King Crimson – Lizard

The Giles brothers have left to McDonald, but no big loss, as McCullogh is a worthy replacement at the skins and Haskell handles his bassguitar better than he does his own vocal chords. The enlarged woodwinds and brass sections seem to suggest jazz, and although this is true in some way, the results are thoroughly unexpected. This record was not received very well and it's easy to see why, though more than 40 years later these objections have largely evaporated. Undoubtedly this album is even less accessible than the previous one. The music now betrays psychiatric tendencies, as well as delusions of grandeur, but does so with verve and conviction. Grotesque subject matter reigns supreme. Already on ''Cirkus'' the amount of sudden harmonic eruptions and atmospheric twists borders on the insane. The lyrics evoke a dense nightmare like: Worship cried the clown, I am a TV. At the end of the track the music is abandoned for sheer chaos and destruction. ''Indoor games'' also balances precariously on the thin edge of the demented. Psychotic games are being played like: Each afternoon you train baboons to sing/ Or swim in purple perspex waterwings. Biting woodwinds, derailed guitars and large fans of mellotron are just (but only just) kept in control by the excellent composition. The macabre laughing of a deranged human being ends the track. In ''Happy family'' mental health does not improve. A row of totally flipped-out family parades through the song, musically designed with again extreme means. The very short oasis ''Lady of the dancing water'', with its truly miraculous flute part, is almost unlikely placid after all this mental violence. If only Haskell would have sung this a little more confidently. Side B presents a complicatedly structured suite, a model kit that tries to assemble very different elements into a unity. Jon Anderson of Yes sings the opening in his overclean style, but somehow fits very well in this evocation of times long lost, not in a historical sense, but more like the worlds of Tolkien do. Now Crimson suddenly plays crystal clear pop-rock with hints of things lurking underneath. This runs into ''The peacock's tale'', a never heard before concoction of bolero, wistful oboe, mellotron hurricanes and extremely angular all-or-nothing jazz. Unique and inventive. ''The battle of glass tears'' is again King Crimson as we know it: apocalyptic almost-chaos and a ruthless riff that induces panic. It discharges itself into a lonely crying electric guitar that sounds like the voice of the last living human, viewing utter destruction. Almost unbearable to really listen to. The very end is taken up by a frolicking waltz that makes a disheartening use of varispeed to produce another kind of nightmare: that of failing senses in front of a world in dissolution. One of the most extreme records to come out of rock country, it is easy to understand its chequered reputation, but the unflinching listener can dig up a lot of musical gold here.