by Michael Popke

With so much legally “free” music available on the Internet these days, it’s easy to go crazy trying to find and listen to everything that might — just might — appeal to you.

Enter British DIY guitarist Matt Stevens, who is one of those musicians who attended the Radiohead School of Business and allows listeners to pay whatever they want to download his incredibly melodic, occasionally proggy and wholly enjoyable music. His signature sound is made with a single acoustic guitar and a sampler to create multilayered tracks – all performed live.

I’m humbled to admit that this guy passed me by with his two instrumental solo albums, 2008’s Echo and last year’s Ghost. By now, he’s an Internet phenom – a “poster child for the digital revolution,” as his website declares – who has taken advantage of social networks and video to cultivate an international audience. His Twitter account (@mattstevensloop) boasts more than 33,000 tweets and almost 6,000 followers, while more than 2,300 people “like” him on Facebook. He even gives online concerts and details the origins of his songs on his website.

After putting in time with bands, Stevens struck out on his own, wielding an expressive sense of songwriting. The result is music that sounds far grander than one man and his guitar. On Echo, Stevens made his guitar sound like keyboards, indulged in some Sunday-morning jazz, penned a stompin’ acoustic rocker and grooved to a flavorful Latin vibe — all in the first four songs. The album became a word-of-mouth success.

The more-complex Ghost – which Stevens says was downloaded more than 1,500 times and recouped all its costs in less than two months – reflects a maturation of  the man’s playing, incorporating elements of King Crimson on “Big Sky” and “Burnt Out Car,” and indulging in some Pink Floyd and Alan Parsons Project mellowness on “Lakeman.” There also are remnants of Radiohead, Nick Drake and Electric Light Orchestra. Stevens’ prog tendencies really come the forefront on his side project, The Fierce & The Dead, which borrows a branch from Porcupine Tree.

This stuff is all instrumental, and all compelling as hell. You won’t even miss the lyrics.

Stevens quietly reached out to Goldmine, inviting us to give his music a listen and write about it, if we’d like. No pressure, no hype. Just a guy and his guitar, hoping to keep spreading the message of unbelievably good music. Well played, sir.

 By Todd Whitesel

In The Court Of The Crimson King

But first, I want to update Goldmine readers on a happening that relates to a recent column covering 12 collectible high-res recordings. At the top of the list was Aerosmith’s Rocks SACD, and I wrote, “floated around chat rooms for years about whether or not this album was actually released on SACD. It’s been verified, but there seems to be very few copies circulating. If you find one or have one, I’d love to hear from you. Value? Name your price.” Well, someone has.

The only copy I’ve ever seen surfaced for sale on eBay. The seller posted several pictures that confirm it as the real deal. Asking price? $12,500. The disc’s posting generated a lot of buzz but no buyers the first time around. As I write this, the SACD has been re-listed with a “buy it now” price of $8,000. More to follow.

•••

I can’t properly convey my excitement and pleasure over the latest King Crimson 40th Anniversary Series offerings: In The Court Of The Crimson King and Lizard.

I’ve touched on the remarkable remastering job done by Steven Wilson and Robert Fripp for Court, and that holds true for Lizard, too. Both 40th anniversary issues feature a compact disc and DVD with new stereo album mixes using the original multi-track master tapes, high-res 24/48 PCM Stereo 2.0 and 24/96 MLP Lossless Stereo mixes and 5.1 Surround mixes in MLP Lossless and DTS formats.

Hearing the updated stereo mixes is worth the purchase, but experiencing both groundbreaking releases in surround feels like hearing it for the first time. Though many fans still consider Court Crimson’s finest moment, I’ve always had a soft spot for Lizard and found it to be equally ambitious and just as fearless as the band’s celebrated debut.

Lizard truly had no predecessor or follower. As Fripp notes in the liners, “At the beginning of 1970 I felt that everything to be done for the next two years would be wrong, but had to be done anyway — to get to the other side. What was on the other side, I didn’t know; but knew it would be there. …. nevertheless, the transitional era of 1970-71 had its own particular triumphs and some of them are on Lizard.”

Hearing “Indoor Games,” with its chiming guitar bits, buoyant horn hosannas, rolling drums and excellent Gordon Haskell vocals all expertly placed in the rarefied surround mix, is sure to thrill any Crimson fan. The dense and strangely menacing “Happy Family” is perhaps even more convincing in 5.1, with its free-jazz leanings spinning wildly like an out-of-balance coin held in motion by the forces of Sun Ra, Eric Dolphy and English prog.

Wilson’s masterful re-interpretation even convinced Fripp, asserting, “For the first time I have heard the music in the music.” If you have even the remotest interest in this record, buy now! Three bonus tracks, too.

•••

Audio Fidelity has embarked on an ambitious release schedule in 2010, with limited-edition 24 Karat Gold CDs out now or in the works for artists including Judas Priest (Hell Bent For Leather), Yes (90125), Simon & Garfunkel (Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme), Randy Newman (12 Songs) and Alice Cooper (Love It To Death).

I had the chance to hear three recent releases — Joe Walsh’s The Smoker You Drink, The Player You Get and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Second Helping. Audio Fidelity has made a point of staying true to the original masters for any reissue.

The dynamic studio duo of Steve Hoffman and Kevin Gray have typically been employed to bring the AF vision to fruition. My experience with the 24 K + discs has been positive overall, though some releases have not been without problems. The initial Second Helping release had a glitch where “Call Me The Breeze” skipped or “false-started” at the beginning. By the time I received my copy the discrepancy was resolved.

Second Helping and Walsh’s Smoker are both HDCD-encoded discs, so with a compatible player you can get higher resolution (20-bit/44.1kHz) playback than from standard redbook CD (16-bit/44.1kHz). The discs, however, will work in any player.

It’s difficult for me to listen to “Sweet Home Alabama” with any sense of objectivity after hearing it trampled to death across radio, TV and film, but a couple of deep tracks, the minor-key plea “I Need You” and “Swamp Music,” sound terrific.

For those who discovered Joe Walsh through The Eagles or his subsequent solo efforts, an often-incomplete picture of his music emerged — Walsh the hard-rocker or Walsh the joker.

Those who know Walsh from his James Gang days and early solo records have heard a breadth of music that encompasses rock, soul, R&B and folk.

If you don’t believe, give a listen to 1973’s Smoker, and beyond the well-known “Rocky Mountain Way” is a basket of many-colored eggs, including the marvelously arranged memoir “Bookends,” the moody “Wolf,” whose acoustic-guitar intro is terrific here, and the Caribbean-tinged “Happy Ways.” The AF version is very smooth and analog-sounding and a welcome reissue, not just for the sound but for the great music.

ROBERT FRIPP (second from left) has been the one constant in King Crimson’s ever-changing lineup. Warner Bros./EG Records

The band’s debut, 1969’s In the Court Of The Crimson King, catapulted Crimson into the public eye, having reached #5 in Britain in November 1969 (and scoring a Top 20 hit in the U.S. in 1970), and influenced a host of progressive rockers, from a young Steve Hackett to the members of Peter Banks-era Yes.

With the help of the “good fairy” Crimson could do no wrong. Or so it seemed. Crimson and Fripp were in for a rude awakening by the end of 1969, when the band began to buckle under the strain of touring and interpersonal differences.

Multi-instrumentalist Ian McDonald, whose creative talents helped to forge the monolithic debut, was the first to go, followed by influential drummer Michael Giles and then vocalist/bassist Greg Lake, who soon formed Emerson, Lake & Palmer with the Hendrix of the Hammond organ, Keith Emerson, sensing his own band, The Nice, had run its course.

That could have been the end of Crimson right then and there. It wasn’t, of course, but it would be a few painful years before the band could reclaim the glory of its early days, as it did with bassist/singer John Wetton, drummer Bill Bruford, percussionist Jamie Muir and violinist David Cross.

That painful spot, the “dark years” from 1970 through mid-1972 — specifically the time encompassing the release of In the Wake of Poseidon, Lizard, Islands and Earthbound — stands as the strangest and perhaps most musically diverse period of the band’s history.

Fripp, himself, was never a big fan of the period, and of 1970’s Lizard the guitarist wrote in his diary (from September 1999): “Lots of ideas, mostly presented simultaneously, and very few of which work.”

Calling the album unlistenable, Fripp said that if there are Lizard lovers, “ … they must be strange.”

As a 5.1 Surround Sound and a new stereo mix from the original studio masters of Lizard was recently done by Porcupine Tree’s Steven Wilson (as part of Crimson’s 40th Anniversary Series — see a review on page 44) details have emerged concerning Lizard, its depth, wonderfully confusing blend of musical genres, and the out-and-out bizarreness of the record.

Perhaps it’s time to reassess Lizard and the entire period of 1970 through 1972 in order to get a more accurate reading on what made those records so special, undervalued and strange.

Fripp, the composer

Though In the Wake of Poseidon had surged higher on the British charts than The Court, the band was wracked and devastated by the aforementioned personnel shake-up.

It was through this adversity that Fripp found his creative direction and sharpened his compositional skills, virtually out of necessity, and did so by cutting a spiraling musical path that traversed a gnarly musical wilderness full of arty jazz, classically influenced rock and nearly boundless (if unfocused) experimentation.

“Fripp was definitely looking for a way through, finding his own voice,” says Crimson biographer Sid Smith, author of “In the Court of the King Crimson.” “He’d gone from being just part of the band to being the band. That’s quite a burden of responsibility.”

You won’t find many Crimson fans pointing to Islands or Earthbound or Lizard as their favorite Crimson records. Those albums may have been (and may still be) overlooked, because the band was in such constant flux and turmoil (seems the band, perhaps more than the average rock outfit, was embroiled in some form of inner squabble) that made it difficult for them to settle on a coherent musical vision, just as it’s been difficult for fans (or anyone else) to discern whether Crimson had a clue.

“The stylistic compass is all over the place,” says Sid Smith.

“Poseidon, Lizard and Islands all cover quite different ground, and though there are some common factors, there are probably more points of divergence than convergence.”

Fripp, flanked by his partner in crime, lyricist/conceptualist/sound engineer/lighting man Peter Sinfield (often refered to as the “fifth member” of Crimson), were desperately trying to hold the band together when they recorded Lizard, a record that grew with a hothouse weirdness (and one that sneakily speaks directly to the listener’s subconscious) that only Crimson (and only a 1970 Crimson) could nurture.

Co-producer Sinfield once intimated to the reporter that Lizard was the result of he and Fripp having a lot of time (maybe too much) on their hands. What emerged is scattered references to the 12 Jungian archetypes (represented and reinforced by the elaborate medieval, illuminated manuscript-styled LP cover artwork), Fripp’s first true major composition (i.e. the three-part title track, featuring Yes’ Jon Anderson on vocals in the opening section, “Prince Rupert Awakes,” and some beautiful oboe work by Robin Miller in “Bolero: The Peacock’s Tale”), the strange musical amalgam of jazz, folk, synth/electronic and classical, and Sinfield’s lyrical perversity (touching on such varied subjects as the Fab Four and cushy bourgeoisie society in songs such as “Happy Family” and “Indoor Games”).

“[Lizard] is a great example of a record that doesn’t make sense the first time you hear it,” says Steven Wilson. “Who is going to have the time and patience, in this day and age, to understand a record like it? Lizard requires a commitment on the part of the listener. If you’re committed to making that sacrifice, then there’s so much to take away from that music.”

Coming apart at the seams

Inevitably, as was par for the course, the Lizard band broke up, never having toured.

Singer/bassist Gordon Haskell (Lake’s replacement) walked out before the record’s release over creative (and what he says are financial) disagreements; drummer Andrew McCulloch also left (later to become a member of Greenslade), leaving horn player/flautist Mel Collins (McDonald’s “replacement”), Fripp and Sinfield to build yet another band.

They would do just that, of course, with future Bad Company bassist Boz Burrell (whose strength was more as a singer while with Crimson) and drummer Ian Wallace while recording just one studio record with Crimson, Islands (and the much-maligned live album Earthbound, notorious for its poor sound quality).

Earthbound, in particular, the last official release of the 1970s by the Islands-era band, is a missed opportunity; its very title a sad commentary on the fact that the band never took off. Says Alex Mundy, tape archivist for Fripp’s Discipline Global Mobile (DGM) label, the cassette masters for the Earthbound recordings can’t be located (only the transfers exist) and were, in any case, of very low quality. It’s likely that Fripp and crew had to do the best they could with what was available to them.

“The original cassettes must have been distorted, so the master tape for pressing could at least be a third generation of the original recordings,” Mundy says.

Earthbound was digitally remastered by Fripp and sonic guru Simon Heyworth and reissued by Caroline/Virgin in 2002. In recent years, DGM, also, has issued quality live recordings from the era, including the double CD release Ladies of the Road, Live At Jacksonville, Live At Plymouth Guildhall, Live At Summit Studios, and Live In Detroit via the Crimson Collectors Club.

In retrospect, the Islands band was an important one and their music foreshadowed the work Fripp and Crimson would do in the future.

We hear snippets of what would become well-loved Crimson pieces such as “Easy Money,” “Book of Saturday” and “Larks’ Tongues In Aspic, Part Two” among music that flutters between jazz-rock (“Formentera Lady,” “The Sailor’s Tale”), cosmic-rock, avant-garde noise (“The Letters”), burlesque, symphonic (“Prelude: Song of the Gulls”), Beatles-esque harmonies (“Ladies of the Road”), and beautiful melancholic balladry/church hymn (“Islands”). In essence, Islands is the perfect bridge between Lizard and the post-dark years stunner Larks’ Tongues In Aspic.

But the band was pulling in different directions. Fripp and Sinfield were not seeing eye-to-eye (about everything from the band’s musical direction to lyrics), and there was a clear divide between the guitarist and the rest of the band. Inevitably, the Islands band broke up, following in a sad but then-short tradition of Crimson personnel switches. (Islands wasn’t the end of the road for Fripp, of course, even though the press was writing Crimson’s obituary. The King would later return with their strongest material since 1969.)

“The requirement that [the Islands band] play material from three albums that they weren’t all involved in cut short their evolution,” says Smith. “It distorted things, I think, sending them on a course which a wholly new band almost certainly wouldn’t have taken. That said, I think the new remix of Islands by Steven Wilson and Robert Fripp, along with all the extra tracks and bonus material we’ve uncovered, will certainly help in rehabilitating this period’s reputation.”

The 1970–1972 Crimson seems to cast a magic spell separate from all other eras of the band’s history. In 2008, Fripp concluded that after hearing Steven Wilson’s 5.1 mix of Lizard, he, for the first time, enjoyed the record.

That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. But it’s proof of the enduring legacy and power of Crimson’s dark period.

by Michael Popke

If you frequent online progressive-rock communities, you’ve no doubt seen the question “What is prog?” posted countless times. The responses typically range from the overly intellectual to the downright offensive. So it is with extreme humbleness that I suggest there really is no “right” or “wrong” answer. We like progressive music because it affects us in ways far deeper than practically any other genre (save, perhaps, classical). It can incite an abundance of emotions, including passion, fear, joy, sadness and violence – sometimes all in the same song.  It forces us to move beyond the mainstream and actually think about what we’re hearing. At its core, “prog” means whatever we want it to mean.

When I was young, my dad would sit with me in my bedroom and listen to selections from my latest album purchases (usually by such artists as Styx, REO Speedwagon, Foreigner and Loverboy). But among the last titles I remember us sharing together was Asia’s self-titled 1982 debut. I was 14 years old.

While Asia’s epic synthesizers, grandiose orchestration and Roger Dean artwork may seem hopelessly dated now, it remains a classic album that – despite that dragon on the cover – brought the pretentiousness of Seventies progressive rock to a mainstream audience with a combination of accessible melodies and often-lofty lyrics. Today, Asia isn’t even considered prog in some circles. But for me, it was my introduction to an expansive world of music, one in which long songs about the apocalypse were not only permitted but encouraged. So long, Loverboy.

Prog enthusiasts can argue the merits of Pink Floyd, Genesis, Yes, Emerson Lake & Palmer, King Crimson, Jethro Tull, Marillion, Gentle Giant, Kansas and Camel for years – and they have. Throw some metal into the mix (Queensryche, Dream Theater, Rush and Iron Maiden), and you’ll incite some real heated debate. Queensryche’s lead vocalist Geoff Tate, during an interview with me several years ago, refused to acknowledge that his band played “progressive” music — even though renowned music  journalist Paul Gargano wrote that Queensryche defined “the parameters of progressive rock for mainstream America” in the liner notes to the then-new Live Evolution album.

But if these bands and all of their descendants – Spock’s Beard, RPWL, Pain of Salvation, Opeth, Magic Pie, DeeExpus, Ayreon, Porcupine Tree, Riverside, Symphony X and even Phish and Umphrey’s McGee among them – introduce new ways for us to hear music and provide enjoyment long after we think we’ve heard it all, then we certainly can call them “progressive.” They are advancing our understanding and appreciation of their art.

One of my most recent prog discoveries is Zevious, an aggressive New York City-based instrumental trio that tears a huge hole in the logic of labeling genres. On the band’s 2009 CD, After the Air Raid, Zevious takes influences from contemporary jazz artists like Vijay Iyer, the polymetric metal of Meshuggah, the vintage fusion of the Mahavishnu Orchestra and the avant-garde attitude of Magma. Challenging and not always easy to listen to, After the Air Raid defines adventurous music.

I’ve been in relentless pursuit of the adventure since I dropped the needle on side one of that first Asia record almost 30 years ago.