Tag: porcupine tree

More than 40 years ago, a band called King Crimson, having been formed for a mere 9 months, debuted with releasing one of the most important albums in the history of progressive rock. This is none other than “In The Court Of The Crimson King”. Tracks such as the self-named, or “Epitaph”, have made it to the pantheon of rock classics and for good reason.

While I was casually sifting through Porcupine Tree’s homepage, looking at their news and stuff, a certain something caught my eye. Steven Wilson, together with Robert Fripp, remixed King Crimson’s first three albums in digital and 5.1. Now that was something! I knew that Robert Fripp had worked with Porcupine Tree, had contributed with some guitar solos and things, but I did not know such a collaboartion actually existed!

I promptly set out to download this huge 40th Anniversary Edition of “In The Court”, 1.9GB worth of 5 discs. Wow! Indeed, the recent mixes bring out a certain something out of the sound. I really thought these songs were recorded yesterday, that’s how good the remixing is. If you haven’t yet listened to this album, I highly, highly recommend. Just like Steven Wilson puts it:

“this is the birth of progressive rock”.

(This is one AMAZING video. The music goes very well with the footage, which is just breath-taking in its own right… Fantastic stuff!)

The dance of the puppets
The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournament’s begun.
The purple piper plays his tune,
The choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
For the court of the crimson king.

The keeper of the city keys
Put shutters on the dreams.
I wait outside the pilgrim’s door
With insufficient schemes.
The black queen chants
The funeral march,
The cracked brass bells will ring;
To summon back the fire witch
To the court of the crimson king.

The gardener plants an evergreen
Whilst trampling on a flower.
I chase the wind of a prism ship
To taste the sweet and sour.
The pattern juggler lifts his hand;
The orchestra begin.
As slowly turns the grinding wheel
In the court of the crimson king.

On soft gray mornings widows cry
The wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play
But gentle pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.

The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams.
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams.
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams,
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
When silence drowns the screams.

Confusion will be my epitaph.
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back
And laugh.
But I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying,
Yes I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying.

Between the iron gates of fate,
The seeds of time were sown,
And watered by the deeds of those
Who know and who are known;
Knowledge is a deadly friend
When no one sets the rules.
The fate of all mankind I see
Is in the hands of fools.

Confusion will be my epitaph.
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back
And laugh.
But I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying,
Yes I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying.