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Beat ‘Live’

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What does it sound like?:

Last year, Beat convened to tour the three Crimson albums of the 80s, namely Discipline, Beat and Three of a Perfect Pair. For those of you whose grannies are yet to perfect their albumen-through-a-straw technique, the three albums shared a common and consistent line-up, had a shared imagery in minimalist cover design, and most definitely a distinct take on the Crimson sound. It was the arrival of Adrian Belew and Tony Levin that brought that fresh stamp. Now, I am well aware that both at that time and since, for some, the new sound was a travesty of the Crimson legacy, almost sacreligious; given the tribalism of musical taste in the post-punk era, Belew’s association with Talking Heads put him beyond the pale with prog fans, as he had been playing with The Opposition. This review is not for those people, for why would they be interested? That said, I think it’s important that you know the starting point for your reviewer, so you can judge the perspective of observation.
Well, for starters, when I first heard these albums, I was already a big fan of both King Crimson and Talking Heads, so comfortable, indeed fascinated by the influence of one on the other. I hold Discipline as every bit one of the great Crimson albums, with no filler, and Beat was a worthy successor, if just lacking an edge to develop the project. However, I won’t deny that Three of a Perfect Pair showed a lack of quality control by comparison. The thrill of this period is the juxtaposition of the differing guitar styles of Fripp and Belew, underpinned by the dream team of Bruford and Levin. This is what I imagine fractals would sound like, expanding exponentially across the cosmos. The joy, certainly of Discipline and Beat, is the clarity of the interplay. What’s more, for my money, the lyrics take a sharp step forward. So, I’m in the market. Indeed, if the tours had got further than the Americas so far, I would have already travelled to see this band.
Ah yes, the band. It would be a gross slur to consider this to be some form of tribute band. Belew and Levin are here, but joined by none other than Steve Vai. I have a distant memory of regretting missing a gig that Vai and Fripp did at the turn of the century as part of a trio of guitarists. I know less about drummer Danny Carey, but know enough that Tool are high in the firmament of latter day prog bands. This is a machine with high quality components.
So, it’s a shame to have to confess to disappointment from the off. The set opens with half of the tracks from Beat (the studio album). Opener Neurotica is muddy. I might be happy if I was carried by the adrenaline buzz of live audience, but back home you’re aware that some of the scintillating high contrast is lost. Perhaps by Sartori in Tangier, the sound has settled down to give more justice to the musicians.
But then we have a rather generous run of five tracks from Pair. The three songs confirm my previous judgment on the lack of strength of this material. I remember a housemate at the time objecting to Belew’s wailing and, frankly, on the evidence of these three, my mate Dunc had a point.
At this stage of proceedings, however, there is a shift. Industry has a portentous opening: a single note on the bass, repeated in apparently random but certainly deliberate groupings; the snare joins; it all builds. A connection to The Devil’s Triangle from In The Wake of Poseidon now becomes so apparent. It is all less frenetic, giving space, until it all kicks off, three minutes in. The major chords seem different from the studio, building a powerhouse out of what was easily overlooked back in 1984. The improvisation gets a bit crazy after that, but the tension remains. It’s brilliant. It also develops over ten minutes, a full three minutes longer than the original.
But what the hell does ‘the original’ mean from a band whose one-take improvisations sometimes made it to the final cut? Especially for such instrumentals, with less structural constraint, the studio version immortalised for posterity might have been quite unrepresentative of how that piece had developed before and after.
And so it is with other tracks where they allow themselves to stretch out, like the following Larks Tongues Part 3. For now we have reached the point in the concert where the album Discipline is showcased. In fact, the eponymous track is the only one off the album that doesn’t get a hearing. It’s curious that it’s taken until the midpoint of the album, but it’s unmistakeable; by Waiting Man, the precision is here and it all sounds fresh again. Likewise, on The Sheltering Sky, you can feel all the textures of the various guitars, and weighing in at fourteen minutes, it’s a monster. Indiscipline is twice as long as you first heard it. Tangents are explored; discord hammered into shape. The band have found their purpose. This is worth it. Frame by Frame is as muscular as on Discipline, but with the added frisson and variations of live performance. Elephant Talk lends itself to the same approach. Occasionally heard accusations that Crimson were too precise, too structured, too academic to rock, well they just don’t hold water. Elephant Talk must have one of the most demonic riffs in rock, and hearing it live, you can sense the risks they must have taken every night, walking that musical tightrope. Belew’s shriek of laughter at the end gives a sense of what a ride this must be, every time they play it, and just why it might appeal to Vai and Carey to be a part of it.
As the show draws towards its end, there is just one nod to a different Crimson era, and it’s entirely fitting that Red is the choice. Not only does it connect closely with the sound of the Belew/Levin era band, it was also the part of the back catalogue most likely to be played live by the 1980s incarnation. To be honest, they don’t go anywhere new with it, but you don’t necessarily want that from ‘old’, do you?
I guess Thela Hun Jinjeet was the encore of the gig, and it’s another riproaring Nantucket sleighride of a track but, blinkin’ eck, we’re back to the start again, with a muddy mix, rather fuzzy drums dominating at the front. If you know the track, you know what brilliance is in there, surrounded by structural, rhythmic, but badly mixed noise. It’s kind of exhilarating, but lacks clarity, and it’s a shame that Beat ‘Live’ signs off in this way.

What does it all *mean*?

I would love to see this in concert. What you hear definitely gives you the sense of the excitement of hearing this material live. I’m less certain that I would want it as a memento of that live experience. The promo stuff that heralds the upcomoing release talks about ‘Fripp and Bruford’s dramatic precision’, and that is actually what is missing at times. This recording tells me it would be great to be there, but it feels like getting a photo of you coming through the log flume at Alton Towers; you’re not really capturing just how exciting it felt at the time.
That said, I might just be persuaded to part with my cash for the sake of those expansive instrumental tracks; an eight minute Sheltering Sky just feels a bit brief now.

Goes well with…

Well I was having a full boded Chilean red and a nice selection of pungent cheese while I was typing this. And you?

Release Date:

26th September https://BEATband.lnk.to/Live-Album

Might suit people who like…

It’s easier to think of people who should steer well clear. I’m not sure there is such a thing as ‘entry level Crimson’. It’s dense, intense and not for the casual listener. But we’re not casual listeners on this site, are we?

6

Comments

  3. Have to confess that any combo including Steve Vai gets a swerve from me. If it ain’t got Fripp it ain’t got the Crimson touch. If it has got Vai, the widdling will be intensely irritating.

  4. This is interesting that Mr Vai has prompted most of the conversation. I hadn’t really thought too much about his individual stamp while reviewing this album; Belew is much more to the fore. If anything, I felt the recorded gig needed more dense widdling than less.

  5. I’ve listened to the CDs today and until reading the comments above I hadn’t noticed/forgotten about Vai’s involvement, oh I quite enjoyed the performance it just goes to show haw those prejudices can influence what you hear

    What?

    • I read an interview with Vai where he talked about this band and he said he’d really tried to get inside Fripp’s feel whilst bringing something of himself and not just copying nore for note. Which obviously he could have done.

  6. For those (cough, Mr Fox, cough) dismissing this release because of Vai, from a guitarist’s perspective Fripp, Vai and Belew come from a very similar place, even if their output seems quite different. They have all been pioneers in using sheets of angular, cerebral and dissonant sound, whether it be Fripp’s mathematical, metronomic, circular patterns, Belew’s howling sound effects or Vai’s alien, hypersonic, wide intervals. While Vai is often thrown in with 80s shredders (Satch, Malmsteen, Gilbert etc) he is actually quite a different, more complex and more interesting beast.

    I’m in the strange position of recommending a release I’ll almost certainly never listen to (I’m a peripheral Crimson fan and only have one, much-neglected Vai album), but I think this could be very interesting for fans of either.

    Fuck it, I’ll put it on while I work.

    • Good analysis and I completely agree. Of course the story goes that Joe Satriani taught him to play and such were his natural gifts, after 3 months told him”in a year’s time you’ll be better than me”. Happily they are quite different, Satch being far more melody and song orientated where Vai is generally in a different universe. Mind you Vai can be a sidemen – as a hired gun with Whitesnake for one album after their guitarist injured his hands he was immaculate but declined the opportunity to sign up for the ensuing tour.

      Vai came to everyone’s attention with a key role in the slightly silly road movie “Crossroads” where he plays the Devil’s Guitarist “cutting heads” with Ralph Marachio, erstwhile classical guitar student in search of the lost Robert Johnson solo. Vai is unmistakably Vai but back then no one had any idea you could do that sort of thing with an innocent guitar. Intriguingly the slide guitar parts were played by Ry Cooder so if you want to hear a Cooder/Vai jam, here it is.

      Vai’s guitar break at about 6’30 created a generation of horrible guitarists of the sort that give Vulpes the horrors. Great fun though.

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