GILES, GILES & FRIPP: THE CHEERFUL
INSANITY OF GILES, GILES & FRIPP (1968)
1) North Meadow; 2)
Newly-Weds; 3) One In A Million; 4) Call
Tomorrow; 5) Digging My Lawn; 6) Little Children; 7) The Crukster; 8) Thursday Morning; 9) How Do They Know; 10) Elephant Song; 11) The Sun Is Shining; 12) Suite No.
1; 13) Erudite Eyes; 14*) She Is Loaded; 15*) Under The Sky.
General verdict: An eccentric,
charming, and overall kooky anti-prequel to King Crimson.
Enlightening fact: if you only listen to the
three compositions on this album that are credited to Robert Fripp, this does
not sound that unlike In The Court Of The Crimson King.
Granted, ʽLittle Childrenʼ is a fluffy jazz-pop number (though slightly
weighted down by the Mellotron in the background) that fits in very well with
the Giles' brothers materials. But on the second side of the record, ʽSuite No.
1ʼ is a multi-part mix of jazz (including Robert doing some credible Wes
Montgomery impersonations), baroque, and psychedelic influences, some of whose
ideas would later crop up in ʽMoonchildʼ; and ʽErudite Eyesʼ is a sentimental
waltzing ballad that, nevertheless, hosts a whole array of different guitar
tones and styles, showing how this newcoming guy can easily outplay the likes
of The Jefferson Airplane and The Grateful Dead, at least, even if his lack of
flashiness still does not allow us to decide if he's as good as Jimi.
That said, links may be links, but the overall
tone of The Cheerful Insanity
certainly has little to do with either the ambitious bombast of early King
Crimson or the geometric perplexity of later King Crimson. Rather, this music
belongs to the same boiling pot that gave us the Bonzo Dog Band and, in a
different medium, Monty Python — with slightly less emphasis on comedy and
slightly more reverence rather than
irreverence towards the good old British stereotypes: something that would
actually go on to be firmly upheld by Ropert Fripp in his personality, if not
necessarily in his music. How in the world did Fripp manage to get mixed up
with the Giles brothers remains a bit of a mystery, particularly given the
circumstance that the advertisement they placed called for a «singing
organist», whereas Robert was a taciturn guitarist; but I guess that blindly
trusting fate was somewhat of a common place back in 1968.
It did not hurt, either, that brother Michael,
at least, was a genuinely talented fellow: a well-trained drummer with a knack
for effortlessly knocking out tricky jazz patterns, and a gifted songwriter at the same time — he has more songs on
this album than Peter, and most of the best ones are his. Peter Giles is no
slouch, either — listen to his expressive and agile zoops on ʽNewly-Wedsʼ, for
instance — yet it is perhaps not surprising that he was the first to back out
of the business when it became clear that the group was not geared for success.
In any case, the common causes that brought them all together are clear — a
love for jazz, a desire to integrate jazz elements with pop and rock styles,
and a penchant for eccentricity. The latter being, above everything else, well
reflected on the cover of the album, although, frankly, a cover like that
probably cost them most of the sales back in 1968.
On the surface, the first side of the album is
far more eccentric than the second one. Dubbed «The Saga Of Rodney Toady», it
is a string of short, light, coquettish musical vignettes separated by bits of
a spoken word piece — the only time that Robert Fripp himself ever stooped to
putting spoken word pieces on an album of his. The spoken word piece may have
been slightly autobiographical, even though I have no evidence of Robert Fripp
being called «fat and ugly» back in his teenage days — but somehow I do not
doubt that the man shared Rodney Toady's interest in «rude books with rude
pictures», although, happily enough, the prophecy of the protagonist being
destined to hook up with a fat and ugly girl did not come to pass (unless you
think Toyah Willcox is fat and ugly, the first of which would be objectively
untrue and the second of which would probably depend on her choice of her next
scenic image). In any case, the importance of the spoken word piece is
singular: it tells you the story of an outcast, implying that this whole
experience may be for outcasts — or for downright whackos.
Which it is only partially, because if you take
something like ʽOne In A Millionʼ, you end up with a perfectly normal, pretty,
catchy Brit-pop song that would seem to come right out of Ray Davies'
pocketbook, if it weren't that deeply rooted in the jazz paradigm. The lyrics
make perfect sense, the atmosphere of simplistic, sympathetic melancholy rings
genuine, and the swirling flutes add this complacent pastoral flavor that will
be enjoyable to anyone with an ear for melody. The other single, ʽThursday
Morningʼ, is an even more sentimental little ballad, cleverly mixing rhythm
guitar jazz chords with a baroque classical string arrangement; taken outside
the context of the album, it is perfectly normal and certainly does not require
having an odd sense of humor — then again, it might have sounded a bit too
fluffy and hookless for the single-buying public.
In fact, the only openly weird piece on the
first side, barring the spoken word interludes, is ʽThe Cruksterʼ, a minute and
a half of rambling poetry set to folk / jazz / free-form guitar improvisation
— a rather forgettable track, but one that offers us our very first, very
sketchy glimpse into the endless world of Fripprovising. More glimpses will be
offered on the second side, particularly in the mid-section of ʽSuite No. 1ʼ,
but all of them will remain glimpses: Giles, Giles & Fripp were all about
pop songwriting, not about using skeletal ideas as launchpads for unpredictable
musical adventures.
For some reason, the most memorable musical
moment for me is the brass riff of ʽElephant Songʼ — in fact, that brass riff
is the only memorable musical moment
in ʽElephant Songʼ, which otherwise consists of pseudo-Dylanesque absurd
verses recited, rather than sung, against a rootsy background of guitars and
harmonicas. This is arguably the most Bonzoish of all the songs here (Viv
Stanshall should be proud), and one number for which it would really be a chore to locate any
parallels in the King Crimson catalog. But it is fun, and the riff somehow
manages to put together notes of martial triumph and thrilling suspense — in
such a blatantly comical manner as would never again soil the gentlemanly
purity of patented Fripp product. (Although, as the future would show, the man
would still retain a subtle passion for elephants).
It does seem a bit unjust that The Cheerful Insanity has always
existed largely as a curio piece, technically immortal because of the role it
plays in King Crimson history but never seriously appreciated by the world at
large. There is a certain streak of innocence and crystal clear humor in it
that not a lot of albums from the same epoch can be said to share; and in some
ways, it is one of the most inventive and
accessible syntheses of light jazz, baroque pop, and avantgarde from said
epoch. But it is also true that we do tend to judge art pieces by their
«emotional fields», and as The Cheerful
Insanity makes absolutely no pretense at «seriousness» — there is no way
anybody could be driven to tears by ʽThursday Morningʼ, or enflamed with ardent
passion at the nimble jazz picking of ʽSuite No. 1ʼ — its status as a
historical curio seems to have been cemented once and for all.
Nevertheless, it is still a must-have if you
are a fan of King Crimson (since it opens up a whole new dimension in one's
understanding of the intricate ways of Robert Fripp), if you are a fan of
jazz-rooted pop music, if you are fond of Monty Pythonesque absurdism in music,
if you like dressing up in bowler hats and bowties, and if you like coming up
with long lists of «ifs» because they look good at the end of your cheaply
manipulative essay.
As it turns out, the album in question did not
put a final stop to the career of Giles, Giles & Fripp. Subsequent sessions
were held, of which two unreleased outtakes have subsequently been added to the
CD re-issue of the record, both of them superb: ʽShe Is Loadedʼ is a fun,
catchy pop-rocker that somehow manages to veer between Beatles and Beach Boys
moods, while ʽUnder The Skyʼ is a transitional art-pop song that already
presages the folksy vibe of ʽI Talk To The Windʼ. The detour into folk
territory almost morphed into something serious when, in addition to new member
Ian McDonald on saxes and flutes, the trio recruited the services of
ex-Fairport Convention vocalist Judy Dyble — for a very brief while (the final
months of 1968), it might have seemed as if this new combo could work well
enough to take the band out of the age of bowler hats into the age of
codpieces. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it did not work out, but since the
results of that brief experiment are now publicly available as The Brondesbury Tapes, this subject
deserves a special discussion. The reality is that with the arrival of McDonald
and Dyble, the «cheerful insanity» essentially came to an end anyway, so this
is where we end our review.
I have to thank you for introducing to both this album and The Brondesbury Tapes back in the day (really, most classic rock that I know and listen to, I wouldn't have known about if it weren't for a 13-year-old me discovering your reviews, subsequently having his life changed and finding more purpose in this fragile world, but I digress).
ReplyDeleteThere are so many gems here! "North Meadow" alternates between really gorgeous harmonized verses and labyrinthine Fripp soloing, "Digging My Lawn" is a jazz-pop masterpiece, and even though the bridge sections in "How Do They Know" let the song down a little bit, it is more than made up for by the verse melody. You're absolutely right in your assessment; there are very few albums that combine British humbleness and eccentricity with jazzy pop song structures (in this way), and a kind of ambition that it's hard not to describe in ways referring to what would happen with this band in less than two years' time.
I have to echo Rasmus' appreciation for your words, George. I also discovered your site ages ago (in the early 00s at least) and it helped me discover so many classic and lesser-known masterpieces. And this is one of them. Though I feel The Brondesbury Tapes are a stronger overall listen (I'm hoping for another review soon?), Cheerful Insanity is a marvellous listen throughout. Essential and unique.
ReplyDeleteHave you abandoned your alphabetical system of reviews and just gone back to reviewing who you feel like reviewing?
ReplyDelete