168. King Crimson - In the Court of the Crimson King (October 1969)

 

1. 21st Century Schizoid Man*

2. I Talk to the Wind*

3. Epitaph (Including "March of No Reason" and "Tomorrow and Tomorrow")

4. Moonchild (Including "The Dream" and "The Illusion")

5. In the Court of the Crimson King (Including "The Return of the Fire Witch" and "Dance of the Puppets")*

****

Blistering arrangements that switch time signatures like most songs switch chords? Check. Elaborate, classically influenced keyboards soaring all over the place? Check. Incomprehensible, fantasy-tinged lyrics intoned with the solemnity of a eulogy? Check and check. Well it looks like prog rock has arrived.

In fact this is often regarded as the first true prog album. In a lot of ways it shows both the best and worst that genre would have to offer. On the one hand you have some truly incredible music here. This album sounds like nothing before it, although it sounds like a hell of a lot that came after. But on the other hand the lyrics are largely inscrutable hippy nonsense, most of the songs are too long, and Robert Fripp's considerable talents are buried beneath oceans of mellotron and saxophone. But those mellotrons and saxophones are, frankly, the shit.

I really don't know what to make of this. It kind of sits beyond critical assessment. It's just so idiosyncratic, so simultaneously beautiful and frustrating. I think, really, that I love the first and last tracks. "21st Century Schizoid Man" rewrote the rules for heavy rock. It starts with stabbing chords and metallic vocals, then launches into a dizzying extended freak-out of scale runs that will have you wondering how in the hell a band could ever be that tight (seriously - are they wizards?), and then slams back into what sounds like Robert Fripp trying to tear his guitar in two in time to the beat. It's dazzling and it rocks. 

At the other end you have the title track. The swelling vocal harmonies and soaring keyboards are truly beautiful, creating a sound best described as epic. And the lyrics make no damned sense, but they're awesome. I mean, is there some deeper meaning to whatever the hell a fire witch is? What am I supposed to make of "the rusted chains of prison moons"? I gather that the Crimson King is an unsavoury character, and possibly the whole song is about how everyone is enthralled to a mindless and destructive authority. But I won't pretend I don't mostly just like this song because it's so damned trippy. And as a sensory experience it's almost overwhelming. 

I won't pretend to be a King Crimson expert, but I do like some of their stuff and I'm quite fond of Discipline. ITCOTCK is one of those albums that are arguably more important for how they changed and shaped the musical landscape than because of intrinsic musical worth. Don't get me wrong - this is a really good album and you should listen to it; but its real importance lies in the way King Crimson basically threw the rules of rock music out the window and created an entire genre from scratch. That they created something so pretty and engaging in the process is just icing on the cake. 

167. The Kinks - Arthur (Or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire) (October 1969)

 

1. Victoria*

2. Yes Sir, No Sir

3. Some Mother's Son

4. Drivin'

5. Brainwashed

6. Australia*

7. Shangri-La*

8. Mr. Churchill Says

9. She's Bought a Hat Like Princess Marina

10. Young and Innocent Days

11. Nothing to Say

12. Arthur

****1/2

It's always astounding that the Kinks managed to fit such great lyrics to such great music. It almost doesn't seem fair to the other bands. Here, Ray Davies goes full concept, with a suite of songs following the sad, small life of an unremarkable British everyman across the first half of the Twentieth Century. Things open with the glorious "Victoria", a rollicking and insanely catchy piss take of Empire and dreaming of growing up to fight and die for your country. The next two songs are dark examinations of what that actually means, ending with a clueless recruit being shot dead in a field. The rest of the album continues that tightrope walk between seething contempt expressed through wryness and irony on the one hand, while on the other showing a genuine compassion for the poor stiffs who are being relentlessly exploited by the establishment as they drag themselves through their cold, empty lives. They go driving in the country. They buy fashionable hats instead of food. The lucky ones emigrate to Australia (which is not, nor has it ever been, the halcyon wonderland the song hilariously depicts). And of course there's "Shangri-La", a colossus of a song that perfectly captures the hollow promise of the *insert country here* Dream - working your fingers to the bone so you can live in a cookie cutter house with a mortgage over your head, slowly realising that you'd better enjoy it because you're trapped there till the day you die. But at the end of it all is "Arthur", a gentle, only slightly mocking reminder that someone out there loves you - that they understand your plight, and while they may think you're silly to go along with things, and possibly a bit thick, they do realise how things turned out this way and they care. 

So as a concept album, Arthur... is a great success lyrically. Thankfully those lyrics are backed by some of the Kinks' best music. I already mentioned "Victoria", which takes bouncy, psych-tinged garage rock and twists it into hook-laden pop. But most of the songs are less immediate, and more complex in their structure. "Shangri-La" in particular is a little pocket symphony, ranging from delicate acoustic balladry to manic pop-rock sha-la-las over dirty guitars. And the music all serves the lyrics, so the whole thing hangs together beautifully. 

I don't know what to say, really. On a musical level this is an immediate, catchy album. Lyrically, it's incredibly complex and insightful, managing to juggle mocking irony with genuine pathos and always punching up at the establishment that creates all these countless little tragedies which beset our lives. When the Who wrote a rock opera, they crapped out some nonsense about a pinball player and acted like they'd discovered the meaning of life. The Kinks laser in on a perfectly unremarkable person, of which there are untold millions all over the world, and find genuine meaning amid the misfortunes of his unexceptional life. This album is so smart, so funny, and damned near perfect.