Wednesday, February 22, 2006
King Crimson Slips Silently into Queen City
You'd think that when a King came to the Queen City, there would be trumpets and sackbuts ablare. But fanfare, courtesy and honoring sustained achievement are not what nouveau-riche Charlotte is much good at. In its stead we see American Idols who bodies of work lie before them, and we cheer them on, in hopes that they too may become Clay Aiken, and bring fifteen more minutes to this fame-starved metropolis.
The new is seldom good, as it has yet to to be time-whittled. And so, like Goodwill itself, much dreck has to be touched before a diamond emerges.
Like today. The King is coming, with decades of gold in his crown, and the Queen is still sifting for Clay.
Nothing wrong with Clay. A very nice boy. Used to cut my grass. But Robert Fripp never cut my grass, and I would be very hesitant to ask him. Perhaps I could convince him that it was part of "the work".
Maybe not. At any rate, if you are interested in seeing a musical legend in an intimate setting, you could do worse than appear at tonight's concurrence.
511 E. 36th St.Charlotte, NC 28205
I have a long history with the King, and have enjoyed his music and philosophy since the first album, and his prior work with Giles. Over the decades, I have had a number of favorites. Starless, Lizard, Poseidon, and Heavenly Music Corporation jump out from the early days. For some reason, I thought that I could woo women by reciting "In the Wake of Poseidon". It had a modicum of success I suppose. Certainly better than "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" or "D.O.A.".
King Crimson and I share birthdays with Gurdjieff, with whom Fripp had a protracted involvement, and about which I'd like to inquire, should we have a moment.
I realize I will have to miss American Idol's showcase of the men, but somehow I think I will survive. One can take only so much devolution.
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