KING CRIMSON: BEAT (1982)
1) Neal And Jack And Me; 2) Heartbeat; 3) Sartori In
Tangier; 4) Waiting Man; 5) Neurotica; 6) Two Hands; 7) The Howler; 8)
Requiem.
General verdict: Not a lot of progress here, but the band
manages to stay sufficiently in touch with their own past and the musical
future to keep things interesting.
The worst that could be said about the early
Eighties lineup of King Crimson is that, unlike any previous lineup of King Crimson, this particular quartet never
managed to progress far beyond the formula once it had been established. While
both Beat and Three Of A Perfect Pair undoubtedly have their share of great
songwriting moments, most of the time they seem to be taking stately strolls
across territory that has already been meticulously staked out and explored. Perhaps
such was the price for maintaining, even for a short while, the unity of four
immensely talented people, each of whom had his own well-carved stylistic
preferences: in such a configuration, disrupt the «disciplined» balance even a
little, and everything might fall apart (which it eventually did anyway, but at
least the Belew-Levin-Bruford lineup made it without leaving a single genuine
artistic dud in their footsteps).
Nowhere is this continuity and stability more
evident than in the opening angular guitar lines of ʽNeal And Jack And Meʼ
which seem to be picking up from exactly
the same spot where ʽDisciplineʼ had left us (I had a bootleg CD edition once
that packed both albums on the same disc, and I almost failed, upon first
listen, to notice that the first LP had ended and the second one had begun). If
a better musical equivalent of the «if you like this, you will definitely like this...» tagline exists, I have yet to
locate it. But without the element of surprise, it is obvious that Beat could only compensate by being
able to further refine and polish and expand all the details previously invented
on Discipline — and I am not sure of
its ability to do that.
The title of the album was allegedly inspired
by Jack Kerouac, or, more accurately, the upcoming 25th anniversary of the
publication of On The Road — hence a
lot of subtle and unsubtle references to the Beat movement in the song titles
that you can easily look up on Wikipedia if you are not an expert on the
movement yourself. However, it would be hard to imagine a Fripp-led band to
simply produce a musical tribute to anybody, much less a bunch of beatniks, and
so the word here refers to multiple things at once — the musical beat, of
course, which these guys were now taking to new heights, and even the
ʽHeartbeatʼ, which happened to be the title for the album's only single, one of
the poppiest things this lineup ever did, and even accompanied with a musical
video to boot (most of which consisted of mugshots of Adrian looking at sexy
ladies: believe it or not, even in King Crimson people sometimes continue to
have sex drives).
From a certain point of view, this makes Beat a conceptual album, but it is hard
to concentrate on the meanings and artistic implications behind the concept
when the actual music walks this odd thin line between innovation and
stagnation. The only composition on the album that does not have a direct
stylistic predecessor on Discipline
is the closing number, ʽRequiemʼ — but that is because its direct stylistic predecessors hearken back to an even more
distant past: Fripp's and Belew's solos here, largely improvised and set to an
old Frippertronics loop, are reminiscent of Robert's improvising style that he
had worked out with the 1973-74 lineup, while the rhythm section, instead of
finding itself locked into a tight groove as it usually does, seems on the
verge of falling apart throughout the track. It is essentially King Crimson's
equivalent of the Stooges' chaotic ʽL.A. Bluesʼ from Funhouse, except that this time the chaos is being brewed by seasoned
professionals who typically pride themselves on order and discipline. It is
perhaps not so surprising that it was the argument over this particular track that nearly brought the band to a premature
end in mid-1982.
That said, there is almost nothing on Beat whose «second-hand» or even
«third-hand» nature would make the composition in question unendurable or
unenjoyable. Perhaps the band does occasionally stutter on the poppier
elements: ʽTwo Handsʼ is one of their lesser ballads, a mood piece similar in
style to ʽMatte Kudasaiʼ, but less precisely shaped up and without any mind-blowing
tricks such as Belew's heavenly guitar tone (he does play a fairly cool
«Morse-code» style guitar solo). But ʽHeartbeatʼ, on the other hand, is an
insanely catchy pop classic; it is often written off by fans as a cheesy
attempt to infiltrate the commercial market, but whoever really wants to get
into this era of King Crimson should always remember that Adrian Belew is one
of those rare guys who have equal respect for all things avantgarde and all
things pop (just look at his solo career), and be ready to embrace both of
these sides on the same album. Besides, in a way ʽHeartbeatʼ is only
reintroducing the same intertwining notions of starry-eyed romanticism and
melancholic desperation that were a part of King Crimson's art from the very
beginning: with a bit of an effort, I could even imagine Greg Lake singing
"I remember the feeling of the rhythm we made, the rhythm we made..."
with the same visual images in mind that he may have experienced while
recording ʽI Talk To The Windʼ, no matter how much musical distance actually
lies between these songs. A bit of sorrowful tenderness never hurt a KC record.
Of those tracks that, like, actually mean
business, my personal favorite is ʽSartori In Tangierʼ, for two special
reasons: (a) Tony's Chapman stick part is fabulous — doom-like bass minimalism
at its finest; (b) Belew has some major fun introducing Afro-Arab motives into
the Crimson sound and dragging them through his array of filter effects. Both of
these things deepen and perpetuate the KC mystery just a teeny bit beyond its
usual limits, and I guess we could use more of that, but then I can also
understand Fripp's possible reluctance to be pigeonholed into the «world music»
trend (but what is a
"Sartori", anyway? I realize that it refers to Satori In Paris, but is this just a typo or an intentional
contamination with Sartre?). In
comparison, odd-rockers such as ʽWaiting Manʼ, ʽNeuroticaʼ, and ʽThe Howlerʼ
are more traditional — perhaps a bit more chaotic and a bit more heavy on the
whole when compared to Discipline, but
nothing we could not have expected from Fripp and his well-worn bag of tricks.
Overall, apart from the «commercial»
ʽHeartbeatʼ that would become a regular staple in Adrian's live shows, Beat seems to have become the less
remembered part of the early Eighties' trilogy: it has neither the freshness of
Discipline nor the concentrated
songwriting punch of Three Of A Perfect
Pair where, so it seems, the band would lock into a more focused mode of
intentionally writing something «for the ages». But the record is still worthy
of repeated listens, and with such inclusions as ʽRequiemʼ it actually has a
chance of becoming a personal favorite for all those who thought Discipline was too much of a sonic
departure from the age of Red — and longed
for their old «nightmare fuel» KC to make a glorious comeback. If so, this
particular comeback is not particularly glorious, but it does a respectable job
of occasionally reintegrating those old red nightmares into the herky-jerky New
Wave-like funky sound.
For me, this was my introduction to KC. Found at the bottom of a clearance bin in a department store. It remains my favourite despite my devotion to the rest of the canon. I never really considered that this and "Discipline" are virtually the same album. It's a good point and perhaps illustrates why this lineup had to change. Maybe?
ReplyDeleteDon't know if the question of what satori means was for rhetorical effect, but since we're talking about KC making such an obvious allusion to Kerouac, it's worthwhile to know that satori refers to a (pop) Zen-ish flavor of spiritual revelation.
ReplyDeleteNow unless Zen involves drunkenness and incontinence, I think of Kerouac as the opposite of Zen and incapable of anything like satori, no matter how much peyote and bourbon he was on. But it sure sounds more exotic and glorified than merely "stoned" or "drunk".
Likewise, unless satori involves uninhibited indulgence in autistic-spectrum creative impulses, I think KC was just as confused about the allusions they made as Kerouac was. There is nothing truly "Beat" about Beat.
Apart from the satori business, Satori in Tangiers does nothing but grate on me, even on Absent Lovers -- an album that improves upon just about every KC song it tackles. I look forward to THAT review.
I know what satori means. The title is SaRtori, not Satori. That's what's causing trouble.
DeleteAnd, for what it's worth, some of the most famous Zen schools involve plenty of drunkenness and incontinence. Somebody like Ikkyū could be a great role model for Kerouac.
"Sartori" could also be a reference to the word "sartorial" - the Beats had a very distinct fashion sense.
ReplyDeleteEnlightened fashion in Tangier -- that image makes sense for Crimson and the Beats. Hell, that could have easily been a line in a set of Sinfield's lyrics.
DeleteHello there. I'm a fan since the Only Solitaire days. Greate reviews as usual. For me, Beat seems like a tentative progress from Discipline, not a totally successful one and without the same cohesiveness from that album. Anyway, can you please change that (orange) color in veredict... it's almost impossible to read. Kudos from Brazil!
ReplyDelete