Back To Life

Yesterday, to my gratified surprise, the Blu-Ray player that decided to break down after swallowing my precious DVD of King Crimson at their seven-headed finest, for some unknown reason sprang to life, coughed up the trapped DVD, and has been functioning quite normally ever since. (Actually, I suppose the fact that I unplugged it and then plugged it back in might have helped, but a post-mortem on events isn't necessary so long as things are reasonably back to normal.)

In celebration of the fact that I was able to enjoy the great music all over again, I started playing the concert from where I'd broken off with the band themselves starting up again after an interval. They resumed with The Letters and The Sailor's Tale and I have to say that I was stunned by just how amazingly good the performances were. The sheer range of expression on the former was jaw-dropping. I mean, it's always been a dramatic sort of piece but the way the musicians negotiate the movement from the gentle, tender, delicate opening to the all out furious grieving of Mel's protracted saxophone work-out is astonishing. Even though I've listened a number of times to this line-up playing the song I'd never quite realised just how ferociously busy the three drummers get in the central segment, I suppose because they are just so controlled in their fury. And the segue to the instrumental, one of Crimson's very finest, is just perfection. Oh, and the ending of the Tale, for which the audience wisely remained silent, with Bill playing those repeated fading mellotron chords as if some great sea creature is passing away, is a surpassing example of less meaning more.

The thing is, you can focus on any one of the players at any time with the realisation that whatever they are doing is just so uncannily right, even when they are doing nothing except listening to the others and watching intently.