[l1]I[/l1] painted one side of the white paper liner: a walled pond in a garden with three paths approaching and crossing from different directions; all very Seussian and psychedelic.
King Crimson’s music is not an acquired taste. I don’t think it’s possible to acquire it. Your DNA connects with it instantly or you never will. Feeling compelled to paint the liner is a symptom.
[az]B00065MDRW[/az]You can read volumes about Robert Fripp and bandmates elsewhere. Please do. We’re here today to talk about the music’s emotions.
The final track, In the Court of the Crimson King, continues grasping at grandeur, as the entire album does. Sonically enormous, it sounds at times like what the Moody Blues were always trying for and rarely achieved, at times like Yes being playful, at times like pure classical music.
Crimson Puppets and Asimov’s Mule
[az]0307593967[/az]I’ve always connected the lyrics to Isaac Asimov’s Foundation universe; perhaps the puppet symbolism reminding me of Asimov’s Mule, or perhaps it’s what I was reading when I spent an entire summer listening to this album repeatedly to the chagrin of my two brothers who shared my room but not always my musical taste.
Potential Prog Pretense?
Progressive rock is nearly always denigrated as pretentious by someone. Pretense implies a failure to live up to the promise. There is no failure here.
It’s said that if you remember the 60s, you weren’t there. Well, I was, but I was just a kid. I was born in the twilight days of the 50s, only turning 10 on Christmas of ’69, so I knew nothing about drugs and such. I have no explanation for my attraction to discordant symphonic rambling rock. I’ve stopped looking for one.
Music which the composers performed for their own amusement, for its experimental value, to stretch, feels more vigorous, more alive than most commercial successes. This album, even just this song, will stretch your musical appreciation; perhaps to the breaking point.