King Crimson - Lizard (1970)

Dan:

Steve told me recently that Lizard was Robert Fripp's least favorite King Crimson album. Fripp hated it, and so did the band. The lyrics were preposterous and the music a jumble of "jazz musicians" (what could possibly be worse?). Fripp was keen on discipline, so much so that he named a 1981 album Discipline. Lizard lacked discipline, which for Fripp spoiled the group's ambitious third album. 

I can understand his disappointment. Lizard surely has curious lyrics, and the themes are more pretentious than either of the first two albums. The jazz jumble is less of an issue for me, although their playing appears to be stitched together rather than played as an ensemble. But overall, I believe that this flawed album is redeemed by its finest moments, and many voices in cyberspace agree with me.

Side 1 (tracks 1-4) includes a series of songs with odd themes: "Cirkus (Including Entry of the Chameleons)," "Indoor Games," "Happy Family," and "Lady of the Dancing Water." "Cirkus" makes the biggest impact musically. It's an unsettling, threatening description of a circus as a dangerous place - a "pandemonium seesaw," as the lyrics proclaim. Compared to "Cirkus," the next two songs are merely cynical portraits of family and domestic life. Relief comes with the gentle "Lady of the Dancing Water," which resembles the pretty songs from the two preceding albums. 

Side 2 is what I really like about this album. The suite named "Lizard" consists of four parts. The first of these is sung by Yes vocalist Jon Anderson, the perfect voice for this assignment. Again, the lyrics are complicated and arcane, but Anderson makes it all sound like a safe fantasy. Even the Medieval ritual of staking of a lizard by the throat seems okay, given the positive vibe of the music. The second part, "Bolero - The Peacock's Tale," is a delightful instrumental that deserves careful attention. It's where "those jazzmen" create a magical soundscape, despite the stitching. A wind player named Robin Miller makes the biggest impression with his oboe solo, which segues into an English horn solo by the same artist. (This is how I know these sections were stitched together at the editing board.) No matter, the effect is beguiling. Eventually the other horns join in for "Bolero's" triumphant ending.

"The Battle of Glass Tears" consumes the next 11 minutes. It's a bit like "Devil's Triangle" from Poseidon. I don't usually pay much attention to it, given that I'm still marveling at "Bolero." Perhaps that is one of the problems with epic suites - they overwhelm an album's more appealing, shorter songs. 

Steve:  

Here, as with In the Wake of Poseidon, King Crimson was only barely a band at this point, careening uncertainly through different players and several musical approaches in an exploratory phase that would finally solidify with 1973's Larks' Tongues in Aspic. But as was the case with Pink Floyd's exploratory period (1968-1972), this strange uncertainty resulted in some of the band's finest and most unpredictable music. Lizard remains a favorite of mine for many of the same reasons Dan spelled out above, especially the "Bolero" section, which doesn't get much mention (being only one section of a suite), but it should - it's an eye opener. 

As for the band hating the lyrics, I'm thinking mainly of Gordon Haskell, the bassist/vocalist who was recruited for this album (he also sang lead on "Cadence and Cascade" from the prior album). At the end of "Indoor Games" you can hear him break into an extended fit of goofy laughter, which they decided to keep for the final mix for some reason. He was the one about whom I'd heard stories about his issues with the lyrics. Perhaps on the other takes he broke into angry protests instead: "What the bloody hell are these words? Where's Sinfield? I'll give him a right knock on the 'ead, I will!"

Jethro Tull - Benefit (1970)

Dan:

I took a long time getting around to Benefit, Jethro Tull's third album, which was sandwiched between Stand Up and Aqualung. In his unassuming way, Steve made it available thinking I might enjoy it if I only listened to it. I was familiar with "Inside," which also appeared on the compilation album Living in the Past that I used to own in the early 1970s. 

After hearing Benefit a few times, I can safely say that it's my favorite Tull album for several reasons. First, It's an intelligent set of songs. My favorite is "Nothing to Say," which addresses an interesting issue in game theory: should I share my knowledge with someone else? Ian Anderson says no:

Everyday there's someone asking "What is there to do?"

Should I love or should I fight, is it all the same to you?

No I say I have the answer proven to be true,

But if I were to share it with you,

You would stand to gain and I to lose.

Oh I couldn't bear it so I've got nothing to say.

Nothing to say.

The reason for this selfish posture appears to be resentment over the misfortune that the questioner has brought upon us. Later, it becomes more apparent that the questioner is a hateful hypocrite:

Climb a tower of freedom, paint your own deceiving sign.

It's not my power to criticize or to ask you to be blind

To your own pressing problem and the hate you must unwind.

So ask of me no answer, there is none that I could give you wouldn't find.

I went your way ten years ago and I've got nothing to say.

Nothing to say.

Now that's a worthwhile lyric! Other gems with equally profound lyrics are "With You There to Help Me," "To Cry You a Song," and "A Time for Everything?"

My second reason is songcraft, with or without lyrics. Benefit rocks hard where necessary but never dissolves into pointless jamming. Everything fits together, whether it's rhythm, flutes and guitars, or thumping bass. This might very well be Jethro Tull's secret advantage over dozens of other bands that are loaded with great players, but which have trouble establishing a sound of their own. 

Finally, I like Benefit's clever album cover art. It shows cutout figures of the band members on stage in front of a window with the same band members looking on from behind. On the album's back cover, you see the same cardboard cutouts from behind, with their names written on their backs. Cute!

As a kid, I'd spend a lot of time studying the sleeves of the 12" LPs that I owned. Not just the notes, but the images as well. I hardly ever do that for CDs because they're so small. However, for the digital albums stored on my laptop computer, I took the pains to find the highest resolution artwork for the 2,400+ albums in that part of my collection. I occasionally scroll through the larger images just for entertainment. 

Steve:

Insights like Dan's above remind me that I miss out on a lot of potential music appreciation by not paying attention to lyrics. "Nothing to Say" is a heck of a piece of writing. Lyric-wise, the Jethro Tull piece to which I've given the most effort is "A Passion Play", a strange tale of the afterlife I'm told; but time and again I can't make heads or tails of it. So rather than dwell on this sad affliction of mine, I'll stick to talking about what I know.

Benefit sits right in the sweet spot of Jethro Tull's finest period, in my opinion (Stand Up through A Passion Play). It was one of the first Jethro Tull albums I bought; I first got interested in exploring the band's catalog after borrowing a copy of M.U. The Best of Jethro Tull from a friend. My favorite song from that compilation was "Teacher", which was included on the US version of Benefit (though not on the UK version, as I later learned; most subsequent reissues have thus omitted "Teacher" as a part of the album proper). I still love "Teacher" and am only mildly annoyed that the version included as a bonus track on the Benefit CD reissue is a different version that I don't like as much. Oh well, I still have M.U.

Other favorites on this album are "With You There to Help Me"; "For Michael Collins, Jeffrey and Me"; and "A Time for Everything" - three very different sounding songs. "With You There to Help Me" could probably have been sequenced a little more effectively - as a vast 6-minute beast of a number, it doesn't feel like it belongs as "side 1 track 1"; it could have worked better as a side closer. It's spacious and psychedelic, using a very standard folk rock chord progression but going all out in the arrangement, with echoed flutes, quiet/loud dynamics, and Martin Barre's wailing guitar leads. "Michael Collins" has the effect of making me wistful and nostalgic, even though I have no idea what the song is about. Maybe it's time I read those lyrics again. 

King Crimson - In the Wake of Poseidon (1970)

Dan:

The immediate follow-up to King Crimson's In the Court of the Crimson King was In the Wake of Poseidon, released in May 1970. The line up had changed. Peter Giles was added to relieve Greg Lake of bass responsibilities, and Keith Tippett joined as pianist. Lake retained his role as chief vocalist. Saxophonist Mel Collins joined the band as well, adding a new acoustic dimension. Guitarist Robert Fripp added Mellotron and "devices" to his arsenal while overseeing every detail of the recording and production. 

The program is punctuated by three brief "Peace" sections: "Peace - A Beginning," "Peace - A Theme," and "Peace - An End." Following the first of these is the energetic "Pictures of a City." It's an unflattering picture to say the least. The cryptic vocals precede Fripp's guitar in the first half of the song, after which matters cool down as the percussion takes over but inevitably rebuilds to a climax before the last vocal stanza, and the song crashes to a chaotic conclusion. 

In true King Crimson fashion, the chaos is followed by the beautifully lyrical "Cadence and Cascade," which segues into the epic title track. With Mellotron blaring a simple minor figure, Greg Lake offers up a spellbinding story that transports us into a Medieval fantasy world - one which is "balanced on the scales." I regard this as "cinematic" rock of a high order. It's ridiculous if you approach it literally, but profound when you let your mind conjure the images that the words and music inspire. 

After the second "Peace" interlude, "Cat Food" is served. Tippett's piano sparkles under the quizzical, almost nonsensible, words. "The Devil's Triangle" follows - a 3-part suite that begins quietly but ominously builds in intensity, culminating in a cacophonous conclusion. We're rescued from devil's triangle by the closing "Peace - An End."

Steve:

Poseidon was Fripp's attempt to hold King Crimson together following the dissolution of the original lineup, less than a year after its first album (In the Court of the Crimson King) came out. As such, it suffers the fate of being compared unfavorably to that massively original first effort. Even the flow of the album seems at first to mirror that of the debut: a loud, chaotic opener ("Pictures of a City" vs "Schizoid Man") followed by a languid ballad ("Cadence and Cascade" vs "I Talk to the Wind"), concluding with a bombastically symphonic epic of doom ("In the Wake of Poseidon" vs "Epitaph"). However, on some days I actually prefer these "copies" to the originals. "In the Wake of Poseidon" in particular has a more introspective slant than its more heroic big brother, giving it a subtler sense of despair that has aged better for me.  

Once you get past the temptation to compare Poseidon with Court, however, it's clear that King Crimson is already moving in new directions. "Cat Food" is completely out of the blue -- Keith Tippett (recently of Centipede) plays a scattered piano part that sounds like a cat running across the keys. "The Devil's Triangle" had its origins in the band's early live repertoire, as a variation on Gustav Holst's "Mars", from his suite "The Planets".  

1970-1972 saw King Crimson as a band still searching for a stable lineup and musical approach. While that stable lineup arrived in late 1972 with John Wetton and Bill Bruford anchoring the instrumental attack, the band never settled into a stable musical approach. Fripp's presence proved to be the only common element the band ever had. But this was by design, as the band name became synonymous with restless creativity and a sustained push into new combinations of players, styles and ideas.