Posts Tagged ‘Robert Fripp’

CD Review: King Crimson, “Red”

crimsonredOut of the rarefied list of truly classic progressive rock bands, King Crimson stands as the thorniest of the lot. You can ask someone on the street to name a Genesis song and they should be able to oblige. A Yes song, maybe. King Crimson? Not hardly. And yet of those three names, it is Crimson that has had the heaviest impact on modern music, specifically metal. You can hear the threads of building, breaking down and then rebuilding a song in groups like Tool and Porcupine Tree. The sinister heaviness underneath Robert Fripp’s guitar constructions was a major component for the downtuned nu-metal of the late ’90s and early 2000s, even if Black Sabbath and Tony Iommi got most of the lip service. Even so, they never had a top 10 hit, which given Fripp’s somewhat contrarian nature, probably pleases him to no end.

Forty years after the debut of In the Court of the Crimson King, Fripp has embarked on an ambitious project to not only remaster the band’s catalog, but with the help of Porcupine Tree’s Steven Wilson, create brand new surround sound mixes. Alongside the debut, the first wave also features the fan-polarizing Lizard and Red, the moment everything changed. Although the band had always dabbled in minor chords, free-jazz outbursts and improvisations, they always were tied to that rather flowery, poetic sense of prog rock that ticked off the regular rock fans mercilessly. Bowing in 1974, Red was a mean mother of a recording, the opening title track instrumental throbbing and stomping with the urgency of a runaway Caterpillar backhoe crashing through a glass cathedral. Joining in this power trio version of the band, John Wetton’s fuzzy, heavy bass does as much in trading lead lines as it does holding down the bottom end. Bill Bruford’s jazz-inflected sense of rhythm dives and weaves, but never gets in the way when it’s simply time to beat the hell out of the skins. (more…)

The Popdose Guide to David Bowie, Part One

He’s been dismissed as insincere, overrated, pretentious, and unoriginal. He’s also been praised as a visionary, a genius, and one of the single most important musicians in the history of rock music. He’s made an entire career out of defying expectations, changing his style and image on what is sometimes an album-by-album basis. In his “classic period” alone he went from being a brainy, introspective singer-songwriter to a flashy glam-rock idol to a cocaine-fueled funk enthusiast to an aggressively left-field purveyor of experimental rock. All this in little over a decade, each phase spawning virtual legions of imitators. He almost single-handedly revived the careers of Iggy Pop, Mott the Hoople, and arguably one of his own biggest influences, Lou Reed. He was one of the first rock artists to openly flirt with bisexuality and play with gender roles, giving a lot of insecure and sexually confused teens in the macho ’70s a rock idol they could call their own. His back catalog is dense and divisive, and to pick one album that sums him up is nigh impossible.

The point is, he’s David Bowie, and depending on which variation of David Bowie you encounter, there’s no guarantee that you’ll like what you hear. The best of his material, however, retains a freshness and relevance that counters any dismissal of his talent as mere trend hopping. So here it is, folks — hot on the heels of the most pompously reverent-sounding introduction I’ve ever written, part one of the Popdose Guide to David Bowie.

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Dw. Dunphy On… Crowded House

band

I don’t get it. I simply don’t.

2007 was a pretty good year for music, all in all. Maybe not great for the actual industry of selling music, and maybe not fantastic on the Top 40 charts (unless you intended on hiding beneath an umbrella-ella-ella or Supermanning that ho), but few years in recent memory have kept me truly engaged in looking for what was coming out next. Iron And Wine put out a great, hi-fi stunner in The Shepherd’s Dog, The New Pornographers broadened their stylistic pallet with Challengers, Radiohead roared back with In Rainbows. Why Crowded House’s Time On Earth isn’t similarly heralded, I’ll never know.

Coming through Dave Matthews’ ATO imprint, the band is as intact as one could honestly expect. Paul Hester’s death prompted, in part, the band’s original dissolution, and Tim Finn wasn’t exactly a full fledged member, although the Split Enz pseudo-reunion was rather cool. With Neil Finn and Nick Seymour back on board, this is a more complete reunion than, say, The Zwaning Pumpkins. Regardless of staffing, had this been a Neil Finn solo effort, I would still call it painfully overlooked, as there were few pop/rock albums from last year as catchy and accomplished as Time On Earth. (more…)