Initial pressings featured a limited edition, cardboard-stock gatefold sleeve and unpublished archive photos.

King Crimson: Greg Lake (vocals, bass); Robert Fripp (guitar); Ian McDonald (flute, clarinet, saxophones, keyboards, background vocals); Michael Giles (drums); Peter Sinfield.

This reissue of King Crimson's debut, In the Court of the Crimson King (1969), renders all previous pressings obsolete. In the late '90s, Robert Fripp remastered the entire Crimson catalog for inclusion in a 30th anniversary edition. Nowhere was the upgrade more deserved (or necessary) than on this rock & roll cornerstone. Initially, King Crimson consisted of Robert Fripp (guitar), Ian McDonald (reeds/woodwind/vibes/keyboards/Mellotron/vocals), Greg Lake (bass/vocals), Michael Giles (drums/percussion/vocals), and Peter Sinfield (words/illuminations). As if somehow prophetic, King Crimson projected a darker and edgier brand of post-psychedelic rock. Likewise, they were inherently intelligent -- a sort of thinking man's Pink Floyd. Fripp demonstrates his innate aptitude for contrasts and the value of silence within a performance, even as far back as "21st Century Schizoid Man." The song is nothing short of the aural antecedent to what would become the entire heavy alternative/grunge sound. Juxtaposed with that electric intensity is the ethereal noir ballad "I Talk to the Wind." The delicate vocal harmonies and McDonald's achingly poignant flute solo and melodic counterpoint remain unmatched on an emotive level. The surreal and opaque lyrics are likewise an insight to Peter Sinfield's masterful wordplay, which graced their next three releases. The original A-side concludes with the powerful sonic imagery of "Epitaph." The haunting Mellotron wails, and Fripp's acoustic -- as well as electric -- guitar counterpoints give the introduction an almost sacred feel, adding measurably to the overall sinister mood. Giles' percussion work provides a pungent kick during the kettle drum intro and to the aggressive palpitation-inducing rhythm in the chorus. "Moonchild" is an eerie love song that is creepy, bordering on uncomfortable. The melody is agile and ageless, while the instrumentation wafts like the wind through bare trees. Developing out of the song is an extended improvisation that dissolves into a non-structured section of free jazz, with brief guitar lines running parallel throughout. The title track, "In the Court of the Crimson King," completes the disc with another beautifully bombastic song. Here again, the foreboding featured in Sinfield's lyrics is instrumentally matched by the contrasting verbosity in the chorus and the delicate nature of the verses and concluding solos. Of course, this thumbnail appraisal pales in comparison to experiencing the actual recording. Thanks to Fripp and company's laborious efforts, this 30th anniversary edition sports sound as majestic as it has ever been within the digital domain. Frankly, the HDCD playback compatibility even bests the warmth and timbre of an original 1-A vinyl pressing. This is especially critical during the quieter passages throughout "Moonchild" and "I Talk to the Wind." Initial releases were housed in a limited-edition gatefold replica of the original LP packaging and were accompanied by an oversized 12-page memorabilia booklet with photos and press clippings from the era. ~ Lindsay Planer

KC's debut album introduced to the world a group that threw various '60s genres into a blender and set the results afire with a blowtorch. One of the pioneers of the progressive rock movement that began in the late '60s and flourished in the early '70s, King Crimson was arguably the most consistently creative band in the genre. On IN THE COURT they blend wispy, Donovan-ish folk-rock with Wagnerian grandeur, mind-bending heavy rock, and even a free- jazz sensibility. Greg Lake's vocals are effectively theatrical but more restrained than in his later ELP work. Robert Fripp was just learning how to make mincemeat of a chord progression, but he's alternately lyrical and frenetic as the moment requires.

The extended jams on cuts like "Moonchild" are light-footed and inventive, never ponderous, thanks largely to the crisp, jazzy drumming of Michael Giles. "20th Century Schizoid Man"'s bone-crushing ensemble riffs and crazed solos were of a heft unprecedented in rock & roll. Most importantly, the trademark Crimson would stick to throughout their career is shown here--dynamic variations between soft/lyrical and raucous/experimental. This was seen not just between songs but in the drastic dynamic shifts between sections in a single composition.

Q (12/99, p.162) - 4 stars out of 5 - "...this 1969 album's manic energy and compressed imagery captures the violent downside of the hippy years...better than almost any other recording from the time..."

Q (Magazine) (p.121) - "From baroque ballads to avant-garde heavy metal, Crimson's debut sounded unlike anything else before or since."