Pete Sinfield RIP...so confused

With the exception of Robert Hunter, Pete Sinfield is one of the most important Rock lyricist. Like Robert Hunter he was not in the band as a musician but a writer only. It was my teenage years where I heard these sweet odd songs come from a monstrous band like King Crimson.  I took them to my high school rhetoric class and they were impossible by myself and the teacher.  He called them Sci-Fi lyrics or at one point that we had to be on some mind altering drug to understand and dissect them.  Whatever I thought they were I loved them.  

Some of the songs he wrote were odd, funny, cerebral, and downright crazy. If you go on this site http://www.songsouponsea.com/Promenade/lyrics/lyrics.html you can search the lyrics to all the songs he wrote along with the album they are on. I personally will choose a few that still have an effect on me and still cannot figure out what he was saying.  These lyrics come from his first era of King Crimson 1969-1974. In that time He also wrote for Emerson Lake, and Palmer, Premiata Forneria Marconi (Italian Progressive Rock Band) and most importantly himself. The words I chose reflect what I like and still to this day trying to crack the Sinfield code. 


His lyrics were like no other. They made no sense, and what imagery you had made you totally confused but I think that is what made them great. Here is a shining example. 

    Cat Food

    Lady Supermarket with an apple in her basket
    Knocks on the manager's door;
    Grooning to the musak from a speaker in shoe rack
    Lays out her goods on the floor;
    Everything she's chosen is conveniently frozen.
    "Eat it and come back for more!"

    Lady Window Shopper with a new one in the hopper
    Whips up a chemical brew;
    Croaking to a neighbour while she polishes a sabre
    Knows how to flavour a stew.
    Never need to worry with a tin of "Hurri Curri":
    "Poisoned especially for you!"

    No use to complain
    If you're caught out in the rain;
    Your mother's quite insane.
    Cat food, cat food, cat food again.

    Lady Yellow Stamper with a fillet in a hamper
    Dying to finish the course;
    Goodies for the table with a fable on the label
    Drowning in miracle sauce.
    Don't think I am that rude if I tell you that it's cat food,
    "Not even fit for a horse!"

I mean what is this all about? Anybody, anybody? The lyrics and the music fit very well together and I bet only King Crimson could pull this off. I mean Zappa and Beefheart had odd words almost like beat poetry but this is way far away from that. The best part it is a song that I could play again and again to great delight. 


Moonchild




King Crimson was his main lyrical vehicle to showcase his way with words, It was also the perfect match for is thoughts. I just wish there was a printed book of Sinfield's wonderful poetry for all of us to see and read.  Here is another and this time I have no clue what he is talking about. I bet one day I will get it and totally understand it. 
    Indoor Games

    Indoor fireworks amuse your kitchen staff
    Dusting plastic garlic plants
    They snigger in the draught
    When you ride through the parlour
    Wearing nothing but your armour-
    Playing Indoor Games.

    One string puppet shows amuse
    Your sycophantic friends
    Who cheer your rancid recipes
    In fear they might offend,
    Whilst you loaf on your sofa
    Sporting falsies and a toga -
    Playing Indoor Games, Indoor Games.

    Your mean teetotum spins arouse your seventh wife
    Who pats her sixty little skins
    And reinsures your life,
    Whilst you sulk in your sauna
    'Cos you lost your jigsaw corner -
    Playing Indoor Games, Indoor Games.

    Each afternoon you train baboons to sing
    Or swim in purple perspex water wings.
    Come Saturday jump chopper, chelsea brigade,
    High bender-trender it's all Indoor Games.

    No-ball bagatelle incites
    Your children to conspire.
    They slide across your frying pan
    And fertilize your fire;
    Still you and Jones go madder
    Broken bones - broken ladder -
    Hey Ho . . .

Rest in Peace to an incredible writer. If I wrote some of these poems/lyrics I can only imagine what my English teacher would have said. I'm sure my parents would have gotten the "We have to talk about your son and his odd writing in English Class.  Thanks for the imagery and the complex thoughts coming out of your brain.  



  


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