I think the past month might go down as the juncture in my musical journey when I finally started to love King Crimson. It is certainly not the month when I started listening to them, that began at least five years ago when I began collecting the remastered anniversary CD re-issues of their original late sixties, early seventies output. True to my usual form when investigating a back catalogue, I tried to go chronologically starting with the iconic sleeved debut album ‘In The Court Of The Crimson King’ which, considering its reputation as a classic not only in Prog Rock but Rock music in general, made for a rather marmite introduction. The mellotron override and orchestral flourishes were all familiar to a man who had spent decades exploring Prog’s more flowery, classically ambitious and pastoral early seventies landmarks but the unmistakable sound of terror riding a wave of borderline deranged madness was, to say the least, a little disturbing. No wonder early band members would quit King Crimson because they just could not take making music with so much abrasive aggression anymore. Not only that but through all the albums I listened to, running from that first outing up to 1974’s ‘Starless And Bible Black’, the sense of a band struggling to find themselves would return frequently. And if Crimson themselves could not settle on what they were, how on earth was the listener going to stand a chance?

But then there are enough inspired moments in all those records to delight the senses and send a confused yet stimulated listener returning for more. For example 1970’s ‘In The Wake Of Poseidon’ can sound like a pale replica of 1969’s now classic debut album in places, but then the genius that is ‘Cat Food’ crawls into view and suddenly King Crimson play and deliver like the band we always read about on paper, all lyrical flare and seductive sonics punching holes in walls with a discordant background rumble never too far from the surface. And so, it was this month that I finally came to listen and absorb properly the second Crimson album of 1974, the indisputably superior ‘Red’. This is absolutely the record where everything came together, where the jagged edged attack of Robert Fripp’s guitar work is weaved into shape by the intricate thunder of Bill Brufords’ drumming while John Wetton on bass and vocals gave the band a front man capable of leading the vocal without ever troubling Fripp’s status as leader and creative focal point. Fripp is and remains an arch contrarian with a singular, incorruptible artistic vision who will jettison absolutely any personal friendship he may have with any band member if it serves the music better. It is almost too predictable that in the immediate aftermath of ‘Red’ being released in 1974, Fripp would disband King Crimson, not returning to this musical identity for another seven years. Much like that other great and unpredictable musical independent Bob Dylan, Fripp has little interest in arriving at his destination, all too aware that the music can only remain relevant if you can maintain a constant state of becoming. The genius occurs only in creation, not in the realization or the arrival. And sometimes in life, you have to deconstruct everything you might have put together in order to start building again. The problems arise when others struggle with change, but that in itself is no reason not to follow through with what your heart and soul are telling you.