Pitchfork

In music, there aren't many things as dependable as your rock heroes inevitably churning out bullshit. It happens to the best at some point or another. Maybe they rebound (Dylan, Costello), maybe they don't (McCartney, Prince), but it's telling that, as listeners, we often fall into the trap of treating our music like amusement park rides, expecting bigger and better thrills with each passing year. Now, I'm not arguing for constant entertainment; a saturated experience that fills voids we didn't even know existed. And despite the perennial letdowns, I wouldn't expect these musicians to take critical reactions any more seriously than television static. A million critics can be wrong-- just ask the next person who isn't fooled into believing prog is inherently bad. (Quick, there's another one!) But would it be too much to ask for a new wrinkle now and then?

Guitarist Robert Fripp formed King Crimson in 1969 with Michael Giles, Ian McDonald, and future-total-embarrassment Greg Lake. Their debut record, featuring brooding Mellotron, dark, epic, ballads, and Fripp's signature brainiac-laser guitar lines (especially on the classic rave-up "21st Century Schizoid Man") helped define progressive rock in its earliest stages, and is still held as one of the most important records of the genre today. In the 70s, the band worked through various lineups, and eventually settled on a group featuring Fripp, ex-Yes drummer Bill Bruford, John Wetton, and David Cross (not the bald comic). That band managed to almost single-handedly defy all stereotypes thrown at prog, not only by being one of its greatest proponents of free improvisation, but also by just rocking the hell out of the world's concert halls. In the 80s, Fripp brought in guitarist/vocalist Adrian Belew and turned the band into a tightly wound New Wave machine-- imagine Talking Heads crossed with Don Cab. And in the 90s, the band mixed and matched all of these sounds, pleasing pretty much their entire devoted fanbase. Until now.

You see, the problem with Happy with What You Have to Be Happy With-- a compilation of new stuff, studio pisstakes and one live track released to satiate the poor-fan's crave until next year's full-length-- isn't that King Crimson have abandoned their sound or moved away from what made them so interesting, but that it's a culmination of the last few years' stagnation. From the "Frippertronics" (Fripp's patented ambient guitar technique), to the "eclectic" percussion instrumental, to the "funny" "blues" "tune", there's a not-so-thin film of decay drenching almost every moment on this set. The two new ideas-- the first being the title track's depressingly out-of-touch stab at xFC-metal; the second being the studio cut-n-paste of "Einstein's Relatives"-- seem, by turns, desperate and unnecessary. 2000's The Construkction of Light hinted at complacency, but was at least energetic.

The title track is the worst offender on the record, opting for ham-fisted satire of bands that King Crimson shouldn't even be aware of (they toured with Tool recently, and I can only imagine the late-night hilarity on that tourbus) at the great expense of the jam. "I have some words/ This is the way I'll sing/ Through a distortion box/ To make them menacing," sings Belew. Ha ha, he sure did bite Korn there-- next up, King Crimson exposes the idiocy of Milli Vanilli and 50s game shows. Belew throws in a few practice rounds on auto-harmonizer just to show he's still got Peter Frampton's number, and "Potato Pie" is the embodiment of filler.

Perhaps even more frustrating, there are some okay songs, too: "Mie Gakure" may be old-hat ambience for Fripp, but it's nice nonetheless; Belew's "Eyes Wide Open" proves that he is the world's finest imitator of a David Byrne/John Lennon hybrid mutant, and that he can write a pleasant hook when called for (even if the song does recall moments from just about every Crimson record on which he's appeared). But alas, these are drops in an increasingly empty bucket. Better to burn out than fade away? Say it ain't so.