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Tag Archives: Robert Fripp

The Roches

29 Wednesday Feb 2012

Posted by garystormsongs in Music I Love

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Barbershop Quartet, Folk Music, Maggie, Robert Fripp, Suzzy, Terre, The Roches, women's music

Another album I cannot pry off the turntable. How annoying and irresistible it is! I love the black and white images on the cover. Maggie, Suzzy, and Terre. They look so smart and mean and free. Which is the one with funny low voice? And what a surprise, in “Hammond Song,” to hear that unmistakable fuzzy Fripp guitar – the first time I heard it I said, Wow it can’t be! Such complex harmonies and counter points. Like a barbershop trio. There’s Robert Fripp again.

At the Buffalo Folk Festival, I said to Suzzy, The way you sing together reminds me of the complex harmonies in barbershop quartet songs. And she was way shorter than me but she came up to me right in my face and said LIKE WHAT??? And I was taken aback by her effrontery, her strength. I did not say I had sung the baritone lines in many a barbershop song – “Ida, sweet as apple cidah” – I was shy. How much fun they must have had as kids wailing gospel songs and folk songs and the Alleluia Chorus at the top of their lungs.

The Roches, The Roches, Warner Brothers Records, BSK 3298 (1979).  Photography – Gary Heery; Album Design – Brad Kanawyer; Art Direction – Peter Whorf.

King Crimson

29 Wednesday Feb 2012

Posted by garystormsongs in Music I Love

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Bill Buford, David Cross, Jamie Muir, John Wetton, King Crimson, Larks Tongues in Aspic, Progressive Rock, Robert Fripp

This incarnation of the King was comprised of David Cross, Robert Fripp, John Wetton, Bill Buford, and Jamie Muir. I am enthralled by “Larks Tongues in Aspic, Part I.”

A kalimba close to the ear, pretty patterns over and over, grindings, ringings, scrapings. It is like moving through a pleasantly working galaxy of atoms and molecules all going about their business. Menacing enormity is near.

When I was a child, I would at night be clutched by a simultaneous sensation of absolute universal hard round enormity and absolute sharp brittle minuteness. This terror was called The Bigs and The Littles.

This music is like that. Horrible buzzing guitar, very distant. Gradually, a tribal beat takes over, drums like tin cans and garbage lids, wicked war drums, drums of ritual. Unconscious deep unnoticed bass solo. Like a spindly creature or a dry weed the violin spins a tale which is shouted away by pulsing guitar and voices from a soap opera, and the violin is frantic with melodrama. Sudden huge whirling of brilliant things and then it is dying dying tinkling tinkling softly tinkling dying. Shhhhhhhhh.

King Crimson, Larks Tongues in Aspic, Atlantic Records, SD 7263 (1973).  Album Design – Tantra Designs, London.

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