Steve:
A strong case could be made that In the Court of the Crimson King is the first progressive rock album. Rock music had been building towards it for the previous two years, but here it finally took on the recognizable characteristics we associate with prog today: extended tracks with multiple sections, symphonic arrangements, and complex melodies, harmonies, and rhythms. The album cover itself practically screamed at you to listen and take notice, and the album made a big splash in 1969.
In my case, it made a big splash sometime in the early 80s. I had heard of Robert Fripp via an album he recorded with Andy Summers, guitarist for The Police, my favorite band at the time. I remember record shopping with Dan at Yardbird Records in Miami, and he pulled out In the Court of the Crimson King, priced at $5. He recommended I buy it, "because you like Pink Floyd". I did, and the album immediately opened up new worlds of rock music to me.
"21st Century Schizoid Man" is almost an unfair way to open an album - it's a full-on percussive, abrasive assault on the senses, sounding like nothing that had come before. It can't help but make a strong impression, and the song looms large over the band's history, even if they never recorded anything quite like it again. Most of the remaining songs are dominated by reedman/keyboardist Ian McDonald, who is the primary songwriter on the album in addition to handling most of the Mellotron parts, and vocalist/bassist Greg Lake, whose made-for-prog singing gives the band's compositions the theatrical, cinematic weight they need. Can you imagine David Byrne singing "Epitaph"? No, you need a larger-than-life vocalist like Lake, hair blowing in the wind, crying to the heavens atop his metaphorical mountain.
I must say a word in defense of the album's most controversial track, the song that even people who praise this album as an all-time classic often feel the need to apologize for. "Moonchild" is the longest track on the album at 12 minutes, and the last 10 minutes consist of, at first listen, near-silence with occasional randomly scattered quiet passages with no purpose. As if the band went out to the pub and a few mice decided to crawl over their still-plugged-in instruments.
But listen to this track closely, close your eyes, and imagine you are in a dark forest at night. What the band is playing is a simulation of the natural ebb and flow of nature in an otherwise quiet setting. Not merely random noise, but a virtual conversation between several nocturnal critters. The song does interrupt the sonic majesty, coming in between the album's two grand epics ("Epitaph" and "The Court of the Crimson King"), but that's what progressive rock seemed to be about in its earliest days -- confounding expectations. They were rewriting the rules, so why not add a squirrels' conversation in the middle?
No progressive rock collection is complete without this, but you don't need me to tell you that.
Dan:
I had forgotten my recommendation to Steve that he check this album out. Obviously, he's absorbed it completely. The 1969 version of King Crimson is the one I like the most. I love "The Court of The Crimson King" and "Epitaph." They both etch pictures in my head of magical places and people.
I appreciate Steve's defense of "Moonchild," and the remedy to listen more carefully. Sadly, listening has become a lost art, but I would think that the fascination with ear buds and headphones might give wearers a chance to hear more nocturnal detail. "Moonchild" is not a piece that you can crank up in your car or listen to from another room. I hope our blog motivates readers to find 12 minutes for the close-up experience. Of course, doing so will also allow you to be bathed in the glories of the Fire Witch and dancing puppets on the following track.
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