When Robert Fripp allows
an album to be directly
compared to King Crimson
-whose legacy he rightly guards with
considerable zeal – then you know that
you’re dealing with something special.
This is certainly the case here.

The combination of Fripp and Jakko
Jakszyk is, at times, breathtaking. Not
that this should come as a shock. The
former, an experienced guitarist, is well
versed in the history and artistry of the
latter, having started the 21st Century
Schizoid Band a decade ago in order to
explore the music of King Crimson. But
what they’ve created now, while owing
a lot to the heritage of that great band, is
something a little different.

With Mel Collins adding beautifully
observed saxophone and flute
flourishes, these musicians have come
up with an album that isn’t merely an
indulgence in musical sophistication. Of
course, the level of instrumentation is
daunting and remarkable, but what may
surprise you is that the six songs here
are well structured, with considerable
reliance on melody and groove.

At times, of what is for the most part a
laid-back excursion, there’s a funk rock
feel. Perhaps that’s not unexpected,
given Jakszyk’s background with Level
42, but it’s nonetheless welcome.

From the moment the title track
opens up everything with a taut, tight,
almost lounge approach, you’re drawn
into a world where questions are asked,
and rarely answered. Maybe it’s the
consequence of the ages of the
three- not to mention the rhythm
section of bassist Tony Levin and
drummer Gavin Harrison- but there’s
an air of almost frustrated philosophy
behind so many of the lyrics. Fear, grief,
lost opportunities and loneliness are all
tackled, with a sense that the passage of
time has turned out to be the greatest
villain of them all. In that respect, this
album could have been awkward and
dark, but such is the lightness of touch
musically, it ends up a nice balance
between gravitas and satisfaction.

For most of the time, the tempo is
sedate and gradual. But on The Other
Man and The Light Of Day, things open
up enough to suggest that this isn’t
about keeping to a slow stroll. In fact,
the latter track (which closes the record)
almost jumps out at you, such is its beat.
Moreover, if you listen carefully to this
song’s lyrics, the album ends on a note
of hope, rather than a maudlin one.

While the King Crimson gene pool
has been used to help construct this
project, it has enough originality and
ambition to become something very
distinct. And in an era where so many
are attempting to emulate what KC
achieved long ago, it’s encouraging to
hear these giants moving forward,
taking risks and being at home in an
environment where their formidable
skills are used to enhance good songs
rather than as an end in themselves.

Malcolm Dome

Sid Smith June 08 2011

“With King Crimson on hold since their live reunion of 2008, this instalment of the ProjeKct series – in which members break down into smaller research and development units – has caused surprise in some circles by releasing an album of finely crafted mid-paced songs rather than the fast-moving, genre-blurring instrumentals that characterised previous outings.

Yet the ProjeKct experiments weren’t ever about a given style but more to do with evolving beyond a creative impasse. The catalysing force this time is guitarist / vocalist, Jakko Jakszyk (the only non-Crimson member present here), whose extrapolations of the initial improvised guitar duets with Fripp into ornate full-scale songs is a stunning achievement.

Whilst Fripp is hailed for his acerbic, angular playing whether with King Crimson or via his ‘wild card’ appearances with Peter Gabriel, David Bowie, Brian Eno et al, there’s always been a yearning streak in his work which he gives full rein throughout. His clean, sparse lines carve a heartbreaking melodicism and aching melancholy on the title track and undulating waves of The Price We Pay. As ever, Fripp’s incisive fretwork is devastatingly passionate.

Mel Collins, playing with Fripp for the first time since 1974‘s Red, was always every bit the equal of the feted guitarist. Here he focusses on concise but telling sax commentaries rather than any obvious soloing. Across the rumbling grooves of Secrets, he turns in mocking soliloquies and some spectacular soaring choruses that nag and push at the prowling gravity of bassist Tony Levin and drummer, Gavin Harrison.

The sombre mood hanging over the album is matched by a terse sense of restraint which only breaks cover for the explosive paranoia of The Other Man and the discursive atonalities of The Light Of Day which closes the album. An especially bleak Fripp/Jakszyk improvisation is disconsolately adorned by multi-tracked voices and gouging scrawls of acidic sax. It’s dark and powerful stuff.

A Scarcity Of Miracles is a branching of the Crimson family tree with the co-option of an external contributor is as unprecedented as it is unexpected. Whether it continues to grow further is anyone’s guess. On the basis of what’s here, let’s hope it does.”