THREE OF A PERFECT PAIR

The last of the "guitar gamelan" trilogy of the 80s lineup, "Three of a Perfect Pair" is an album suffering from musical schizophrenia. Half of it is strange, moody, sometimes overly synthed instrumentals, the other half straightforward Belew-written pop songs. Bruford was increasingly dissatisfied with the direction the band was heading into, and after this album and its tour would leave to explore the jazz side of his music. On the other hand, some of the tracks are King Crimson essentials. What to do...? As on the second album, the producer, Rhett Davies, would ask Bruford to retune his snare drum to take out his trademark whipcrack sound, a loss to the fans who flock to hear Bruford's initimable, instantly identifiable sound. Much of the drumming on this album is so synthed-up as to be almost unrecognizable as the work of perhaps the best drummer in the business.

The opening title track is one of those essentials from this period, a muscular, sinuous double-guitar groove over a syncopated back beat, and one of the few songs from this album that the band would perform as part of its lineup in the "double trio" days of the 90s. The enjoyable but rather forgettable power ballad "Model Man" is next, a Belew song based on a (for this band) rather simplistic, straightforward structure. "Sleepless" is a song of great controversy; almost disco-y in its sound, it features a fast and funky Levin bass line over chunky Belew power chording and washes of sound from Fripp. Bruford hated the song so much that he wouldn't play it in the studio, and Levin had to build the drum track from tape snippets. In concert, Bruford would rework the drums in a far more interesting, tribal-beat manner. The studio version got some play in the dance clubs. "Man With an Open Heart" is another straight-ahead power pop ballad, followed by a beautifully airy, dreamy "Nuages," an instrumental built on Fripp's soundscapes and a simmering, almost Kraftwerkian synth-percussion backbeat.

Side two (yes, another LP reference) sees the end of the power pop and takes us somewhere else entirely. "Industry" is a perfectly named instrumental, an "industrial" piece based on dark synthed percussion, droning bass throbs, and slashing, staccato guitars. The live version on "Absent Friends" is more fully realized. "Dig Me" is Belew's song, based on an almost atonal guitar line and chanted lyrics interspersed with short flashes of the controlled chaos that Crimson fans have come to expect. The somewhat improv'd "No Warning" combines the airy, Djam Karet-like soundscapes of "Nuages" with a more menacing underpinning. The last song is probably most fans' favorites, a danceable, syncopated instrumental based on the two "Larks Tongues" instrumentals from the 70s band. While the rest of the band lays down an almost marching rhythm, Fripp turns his magic fingers loose on an array of blazing guitar runs that makes Fripp fans sit up and beg, a nice departing gift for the faithful.

It's not hard to hear the end of this particular band in this album; after "TOAPP," it's difficult to imagine what this particular band could continue to do in this particular vein. The time had come for this band to be done, and this album gives us a strong, if not completely satisfying, farewell. Like "Beat," casual KC fans won't want to run out and buy this album for their CD rack, but fans of the 80s KC see this as a flawed but necessary album for their collections. However, unlike many other Crimson offerings, this album is varied and accessible enough to play for non-KC fans without guaranteeing that listeners not in tune with Crimson music make excuses to leave the room...though they may find themselves somewhat discomfited with some of the later instrumentals, there's nothing on here like "Fracture" or "Indiscipline" that will make them run for cover from the sonic onslaught.