The fundamental difference
between King Crimson and the Prog Brit cartel
Wading through the countless Prog
Rivers and endless streams of England’s Progressive tide however magical cannot
be described as a wondrous Tolkienistic endurance of Dr Robert Moog’s resurrection
and eventual demise. The causeway has valleys of unreachable dimension and between
those undulating plains, hidden crevices and jagged cliffs you will have your senses
jarred and numbed, but rest assured, inevitably reaching the golden sanctuary of
the Holy Grail. Once such creature is the enigmatic beast called King Crimson, hardly comparable to the
Latimer ‘B Marvin’ guitar riffs of Camel,
the anglo Saxon tales of synth Genesis
or Canterbury mellotron delights of Viola flavoured Caravan. Fripp’s Crimson
was delusional and bizarre throwing you into turmoil and over the precipice in
once instant and then soothing you out in the next with Lake’s pastoral vox and
mellotron manicured soundscapes. But don’t get comfortable in the courts of
that Crimson magician because Fripp
reinvents himself with each album as in the anguishing ‘Wake Of The Poseidon’
or jazz abstract ‘Lizard’, I mean Tippet’s
input was far from accessible compared to Jon
Andersons’ lengthy contribution adding sanity to the ‘Lizard’s’ shape
shifting metamorphosis.
Fripp was continually churning out
bizarre landscapes often rancid with jazz invocations and off- beat structures while
Camel pursued a more consistent
plain of synth conceptual creations wonderfully augmented by Barden’s’
characteristic keys although primarily Latimer’s guitar that always took frontal.
Only in the latter seventies did those Camel
ridden trails enter a saxophonist drone, although notably never sliding into a jazz
incline and very distant from the Olympic strides of say ELP. The revolving door of Camel
keyboardists and Mel Collins’ soaring escapades may have distanced some Camel riders, albeit in flow with the changing
tide of the seventies. Even Caravan, a Canterbury marvel who could whip
up astounding live synth battles had moments of morose gesticulation, (Even John
Peel nodded off to some of the more wavering BBC mellotron trials) Genesis was consistently the most original
Brit Prog band with its determined lyrical richness, ultimately their mainline strength
even if Gabriel claimed he walked out the
of the ‘Broadway’ machine, what a fucking machine, superbly oiled and far from
the endless striving of Yes’ ‘Topographical’
dimensions.
Genesis’ ‘Lamb’ offered short
tasteful morsels of mellotron coupled with astounding drum scales, Hackett was so
in the crease that one hardly noticed that it was guitar and not keyboards. Crimson went from bizarre to bludgeoning
vibrato after Wetton made his glorious entry, but not the quite the finesse of
the Crimson courts. Caravan trails dismembered
sadly at ‘Waterloo’ and some blundering bulldog with no more water at any oasis
but refilled graciously with the jazzy Hatfield
& the North and National Health,
nothing to do with Thatcher but more the enlightened slant of Mr Robert Wyatt, six guns fully drawn
for the ‘shipbuilding’ Falklands.
Possibly the closet relative ‘bastard’ to Fripp’s inventive prognosis would be Hammill’s Van der Graaf Generator , a
more Gothic sombre splendour but far more refined as time goes by than the relentless
ravaging of Crimson’s sabre warriors. Van
Der Graaf was wonderfully ugly, sensationally awkward and as real as rough
gravel, a far cry from the adult contemporary pleasurable Renaissance. Hammill’s lyrical magnum force arguably the best in Britain,
moreover globally was a force to be reckoned with that even Gabriel stood in
awe of. So in rewind that gaping red
face that swallowed you whole in the late sixties , a Fripp marvel cannot be
discounted in the same revered countenance as Syd Barrett’s’ cosmic ‘Piper’ exordium.
Yet beyond the brightness and lightness of the chosen few the likes of Julien J Saverin, Gravy Train, Audience,
Beggars opera and Curved Air were
busy carving an indelible stamp on the more discerning mass of Prog lovers.
Across the channel Germany was logistically at
the forefront of the Prog revolution, yet sadly deemed ‘Krautrock’ an inherent stab
at historical enemies that even vented at the soccer stadium. Thanks and no thanks
to the M&N cartel (Melody Maker & New Musical Express Polls) the
mainland of Europe was largely ignored and only when Jan Akkerman crossed the channel
did the British realise that the royalty perceptions of Hackett and Steve Howe
were clearly in dire threat, as quoted by Jack Bruce ‘oh shit he really can play the whole Focus album, well enough to
get him on stage and jam with the Akkerman acolyte. In hindsight Germany’s Prog
bands outnumbered Britain, 10 to 1 but that’s another story?
