King Crimson: Absent Lovers

KING CRIMSON: ABSENT LOVERS (1998 /rec. 1984/)

1) Entry Of The Crims; 2) Larksʼ Tongues In Aspic, Part III; 3) Thela Hun Ginjeet; 4) Red; 5) Matte Kudasai; 6) Industry; 7) Dig Me; 8) Three Of A Perfect Pair; 9) Indis­cipline; 10) Sartori In Tangier; 11) Frame By Frame; 12) Man With An Open Heart; 13) Waiting Man; 14) Sleepless; 15) Larksʼ Tongues In Aspic, Part II; 16) Discipline; 17) Heartbeat; 18) Elephant Talk.

General verdict: This is the one true reason why King Crimson was destined to survive the Seventies.

So it took Fripp about 14 years to release a fully representative live set for his bandʼs Eightiesʼ lineup — and to this day, Absent Lovers remains the only such document to be widely available for consumers, although the extensive Collectorsʼ Club series does feature about 6–7 additional shows stretching from 1981 to 1983. Even so, it is hard to shake the feeling that Robert himself is somewhat under-appreciative of this period in KC history, preferring to either plunge himself into Seventiesʼ nostalgia or, instead, concentrate on the evolution of the band in the 21st century. Maybe he thinks that those years were a little too pop-oriented to properly convey and symbolize the essence of King Crimson, or maybe he is subconsciously jealous of Adrian Belew stealing way too much spotlight for himself in those years — it is only possible to speculate on this matter, but it is clear that the more time passes by, the fewer happy memories survive.

Which is, of course, a pity, because from a lot of perspectives Absent Lovers is the one most perfect, most well-rounded, most energetic and inspiring King Crimson live album to ever see the light of day. It may not be the most well-representative of the bandʼs enormous and diverse legacy — there is no ʽ21st Century Schizoid Manʼ in the setlist, no ʽEpitaphʼ, no ʽFractureʼ, no ʽStarlessʼ — but there was no better time in KC history when the band would actually sound more live in the fundamental sense of the word. And for that, we do indeed have to thank Adrian Belew, as well as Tony Levin, KCʼs liveliest bass player: in this particular four-man lineup, Belew and, to a slightly lesser extent, Levin are the perfect Dionysian counterpoint to Frippʼs and, to a slightly lesser extent, Brufordʼs Apollonian structurality (though both pairs of players can occasionally switch or merge functions if the context requests it). The Fripp / Belew contrast, in particular, was arguably the most exciting contrast ever — the calm, strong, stable, confident anchorman and the wild, playful, hystrionic, hopping entertainer, although beneath the surface you can easily see a strong will to entertain on the part of the former and a strict, well-organized sense of discipline on the part of the latter.

The performance here was recorded on July 11, 1984, at The Spectrum in Montreal, which was the very last show for the Belew / Levin / Bruford lineup, yet shows nary a hint of tiredness or boredom — if anything, KC only draw rather than dissipate energy for each show they play, so the later, the better. It also gives us a good chance to hear a fully representative retrospective of the entire early Eightiesʼ trilogy, with the best album (Discipline) and the latest album (Three Of A Perfect Pair) in the lead and Beat lagging a bit behind, but thatʼs OK. The bandʼs earlier legacy is restricted here to just two classic instrumentals from the golden days of 1973–74 — ʽRedʼ and ʽLarksʼ Tongues In Aspic, Pt. 2ʼ — but both are performed quite faithfully, implying that the musical styles of prog-era and New Wave-era King Crimson might not be that different from each other after all. That said, it could be argued that it is precisely the live setting which draws them closer together, because the difference in style between the studio counterparts of these Eightiesʼ performances and their live renditions is stunning — just about every live track here blows its studio original away, so much so that ʽThela Hun Ginjeetʼ and ʽSleeplessʼ from this album have long since become the default versions of these songs for me, and I only come back to the originals for re-reviewing purposes and such.

The simplest statement of difference, of course, would be to just say that Absent Lovers rocks harder than any KC studio album from the same period — which might not necessarily please Fripp, since this is the kind of statement that typically applies to hard rock bands like the Who or Led Zeppelin, not progressive math-rock projects like King Crimson. But then again, at the beginning of the concert, right after the opening punch of the first two numbers, isnʼt it Adrian who tells the audience to "have a good time, sit tight, yell, scream, spill your beers, have a pleasant evening"? throw in a handful of "fuckinʼ"s and this might just as well have been a Metallica sort of welcome. Want it or not, this is a rock concert, and if that means, for instance, bringing the microphone all the way up on Tony Levinʼs bass, adding a whole lot more «bottom» to the sound than in the studio, well, count me happy.

Even Fripp is completely happy to get into the spirit of things, soloing like a maniac let loose on the slow part of ʽLarksʼ Tongues In Aspic, Pt. 3ʼ and cracking extra fireworks for ʽIndisciplineʼ which goes on for almost twice as long as the original but never feels like it. Belew occasionally falters in his singing, which is to be expected from a guy who is doing that while prancing on the stage and trying to make his guitar walk the thinnest line between discipline and madness at the same time — we can surely forgive him for that, given that most of the time he stays perfectly on key. But in the instrumental sphere of things I find no flaws whatsoever. Particular emphasis should be placed on the Bruford / Levin rhythm section: despite the occasional criticism that Robert may have had for Billʼs style, I think that Absent Lovers, even more so than the some­times overproduced and doctored studio recordings, shows how smoothly he had transitioned from the symphonic textbook of early Seventiesʼ prog to the funkier polyrythmics of prog-cum-New-Wave in the early Eighties.

Like I already said, my own personal favorites here are ʽThela Hun Ginjeetʼ and ʽSleeplessʼ. The former, stripped here of its distracting sampled overdubs, lets you hear the «dialog» between Belewʼs and Frippʼs guitars in all of its insane glory — the «physical» choppy funk rhythms and chicken scratch of Adrian serving as the basis for the «psychic» cyclic waves of Robert, though superficially it is all Belewʼs show, as he goes from classic funky fun to making his guitar sound like broken glass to dive-bombing and whatever other urban ruckus comes into his mind and back to funk again. ʽSleeplessʼ, in the meantime, is here revealed in all of its nightmarish power, with Levinʼs «throbbing» Chapman stick pounding out the restlessness of your brain, while Belew and Fripp create a solid blanket of demonic terror around it — a genuine beast of a performance, and a fairly unique one, since, unless I am mistaken, they never got around to resurrecting the song live after the 1984 tour.

Importantly, if you thought that Discipline-era records were not altogether free of filler, Absent Lovers also fulfills the role of a nearly immaculate best-of-live package: there is not a single song from that era whose absence I would actually miss on this album. Interestingly enough, they omit most of the ambient-ish, atmospheric tracks such as ʽSheltering Skyʼ and ʽNuagesʼ: the closest you get to relaxing and tripping out is on the opening Frippertronic track ʽEntry Of The Crimsʼ, and even that one eventually descends into Hell before you have proper time to go to sleep. Other than that, you have here everything that truly matters — from the weird tribal dance rituals to the avantgarde crescendo build-ups to Belewʼs pop schtick (I know some Crimheads do not care much for songs like ʽMan With An Open Heartʼ, but I am quite fond of its pop hooks, even though I admit that this kind of material benefits the least from being played live). In other words, if you only have time and money for one King Crimson package from the era, it goes without saying that Absent Lovers — easily one of the best live albums of all time — is the true way to go. The only thing that puzzles me about the situation is why they had to wait 14 years to release it officially, especially after having announced so proudly to the excited Canadian audiences that "to top the occasion, we are recording the evening for posterity". ("Whatever posterity is", says Adrian after a brief pause, and it turns out that he did have a point).