12 minutes, just astonishing. Via ILM…
A legendary live Robert Fripp & Brian Eno bootleg recording known as “Air Structures” is now available as a legitimate release—Fripp & Eno, May 28, 1975, a three CD-length digital download, direct from Fripp’s DGM label.
Notes from the DGM site:
These show notes are written by long-standing Frippertronics expert and unofficial archivist, Allan Okada, whose help in the restoration of this concert has been invaluable.
This historic recording documents an extremely rare and classic performance of a mysterious collaborative tour from two of the most creative and fascinating figures in rock. It is one of the most rewarding live recordings this writer has ever heard. For any fan of ‘No Pussyfooting’ or ‘Evening Star’, this live recording is of epic significance and thanks to the efforts of Alex Mundy, is now also comparable in audio quality, by synchronizing the most complete and best (by a mile) available live bootleg recording with Eno’s stage tapes recently discovered. This tour also represents a turning point for both artists, about to enter new frontiers professionally and personally: Eno as an ambient music pioneer and Fripp’s re-emergence as a “small, mobile, intelligent unit”.
Here is the lead up to this 5th of a 7-show European mini-tour. Fripp just recently disbanded King Crimson at a point which many would describe as their artistic pinnacle. Eno also recently parted ways with Roxy Music at a similar juncture and then aborted his first and only extensive solo tour after only a handful of shows, due to a collapsed lung. Fripp & Eno live in concert? What would they do? All the shows in Spain and France were, not surprisingly, accompanied with unrealistic fan expectations, hoping for a presentation of ‘21st Century Schizoid Man’ combined with ‘Baby’s on Fire’ perhaps? What this audience got was something entirely different. The programme was largely improvised and totally instrumental. Adding to the event’s unorthodoxy was the absence of all conventional stage lighting. The sole illumination was provided by Malcolm LeGrice’s colour saturated and looped short film ‘Berlin Horse’ projected behind the two shadowy figures on stage, visually mimicking the music. The result was an unprecedented live performance format, years ahead of its time. It was also mind-boggling to most of the unsuspecting 1975 audience, yielding wildly different reactions. Reportedly about half the shows on this tour were also plagued with some sort of major technical hazard, stemming from the venue, the PA or the duo’s stage equipment. In Saint-Étienne, the audience went as far as booing the duo off the stage! Fortunately for us here, this Paris Olympia performance was technically flawless and from a musical standpoint, incredibly inspired.
Starting with the pre-recorded primordial drone ‘Water on Water’, the duo eventually walks on stage. Fripp begins playing through the “Enotronic system” (since Eno, not Fripp operated the tape machines on this tour). It’s important to note that at this time, the mechanics of the Revox tape delay system was a mystery to the guitarist. This must have surely added a heavy dose of Eno’s “idiot glee” to the entire proceedings. Fripp moves this piece into uncharted territories with short volume pedal sweeps of lunacy before detaching from the delay system and beautifully soloing over the familiar backing loop of ‘Swastika Girls’. Very astute listeners will detect the unrealized main theme from King Crimson’s ‘Blue’ off the top. An intermission has the audience treated to Eno’s seminal ‘Discreet Music’ before the duo return to the stage with another improvised loop morphing into the now familiar ‘Wind On Water’ landscape. The sublimely serene ‘A Near Find in Rip Pop’ follows with Fripp soloing over a beautiful, strummed guitar piece (from the ‘Evening Star’ sessions) enhanced with synthetic animal screeches utilized months later on Eno’s ‘Zawinul/Lava’ track. Then just as you feel relaxed, Eno’s loop changes to something akin to a gigantic, looming dark cloud as Fripp hits the distortion pedal and fires off some solos of truly monstrous intensity. Eno gently takes the proceedings back down to Earth again by introducing the now infamous ‘Evening Star’ backing loop over which Fripp treats us to yet another wonderful solo before leaving the stage again, while ‘An Iron Frappe’ continues to envelop the crowd. The duo reappears for the final ‘Softy Gun Poison’ complete with tapes of sinister laughter and mysterious chatter (foreshadowing moments of Fripp’s upcoming ‘Exposure’), before leaving the stage for the last time, while (the then unknown) ‘An Index of Metals’ terrorizes the bewildered audience as they exit the venue. All in all, this lucky Paris audience was treated with the entirety of both classic albums as well as enough new material to constitute a third. As a bonus, we are also presented with Eno’s stage tapes in pure format including Test Loops from the sound check. What more could you ask from a live recording? Absolutely essential listening.
Recently came across this piece, originally published in Musician No. 45, July, 1982…
Coffee and Chocolates for Two Guitars
by Robert Fripp
Weather shut England and delayed the jammed flight to Paris by three hours, so I landed at 1:30 pm. A mad taxi driver helped to make up the lost time by driving like a mad taxi driver (the only madder ones than Paris’ are in Milan). This guy only hit one car but we nearly collected a second-a young Parisian jumped the light so we took it kinda personal, sped up and aimed. He backed down when he sized the opposition. Then we drove through the No Entry sign to John’s street; his number was inconveniently at the wrong end. I got out at the front door of the quintessentially French apartment building, in what looked suspiciously like a pedestrian zone, a small back lane of one of my two favorite cities in the world.
John McLaughlin should need no introduction, but I suppose editorial etiquette necessitates an exposition of the highlights of his extraordinary career. John probably would be equally admired had there been no Mahavishnu Orchestra—his turn-of-the-decade work with Tony Williams’ LifetimeTony Williams’ Lifetime and his contributions to Miles Davis’ epochal Bitches Brew (known forever as the first fusion album) and A Tribute to Jack Johnson would have ensured that—but it is unquestionably the Mahavishnu Orchestra, with its jagged explosions of cosmic fire and odd-metered funkiness that remains McLaughlin’s best loved and most celebrated band. The Orchestra’s cheerful acceptance of rock ‘n’ roll and other non-jazz idioms never diluted the pyrotechnical excellence of its musicians, Billy Cobham, Jan Hammer, Jerry Goodman, and Rick Laird.
Both before and after Mahavishnu, McLaughlin quietly established his jazz credentials as a band leader in a more subdued but more personally expressive medium with such brilliant albums as Extrapolation, My Goals Beyond (recently rereleased), the underrated Johnny McLaughlin – Electric Guitarist, his collaboration-meditation with Carlos Santana Love Devotion Surrender and his latest, Belo Horizonte. McLaughlin is one of the very few guitarists who have consistently held my respect. Not all his music is my bag of bananas, but I’ve learned from all of it. And he’s still moving. The traditional arguments about technique—no feel, no music—don’t work with this man. My hunch is that the streams of notes don’t even come close to the tearing, ripping spray of what is trying to get out. Except sometimes.
I am warmly greeted by John and his attractive roommate (and the keyboard player in Belo Horizonte), Katia LeBeque. Katia and her sister are a classical music duo with a four-hands piano rendition of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue selling modestly in Europe. John is a dapper dresser; today he’s in grey: flannels and pullover, shirt and tie not quite matching and just enough so that either you knew that he knew, or maybe he knew you didn’t. This subtlety of stressing the discontinuities, some exquisite Basque confectionery placed between us, the charm of the apartment—in mellowed pink, the ceiling veeing into the roof, spiral stairs—hinted at an intermezzo between the acts of flying. John is straightforward, friendly, and a gentleman. He speaks softly in a curious mix of Scottish, Indian, and French accents. We discussed the several occasions we had previously met for a time, and then I assumed a more journalistic role.
Fripp: Why do you think you became a musician?
McLaughlin: Happily, my mother was an amateur musician; she was a violinist and there was always music going on in the house. We got a gramophone one day, and someone had Beethoven’s Ninth, and on the last record, which is at the end of the symphony, there’s a vocal quartet in which the writing is extraordinary…the voices and the harmonies. I must have been about six or seven when I distinctly remember hearing it for the first time. I suppose that’s when I started to listen. Because when you’re young, you’re not paying attention. What do you know when you’re a kid? It was unbelievable, what it was doing to me was tremendous. I began to listen consciously to music and I started taking piano lessons when I was nine and went on to guitar at eleven…
Fripp: Did anything trigger the guitar in particular?
McLaughlin: Yeah, it was the D major chord. My brother showed it to me on the guitar, and I had this feeling of the guitar against my whole body…
Fripp: Did you have the F# on the bottom string?
McLaughlin: No, no. I was playing full-note chords. Eleven years old…what are you going to do? You have a small hand and, you know…What about you? Did you have a similar experience?
Fripp: I was ten. Definitely no sense of rhythm, and I spent a long time wonderting why it was that such an unlikely candidate would become a professional musician. But I knew right away that I was going to earn a living from it. Thinking about it over the years, I think music has a desire to be heard, such a kind of compulsion to be heard that it picks on unlikely candidates to give it voice.
McLaughlin: Yeah, I think that it basically comes from love. I mean, the kind of attraction that you have when you listen to it when you’re young. It’s inexplicable in a way.
Fripp: It’s a direct vocabulary…
McLaughlin: Exactly. Perhaps what you say is truth insofar as the music itself chooses, but it’s not a one-way street from music’s point of view. In a sense, you know, we fall in love with the muse and the muse falls in love with its prospective voices.
Fripp: The sentence I would add is that the music needed me to give it a voice, but in a feeble way. I needed music more, far more than music needed me.
McLaughlin: The most difficult thing, I think, in being a musician is to get out of the way.
Fripp: How do you get out of the way? Do you have specific techniques or regimens that you use? Can you just get yourself out of the way without thinking about it?
McLaughlin: If I’m thinking about it, I’m in the way. You have to forget, to forget everything. The minute we forget everything is when we’re finally found.
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Many leagues below a murky, oil-filled pocket of subtropical waters off the southern coast of the United States, abyss creatures continue to communicate through light and vibration. In the “midnight zone,” a formidable black swallower feeds off of a hydrothermal vent, shrouded in a darkness thicker and blacker than deepest outer space. An opalescent dumbo octopus floats serenely by, her shiny coating picking up hints of a nearby jellyfish‘s flashing stroboscopic light, which illuminates a pulsating haze of red around them. On the very bottom of the ocean floor, a sea dandelion sits quietly, swaying back and forth to the rhythm of tectonic plates stirring below her…
Above: Special guest DJ Ron Like Hell, a resident purveyor of good taste and mind-expanding musical knowledge at northern Greenpoint’s favorite record-vending establishment, Permanent Records. If you are in the New York area on Friday, June 11th, go see him DJ at The Loft above Public Assembly.
This week’s playlist…
Note: At the time of this conversation, Joe Strummer was 28 and Robert Fripp was 35.
RUDE BOYS: An Interview with Joe Strummer and Robert Fripp
by Vic Garbarini
Originally published in Musician Magazine, June 1981
Musician: One of the main things you two have in common is the belief that music can actually change society. How can this happen?
Strummer: Because music goes directly to the head and heart of a human being. More directly and in more dimensions than the written word. And if that can’t change anybody, then there’s not a lot else that will. Music can hit as hard as if I hit you with a baseball bat, you know? But it’s not an overnight thing; you can’t expect everything to change quickly. I figure it’s an organic process. Insidious. Look how listening to all those hippie records has affected everybody in general: everybody feels looser about things now.
Fripp: I did a radio show in New York with Bob Geldof of the Boomtown Rats recently, and he said he didn’t believe rock and roll could change anything. And I said to him, I disagree. So he said, well, if you build up hope in Joe Bloggs in some slum in Northern Ireland, he’s just going to wind up disappointed. And I said, look, if there’s Joe Bloggs in his appalling social conditions in Northern Ireland with no hope, and that becomes Joe Bloggs at No. 8 in his appalling social conditions but with hope, you have two entirely different situations.
S: That’s right. Good point that.
F: Then it’s possible for the geezer at No. 10 to get some hope, too. And then it spreads up the street, and you have a community. Then you have a community. Then you’re talking about something which isn’t dramatic and exciting, but which contains the possibility of real change. It’s easy to miss because it’s essentially personal, and it’s very quiet. And like Joe says, it takes time.
M: Is it the music itself that can do this, or does it merely serve as a rallying point?
F: Both, really. It serves as a rallying point, but it can work more directly too. I think sometimes at a really good gig when there’s a certain quality in the music, a kind of liberation can take place, and you don’t go home and take quite as much crap from the news as you did before, because you’ve actually tasted a different quality of experience which changes how you think about things. So to a degree you’ve been liberated.
M: How did you both wind up choosing music as your means of expression? How were you feeling about things in general, or what made you decide it had to be a band? That there was something you needed or could accomplish through rock?Continue reading
“Two King Crimson tracks, provided for a CD release to Universal Music Group (although with reservations & with digital rights withheld) have been provided by UMG to Spotify. Those visitors interested in the music industry’s development of ‘legal downloads’ and new income streams for artists may be interested in the following.
“From a Power Possessor at UMG…
What I understand has happened.. is that in our systems there are two versions of the Anthology. One of these is for physical and has the two King Crimson tracks and one is for Digital which does not have the two King Crimson tracks. What happened was that the person who supplied the album to Spotify supplied the wrong version…
I have had royalties delve into this and they have advised me that “Cat Food” has been streamed 353 times and “Groon” 265 times. This has generated a payment to Island Records from Spotify of £1.61p.
I have been assured that the recordings have been withdrawn from Spotify and steps taken to ensure that this will not arise again.
“£1.61 gross on 618 streams, then reduced from gross to net artist royalty on tracks improperly provided by UMG – a shareholder in Spotify? Is this seriously being presented as a future for the industry?”
More on Spotify and other “music subscription services” at the New York Times.
Little Red Record
Columbia (COL 471488-2)
Dave McRae, Grahnd Piahno, electric piano, Hammond Organ; Robert Wyatt, drums, mouth; Phil Miller, guitars; Bill MaCormick, bass; with Brian Eno, synthesizer
1. Starting in the Middle of the Day, We Can Drink Our Politics Away – 2:31
2. Marchides – 8:25
3. Nan True’s Hole – 3:36
4. Righteous Rhumba – 2:50
5. Brandy as in Benj – 4:24
6. Gloria Gloom – 8:06
7. God Song – 2:59
8. Flora Fidgit – 3:26
9. Smoke Signal – 6:37
“The second Matching Mole studio album is generally considered to be the more consistent of the two they released. Also of interest, it was the album that introduced Robert Fripp (producer) to Brian Eno (guest synth player). The first song, “Starting in the Middle of the Day…” shows the craftier moments of the band, with frenetic piano lines from McRae bouncing off of Wyatt’s disguised vocals. “God Song” is a bit of socialist angst from Wyatt, played against a delicate acoustic guitar backdrop from Miller. Although a bit overdone in the lyrics department, at least it doesn’t take itself too seriously and truth be told, it does contain some witty lines. “Nan True’s Hole,” features the catchiest riff on the album (indeed, that’s pretty much all the song is) and a hilarious cameo from Alfreda Benge (Wyatt’s wife), who provides dual voices for a bewildered prostitute and her sheepish, 40-year old customer. “Marchides,” powered by Wyatt’s forceful drumming, seems taken straight from the Soft Machine engine, and will please those fans uncertain of exploring Wyatt’s post-Softs waters. Much of the rest of the album, however, doesn’t particularly stick with me, and mileage will vary for how much you can take of Wyatt’s lyrics. But besides that: da Komrade, da!”
“I’d only had the faint notion that Matching Mole was some kind of Soft Machine spinoff (the name being taken from the French for “Soft Machine”: Machine Molle), but didn’t realize the rest of the impressive genealogy until I stumbled upon this album (and also noticed it was produced by Robert Fripp). I was certainly not disappointed. As has been stated repeatedly elsewhere, this album was a marked change from their debut in that it was more of a band effort than their first release, which was commandeered almost entirely by Wyatt. The difference is… well, less Wyatt, and more instrumental input from everyone, resulting in a nice combination of spacey jazz and groovy jams, with Wyatt sticking to the skins more so than on their first. I actually gained quite an appreciation for his lyrics and voice, which hadn’t made as much an impression on me in Soft Machine, thanks to “God Song”, on which he lends his humorous philosophy to a quiet and somber tune by Phil Miller. For the most part, though, all members of the band shine brightly on this album, and the whole thing has a comfortable loose concept feel to it, applying wit and experimentation throughout with some great composition coupled with jamming by seasoned musicians.
07 MARCH 2004
|From Robert Fripp’s online diary for March 4, 2004: |
My four criteria for professional work, applied over many years, have been these: