LARKS' TONGUES IN ASPIC

King Crimson's sixth offering is nothing less than masterpiece. In many of the above reviews, some of our reviewers suggest that certain songs (Book of Saturday, for instance) do not fit in with the overall concept of the album. One thing the Crimsons always have done, ever since the first album, was to establish that concept is nothing more than a suffocating framework, a means by which formula can be duplicated ad nauseam.

Larks' Tongues in Aspic, more than any other Crimso release, defies any preconception of what concept is. From loud to soft, from abrasive to beautiful, from bone-crushing to subtle, this album forces us, despite its LP-length time constraint, to blow away those narrow boundaries that inhibit our enjoyment of any genre in music and to open us to new possibilities of sound. Part I of the title track takes us on a sonic journey that begins with the strummed pluckings of a subdued kalimba followed by white noise, followed by a lead-in replete with Fripp's (or Wetton's?) fuzz-toned fills and Cross's violin getting more frantic with each succeeding measure. When the bone-crushing metal riff finally explodes (they should use this song for demolition--it makes my whole house shudder), we are treated to a throwback riff reminiscent of Schizoid Man. But this riff is repeated only once and is never heard from again. Instead the band takes us through an improvisatory romp, featuring Fripp on his fractured guitar and Wetton on his liquid bass, before Cross settles in with an arching solo on violin. Bells and chimes are then played at nearly inaudible levels before what sounds like a theme to a chase scene in a scary movie fades in and builds in momentum, thanks largely to Cross who bows frightfully manic in his impassioned delivery. The coda then explodes after Bruford's roll forewarns us a little too late; but instead of blowing our socks off, the feeling of this last section is beautifully transcendent, not unlike a blaze of sunlight shooting through the countours of a giant crystal (sounds New-Ageish, but it aint).

Book of Saturday, Exiles, Easy Money,and Talking Drum follow. As if an apology to music purists, BOS is a delicate song, using Fripp's backward guitar and Cross's bowing to send it flying through the upper stratospheres of beauty. Exiles features Fripp's nimble acoustic guitar. When Wetton finishes his vocal, thankfully, the piece is taken over by Fripp, who allows this diamond to shine for its remainder. Another transcendent moment ensues. Easy Money is reminiscent of Ladies on the Road (on Islands), although Fripp's improvisations start and stop, building then releasing the tension ineherent throughout. Just as we think the band has lost their momentum, Fripp builds it back up, along with Muir's exotic touches and Bruford's driving punches and counter-rhythms, before coming to a head with the final verse punctuated by Cross's see-sawing violin. Making Easy Money was never so hard.

Talking Drum serves as an improvisatory introduction to the excellent Larks' Toungue in Aspic Part 2. The final track starts with a scream, and then the mayhem begins. Listen to Bruford's off-kilter rhythmic attack. Listen to Muir--he sounds positively insane. Listen to Fripp--his guitar's distortion throws my VU meters into the upper extremes of Red. When all is said and done, following the explosive climax that, again, could probably demolish a house, this new (in 1972) lineup of King Crimson had put together a tour de force. They were a band to be reckoned with, and the memory of these mind- numbing perfomances are as fresh today as ever. Even though this music is vital and relevant, it is still too radical and unnerving for most, if not all, of those timid radio program directors, who do music a disgrace by not including them on their "classic rock" playlists. Grow some balls, guys, doesn't playing endless tracks by Boston and the Eagles get really old? King Crimson is truly a classic. Their music will live on, despite what you nabobs in Radioland think.