with the biting "Elephant Talk" dominated by Belew's distorted guitar simulating elephant trumpets and sounds of a decidedly unorthodox nature. The song best reflects the most brilliant and creative soul of KC, always in search of the future and innovation, always saddened by the stagnant present. A very interesting track from different perspectives, starting from the lyrical one: for the first time KC let themselves go in a song, albeit dripping with irony and satire, full of sense of humor and cheerfulness, elements absolutely unusual for the British band. Bruford's drumming perfectly outlines his African style, which precisely originates from Fripp and co.'s primal intention to draw inspiration from the hypnotic rhythms of Gamelan, African dance, creating Gamelan Rock.

However, the virtuosity of this new incarnation of KC resides in the second song, the (technically) terrifying "Frame By Frame", which distinctly gives the impression of coming from a future era.
Fripp supports Belew's genuine guitar bursts with absurd speed, Levin accompanies with an elementary but fearsomely incisive bass, joining Bruford's fresh and irregular drumming with jazzy ease, all the way to the sad refrain, where Belew recites a Japanese Haiku with a plaintive voice and the tension is discharged with powerful bass drum hits supported by timpani blows of African might, along with the rest of the instruments that resume the initial theme at their usual speeds. A continuous alternation of full and empty that forms a truly timeless song. Noteworthy is the authentic feat performed by the two guitars at the refrain's reprise, where one of the two keeps the rhythm normally and the other replicates it by missing a single note each time, but magically the guitars find themselves in sync at the sixteenth repeat of the measure.

Next is "Matte Kudasai", a slow, sweet, and romantic piece not particularly remarkable, although truly emblematic of Robert's ability to infuse emotions, even before claustrophobia and aversion in abundance.