King Crimson: THRaKaTTaK

KING CRIMSON: THRAKATTAK (1996)

1) THRAK; 2) Fearless And Highly THRaKKed; 3) Mother Hold The Candle Steady While I Shave The Chickenʼs Lip; 4) THRaKaTTaK Part 1; 5) The Slaughter Of The Innocents; 6) This Night Wounds Time; 7) THRaKaTTaK Part 2; 8) THRAK (reprise).

General verdict: A self-inflicted insult to the awesome legacy of King Crimsonʼs live shows, and a great example of how to abuse the hell out of the art of improvisation.

Say hello to BʼBoomʼs little friend from Hell. My guess is that after the release of his «official bootleg» Fripp became positively disgusted at how blatantly commercial that record looked, stripped almost completely clean of the Double Trioʼs inspirational improvisation — and so, in order to avoid eternal damnation at the final judgement of the Crimson King, decided to atone for that sin by releasing an extra live album that would consist of nothing but improvisation. Even more rigidly, of nothing but several improvised pieces that the band played in the middle of ʽTHRAKʼ — which is why THRaKaTTaK bears this extended emphatic title, and why the record begins and ends with it, sandwiching not one, but six different improvised pieces in between. Actually, no, make that about twenty improvised pieces, since most of the longer tracks are in reality spliced together from different bits, recorded on different nights during the bandʼs shows all over Japan and the USA.

I have never valued this idea and I do believe it takes a very special type of King Crimson fan to support and enjoy it. Improvisation at King Crimson shows, like any improvisation, can be hit or miss — the professionalism and discipline are always there, but genuine inspiration can never be guaranteed; and, naturally, if you are splicing together improvisations from twenty different shows, you are pretty much bound to lose yourself in excess. Indeed, THRaKaTTaK is a messy, dense sonic jungle with absolutely no plan of the area in sight. There are tons of dynamic moments (hardly surprising, given all the splicing going on), yet the actual tracks are barely distinguishable from one another. Typically, Robert creates some Mellotron-ish ambient canvas of sound, against which Belew explores every possible way to create «ugly» dissonance, or, when he gets bored, makes his guitar sound like a piano and plays atonal runs. The psychological effect is almost always the same — whatever that effect might be.

I remember getting seriously mad at the record in my original review and giving it a zero rating as my only, helpless and ridiculous, way to get some payback — «take that, record!» Decades later, I am no longer able to get that pissed off about an album on which six insanely professional and talented musicians have put together a few moments of having spontaneous fun. However, I am still unable to appreciate it in any way: it did not work as a musical statement in 1996, and it has not begun working today. Was it really a hooliganish gesture — Frippʼs personal Metal Machine Music, to baffle and befuddle even some of the most loyal fans? Or was it thoroughly narcissistic, an arrogant statement of «every note played by King Crimson is sacred»? Or was it just a side effect of exuberance at having their own record label, so they could put out anything and not give a damn? Nobody will ever know for sure, even if Fripp himself goes ahead and spills the beans, because the man is to be revered, but not to be trusted.