King Crimson
Live in Chicago

THE REVIEW

They are approaching 50 years. Of career. Denominator, perhaps even dominator?, Robert Fripp. I have not grown tired of the sublime Orchestra. In 1969, I was unaware and innocent, missing the advent of the Manifesto. "In The Court Of The Crimson King" redefined the offering and enjoyment of rock and everything that flashes around musical culture. In the two-year period of 1973-1974, enlightened by an early fan and middle school classmate, I caught up on lost ground and crimsonized myself forever. An early listener and consumer, I might attract criticisms and reproaches by stating that my personal Crimson-era ends with "Red", spanning six solar years and seven albums. The first reincarnation, for me, was rich in technicalities, virtuosities, but the bread, that of sustenance, had run out with the tension of "Red", passing through the poetry of the debut and the moving passages of the suite "Lizard" and the wonderful constellation of "Islands". Second rebirth in the '90s, a return to the future at the dawn of the new millennium, music of the highest quality but from the heart lost, mine, just after turning the cover of "Red". The current operation, an ensemble of seven elements, then eight, is a triumph. Leaving some mid-time productions to the archives, King Crimson recover the heart of the 1969-1974 period, doing so as an act of love for themselves and for the Crimson fans who have long wandered on new frontiers, searching for the lost land, the original frontier. That's why, after recent years of performances and the gradual recovery of some of the masterpieces from the beginning, the countdown concluded in this magnificent show last June 28th in Illinois. Some parts of "Lizard" had appeared and illuminated. Now the suite is presented in an ideal measure to dazzle the spectator without exhausting them. "Fallen Angel", the piece never played live and long dreamed of by fans, lands in Chicago and captures the religious and respectful audience. Then there is "Islands". Charig's breathy poetry is now in Collins' diaphragm. Try to be less moved. I won't dwell on the setlist, or rather the royal flush. King Crimson have never been an ordinary band, but the summit. A peak as high as Everest, touched by how many others? It is my album of the year, as awaited as it is unveiled, listen after listen. "21st Century Schizoid Man" closes the show, as usual, in a version that gives you goosebumps at least as much as the mad and paranoid one screamed by John Wetton in 1973 in Amsterdam. The band recently lost Wetton and Greg Lake, the bassist and singer of the "Larks' Tongues in Aspic" revolution and the paranormal tension of "Red", and the bassist and singer from the original lineup. A better tribute to the two old companions, Fripp and the other seven monsters of Chicago could not have reserved.