THE CHEERFUL INSANITY OF GILES, GILES & FRIPP

Throughout his musical career, Robert Fripp has managed to escape the "bogeyman" of conformity. In the world of progressive rock, it's hard to find a bigger visionary - and a bigger weirdo. An irrepressibly creative spirit must always be balanced somehow. For the first time he made a significant mark on the consciousness of his fans on the debut of King Crimson, one of the seminal progressive bands of the late 60s and early 70s. The first studio recording to feature his name, however, was recorded more than a year before Crimson's debut. It is the only album by the band of brothers Michael (drums, vocals) and Peter (bass, vocals) Giles, who recruited Fripp to join them, though they were originally looking for a singing keyboardist (and Fripp could do neither). Then in the spring of 1968 they recorded a record with the wacky title The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles and Fripp.

It's a definitely unstuffy album - but then, what do you expect from something Fripp co-wrote? In a three-piece (and with a lot of guests, of course), the musicians have managed to produce supremely creative and articulate arrangements that certainly don't bore. The band members were far away to suffer lack of inspiration - but sometimes there was probably so much of it that the motifs on the record run in all sorts of directions and together form a not entirely consistent mix. Well, just consider - some tracks (North Meadow, Digging My Lawn or Erudite Eyes) flirt with jazz quite sympathetically. A strange canterbury-esque melodicism characterises Call Tomorrow and How Do They Know, and alongside these we have again restrained psychedelia-drenched pieces like Newly-Weds and Thursday Morning.

Interspersed with all of the above are 60's cajodle cymbals with strings and poppy girl vocals (One in a Million, Little Children and the particularly awful The Sun Is Shining). On the other hand, there are hints of a future "Crimson" style in The Crukster and Elephant Song. Completely outside the other tracks on the record, then, is the fully instrumental Suite No. 1. combining contrasting guitar and piano-mellotron passages in a pleasing adaptation of classical music techniques. Of the bonus tracks, the punchy and saxophone-tinged She Is Loaded is worthy of particular mention, but the slightly dreamier Under the Sky with its swishing flute has something going for it too.

Probably in an attempt to give the album some sort of unifying concept, the gentlemen have peppered both sides of the record with spoken interludes. The first side was "enriched" by the Saga of Rodney Toady, a fat and ugly boy who was laughed at by the kids and comforted by his mother with the thought that one day he would marry a fat and ugly girl, just as his fat and ugly father once did. Even more demented B-side inserts then report in increasingly distorted voice positions that "They know a man called just George".

How to rate such a gallimace of style and concept? I get the feeling from the album cover that the broadly smiling Fripp is just enjoying the embarrassment of reviewers who have tasted this jazz-pop-rock stew and don't know whether they're sick of it or want more. Given the stylistic inconsistencies and distracting spoken word, I'm going to be strict this time. Since the album doesn't qualify for a four in my opinion and a three-star average is not appropriate for such rebellious content, Giles, Giles & Fripp get two stars from me. And take that as you will.