Or, "How King Crimson saw the future they would create"

Few bands can claim to have pioneered an entire genre, and fewer have done so and remained relevant for decades after— the constant passage of time has left numerous innovative acts behind, even if their influence continues to persist in the modern music landscape. Whether or not King Crimson invented progressive rock is highly contentious, as bands such as Yes and Jethro Tull were already experimenting with the sounds and song structures that would go on to define one of the most important and revered genres of the 1970s. Much less debatable, however, is the sheer impact that ‘In The Court Of The Crimson King’ has had, hitting number five on the UK charts at the time and continuing to stand as an unshakable, uncontested icon in classic rock to this day. Before Led Zeppelin took the world by storm, before Pink Floyd changed the game forever, even before The Beatles threw in the towel, King Crimson pushed the envelope in terms of production, performance and composition— in so many ways, the band foresaw the very future they would help to usher in.

The artwork for ‘In The Court Of The Crimson King’ is often cited as one of the greatest album covers of all time, featuring a grotesquely distorted face screaming in horror: the artist, Barry Godber, intended an illusion to Edward Munch’s The Scream, though that painting isn’t so detailed as you let you see the character’s uvula! The cover certainly sets you up for a challenging, unorthodox listen, and the band won’t fail to deliver on ‘21st Century Schizoid Man.’ The track opens on an edited piece of pipe organ recorded by Ian McDonald, though you could be forgiven for mistaking it for the sound of an oncoming train— it’s a suitably ominous and abstract note to begin on, given the journey King Crimson will soon embark on. The band showcase their mastery of sound design immediately here as the recording is panned and put through reverb in a shockingly modern fashion, only adding to the feeling of suspense and tension that the album’s cover inspires, but it’s the song’s main riff that really sets things into motion. 

‘21st Century Schizoid Man’ continues to stand as one of the most iconic and important songs in progressive rock, and its central hook is, in no small part, behind that. Anyone who’s learned Robert Fripp’s guitar part knows that, musically, the riff is hardly mind-blowing, centring itself around a fairly standard pentatonic lick. It’s really the instrumentation that brings the song to life, leading to Pete Townshend on The Who describing this as “everything multitracked a billion times” in an editorial in 1969. McDonald piles on a cacophony of saxophones to take the sound from simply ‘big’ to ‘humongous,’ giving the chromatic chord changes a heft that even heavy metal wouldn’t match for years after this album’s release, and Lake’s crackling bass rumbles away throughout, filling out the soundstage. Most impressive is surely Giles’ drumming though, which takes the unconventional approach of accenting the riff with off-kilter snare rolls that give the song a sense of constant, uncontrollable forward momentum— and that’s just the first minute!

Many readers may recognise the song’s verse, as Kanye West famously sampled it for his single ‘POWER’ in 2010. Lake’s vocals are intentionally compressed here, pairing with Fripp’s throaty guitar tone to give each beat a forceful impact. It’s a powerful and unbelievably forward-thinking choice that only adds further weight to the track’s lyrics— throughout the song, lyricist Sinfield describes a future where everyone has become detached and apathetic as a means to criticise the Vietnam War, which was ongoing at the time. The group really aren’t holding back, leading to such visceral lines as,

“Blood rack, barbed wire. Politicians' funeral pyre. Innocents raped with napalm fire. 21st century schizoid man.”

In the modern day, once can’t help but wonder how accurate of a portrayal of the 21st century this is, given the worldwide conflicts that persist. Even if the band’s predictions hadn’t come to pass though, the song would still carry a potent and aggressive anti-war message, told in a particularly creative and futuristic manner.

In true prog rock fashion, King Crimson aren’t content to stick to a regular verse-chorus-verse-chorus structure, instead extending the track past the seven-minute mark thanks to a lengthy instrumental bridge entitled ‘Mirrors.’ The peppy brass here dance around in a truly alien way, following bizarre chromatic lines while remaining surprisingly funky and infectious, and Fripp’s guitar solo could be described in much the same way: rejecting both the drawn-out melodic phrasing of someone like Gilmour as well as the highly technical runs of the genre’s more modern counterparts, Fripp’s playing is incredibly distinctive as his unorthodox note choices and dissonant bends make this a strange yet admirable display of talent. Yet more impressive is the rhythm section, showcasing Lake and Giles at the height of their chemistry. The pair’s playing is exotic and full of momentum, with the scattershot drum hits leaving Lake all the room he needs to improvise to his heart’s content, resulting in highly atypical but mouth-watering bass lines— the duo even get their chance to shine when they become the centre of attention alongside some screaming saxophones, leaving ‘21st Century Schizoid Man’ as one of the strongest, most confident album openers of the sixties.

The following ‘I Talk To The Wind’ dials the instrumentation and disorder way back, stepping into a much more muted and soothing mood— gone are the bombastic saxophones, instead finding their replacement in soft, wandering flutes and clarinets that give the track a whimsical, nostalgic feeling. The rhythm section is noticeably withheld throughout much of the song, keeping Lake’s bass particularly minimalist while Giles is restricted to the odd fill or moment of chimes— it’s obviously in service of making this a much more inviting, agreeable listen, and ‘I Talk To The Wind’ benefits from a concentrated focus on its melodies and atmospheres. The vocals prove themselves to be very dynamic as the bursts of aggression have flipped to gentle crooning, guiding the track from minimalist verses to gentle choruses in a natural, easy-going manner: all the way to the coda that ends the cut, ‘I Talk To The Wind’ displays a different side to King Crimson, who show themselves to be far more comfortable in this softer setting than you might have assumed.

Lyrically, however, the track is much less serene, dialling back on the scathing criticism of ‘21st Century Schizoid Man’ but keeping the themes of disillusionment front and centre. In our interpretation, Sinfield describes a one-sided relationship with religion on this track as our narrator feels that his prayers aren’t answered and his worship goes unrewarded. The song’s opening lyrics, for instance, have been the subject of much debate:

“Said the straight man to the late man: ‘where have you been?’ I’ve been here, and I’ve been there, and I’ve been in-between.”

The ‘straight man’ may well refer to the average man, living a common life— the ‘late man,’ in turn, may be God, who the narrator feels is notably absent. When asked where God has been, the response that ‘God is always with you’ or some such is unlikely to bring much comfort, as Sinfield’s lyrics explore in the chorus.

“I talk to the wind. My words are all carried away. I talk to the wind. The wind does not hear. The wind cannot hear.”

King Crimson, in just a few lines, have dissected the feelings of purposelessness and existentialism that continue to hound people to this day, capturing an experience without religion with a simple deft metaphor. Even if you don’t buy into this interpretation of the lyrics— you’d be justified, as there are many— the song as a whole is nonetheless a thoughtful and sincere moment, and a welcome addition to the album.

‘In The Court Of The Crimson King’ is often praised more for its instrumentation and performances than for its lyricism, but Sinfield proves himself to be a highly conscious and thoughtful writer as he deconstructs the conflicts and issues of the world around him— on ‘Epitaph,’ he pens his most poetic script yet, expanding on the anti-war themes of ‘21st Century Schizoid Man’ through a more bitter, sorrowful lens. Across the song, Lake sings about how humanity has lost its way, resigning itself to violent outbursts and nuclear oblivion in the face of ignorance and greed. Take the song’s opening lines, penned by Sinfield for a different band before they were given to King Crimson:

“The wall on which the prophets wrote is cracking at the seams. Upon the instruments of death, the sunlight brightly gleams.”

Once again, these words use simple, effective images to immerse you into the band’s disturbed outlook on the world, which views the warmongers and leaders of the 1960s with disdain. No line could make this clearer than, “the fate of all mankind, I see, is in the hands of fools,” though Lake’s lyrics in the chorus are similarly impassioned, benefitting immensely from his vulnerable and tender vocal performance.

Fripp takes centre stage on the arrangement for this track, filling it with a sea of melancholic mellotrons that guide the track on its lengthy journey: the mellotron is often seen as a staple of progressive rock, but the story might have been quite different if King Crimson hadn’t used it so effectively here, capturing the song’s sorrowful, wistful atmosphere beautifully. The song is also supported by distant acoustic guitars as well as the ever-impressive rhythm section, but it’s really the sound design that elevates the song to such lofty heights— Fripp’s minimalist lead parts fit seamlessly into what should be a cluttered multitrack mix, but is instead a confident and natural step forward for production in the late 1960s. Giles’ drums are crisp and clear, putting just enough impact on the snare to command attention without disrupting the mood, and Lake’s vocals are captured beautifully, allowing his captivating melodies to soar above the instrumentation.

Take the song’s chorus, for example, which exemplifies the best of what the band could do in post. While Lake’s voice is kept dead centre, the accented cymbal and guitar hits are supremely washed out, panning far into each ear to completely open up the sound stage— the band are well aware of which elements want focus and which are supporting, letting Fripp’s harmonics ring out blissfully in the background before the mellotrons swell once again, thrusting the listener back into another verse. Even by today’s standards, where the technology we have access to would’ve been completely alien to the musicians of the 1960s, we rarely see such characterful and intentional production, and almost never see it used to enhance such an excellent crop of tracks. King Crimson only had an eight-track tape to record over, yet dialled in a sound that still sounds fresh more than 50 years later.

Despite its off-putting artwork and air of mystique, we’d argue that, up until this point, ‘In The Court Of The Crimson King’ has been a fairly accessible listen: that changes with ‘Moonchild.’ The first 2.5 minutes of the track are dubbed ‘The Dream’ and see King Crimson diving into their most psychedelic and, quite obviously, dream-like arrangement yet. Sinister lead guitar lines creep around the left ear over low, ominous mellotrons, giving the record a disturbing yet fantastical atmosphere as it slinks along. The vocal melodies here have a lullaby-like quality to them as the lyrics tell the vague story of a fantasy creature called ‘the moonchild.’ Referencing Aleister Crowley’s 1917 story of the same name, the song keeps its meaning on the abstract side, pulling far away from the cutting social commentary of what’s coming before— this is really more of a mood piece, and the band sink into it admirably. Most impressive of all has to be Giles’ percussion as, despite the constraints placed on him in such a minimalist, lethargic track, he still manages to elevate the song with his unique and odd bell hits.

The remainder of the track is given over to ‘The Illusion,’ which Giles has described as ‘an opportunity’ for free-form improvisation. Speaking on the song, he said, “we started off with this little ditty and then we just took off into outer space, into nothingness, to see what happened. If it had been rubbish we wouldn't have left it on there.” In reality, the band have admitted that, at least in part, the improvisation was a useful way to fill out some of the album’s runtime, and ‘The Illusion’ is often treated that way, rarely getting much of a glance from the modern listener. When you do dive in, however, it’s a mixed bag. The band transition into the improvisation well, allowing Fripp to play with some mystical melodies on the guitar while McDonald lays down the atmosphere on the mellotrons— despite the avant-garde nature of the recording, it’s nonetheless well-captured, sinking the listener into the abstract soundscape. The percussion is also impressive at times, with even reviewers at the time praising Giles for the technical wizardly of some of his playing. 

The fact remains, however, that ‘The Illusion’ is far too long, dragging itself out for more than ten minutes where three would have sufficed— as the track progresses, the band clearly begin to run out of ideas, resulting in some awkward passages of random guitar noodling and sparse instrumentation. While we have to applaud the band for their unconventional approach here, and can enjoy a large amount of what they’ve brought to the table, the album’s pacing suffers for its inclusion, and ‘Moonchild’ is almost unanimously agreed to be the album’s low-point as a result.

‘In The Court Of The Crimson King’ ends on its most grand and triumphant note, indulging in every aspect that’s made it so special throughout its 10-minute finale of a title track. Right from the off, the band hit you with the gigantic explosions of sound you’ve come to expect as a drum fill gives way to seas of mellotrons and harmonised vocals, once again benefitting from the group’s superb sound design and production— in many ways, the title track feels like a victory lap with its wistful chord progression and numerous interludes. The song’s key refrain is undeniably infectious as layers and layers of vocals overlap to deliver the word ‘king,’ and the band riff on this central theme for the majority of the track, allowing themselves the freedom to explore sweet woodwind solos and other strange excursions without restraint: if King Crimson had steered clear of these odd ideas, the record would undoubtedly be weaker for it.

First, however, the band indulge in one more ominous acoustic part as the song creeps its way through unsettling verses: Fripp’s guitar part is sparse and strangely unsupported, giving the verses a tense edge that matches Lake’s forlorn vocal delivery. Sinfield’s lyrics here are perhaps his most abstract, basing themselves in fantasy as he describes a host of characters who all bow to the ‘Crimson King.’ Each character, supposedly, has a meaning— the fire-witch, for example, is said to represent an arms dealer— though many of the metaphors have been lost to time. What remains, however, is another exploration of class, inequality and exploitation, mirroring the futuristic theming of ‘21st Century Schizoid Man’ and the current-day critiques of ‘Epitaph’ with the historical images of ‘The Court Of The Crimson King.’ Even despite their vagueness, many of the lyrics throughout the track speak to these themes, such as the line,

“The yellow jester does not play, but gentle pulls the strings and smiles as the puppets dance.”

Even here at the end, Sinfield finds yet more clever imagery to explore disillusionment and injustice in the world, making this a shockingly cohesive experience front-to-back. The album even ends, as it began, on another oddly distorted pipe organ recording, putting a lovely bow on the entire package.

King Crimson may not have invented progressive rock, but they certainly defined it on their debut album. After supporting The Rolling Stones, the band were always set for success, but even more than 50 years later, ‘In The Court Of The Crimson King’ is as recognisable and revered now as it ever was, with that screaming face looming over every record shop in the world. Over only five tracks, the group cut to the root of their society, and do so via a sound portrait and writing style that would go on to influence near every rock band of the 1970s. It’s not a perfect album— far from it, in fact, as several passages are so needlessly overextended that it calls into question whether or not King Crimson really had enough material to fill out a vinyl release. It is, however, an impressive outing, releasing at a pivotal moment where music needed a new guiding voice. If you told us that Robert Fripp and company could see the future, we wouldn’t be all too surprised.