It has been observed more than once that Red was a “swan song” for the early 70’s King Crimson.  While Robert Fripp (like Frank Zappa) has always brought out the best in almost anyone he’s worked with, listening to Red now reconfirms my sense of a very singular musical chemistry — or perhaps the better word is alchemy? — that can be heard between Fripp, Wetton, and Bruford in this incarnation of KC.  There’s something essential that gels on this album, in fact, from all of the band’s previous albums, and (I’m tempted to say) remains an unavoidable benchmark for all subsequent work.

The title track alone is a paradigm for any proggish texture that would lean recklessly into a Zeppelinesque aesthetic.  It raises the hairs on the back of my neck in just about the same way as ‘The Rover” from Physical Graffiti (released only a few months later).

I have met a good number of folks who otherwise appreciate King Crimson, but whose main complaint about the early-70’s KC is dissatisfaction with John Wetton’s vocals.  It’s hard to say whence our various aural fixations arise, but I wish to be on record as claiming that Wetton’s singing on this album is essential to its textural perfection, and is (to my ear) the best vocal work that Wetton has ever done.

Go.  Get Red out and listen again.  You know you want to.

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