King Crimson: Lizard (1970)
It's one thing when some random, hateful, no-good rock critic calls your album "unlistenable"; quite another when the person making that comment was the album's -- and the group's -- driving force ...
But this was how King Crimson leader Robert Fripp once described his band's third long-player, Lizard, and though he recanted after listening to Steven Wilson's 40th anniversary surround-sound mix, I tend to agree with his initial assessment.
In fact, "improvisation without purpose" was the phrase that came to mind when I revisited this LP, supposedly inspired by jazz fusion (though I don't think it's fair to lay the blame on either genre), around its 55th anniversary.
Like its similarly disappointing predecessor, In the Wake of Poseidon, Lizard had little in common with the progressive rock pioneers' formidable debut album, In the Court of the Crimson King, but then, neither did the line-up responsible for its recording.
Gone were key contributors Greg Lake (vocals, bass -- now with ELP), Ian McDonald (mellotron, horns, woodwinds), and Michael Giles (drums), replaced by Gordon Haskell, Mel Collins, and Andy McCulloch.
This put most of the weight and pressure of doing the King Crimson legacy justice upon Fripp's bony shoulders (and, to a lesser degree, remaining lyricist Peter Sinfield), so maybe that's why he made the album's recording sessions such a miserable experience.
The opening "Cirkus" yields promising moments through the tension between its foreboding mellotron and whimsical woodwinds, but "Indoor Games" achieves the opposite result -- irritation -- with its nonsensical arrangement (or lack thereof), downright goofy saxophone theme, and nursery-rhyme lyrics.
"Happy Family" is next with a sarcastic commentary on The Beatles' recent break-up framed by a jazzy, avant-garde angularity and dissonant vocals, and the ensuing "Lady of the Dancing Water" counters this with pastoral dreamscape, couched in folksy flute and soothing croons.
This last track may lack the dangerous edge and visceral power of King Crimson's signature work, but at least it conveys a brief sense of order and restraint, before all hopes for such things are dashed by the album's titular, second-half-spanning, 22-minute suite.
Some of which, admittedly, is quite enjoyable, particularly when -- and I can't believe I'm writing this -- Yes' Jon Anderson stops by for a cameo on first part, "Prince Rupert Awakes," but I guess its easier to appreciate his twee but tuneful falsetto on an album where most of the vocals categorically suck!
But the full suite's unwieldy girth, forced schizophrenia, and awkwardly interlocked segments, which constantly dash airy classical orchestrations against the jagged rocks of free jazz improvisation, will repel all but the dedicated prog freaks.
It also repelled Haskell and McCulloch out of the group before this formation ever had a chance to perform live, leaving it to their successors, bassist Boz Burrell and drummer Ian Wallace, to do so following the next year's Islands LP.
Lizard, meanwhile, has divided critical and fan opinions for these past 55 years, and I'm sure it will continue to do so for the next 55 and beyond.
More King Crimson: In the Court of the Crimson King, In the Wake of Poseidon, Larks’ Tongues in Aspic, Starless and Bible Black, Red, Discipline, Beat, Three of a Perfect Pair; plus Fripp & Eno’s (No Pussyfooting).
