"Just Drop In" on The Brondesbury Tapes

Read this review while you can: Fripp could find a way to copyright-claim something in here! Selections from Giles, Giles & Fripp's legendary demos are remastered from their original source.

Few music-related fair use debacles quite measure up to the “Frippocalypse” – a years-long period in which Robert Fripp’s team copyright-struck every King Crimson album review, meme, anything, posted to YouTube. I felt like I was walking on eggshells every time I reviewed a King Crimson album.

Some of my peers flew closer to the sun; losing entire YouTube channels over posting excerpts from the Brondesbury Tapes.

In the context of The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles & Fripp, it’s a miracle he Brondesbury Tapes ever came to be. Such a commercial flop as Cheerful Insanity might’ve discouraged any other group; let alone one that existed for a mere fifteen months. Lucky for us listeners, this group included Robert Fripp. “Fripp” and “discouraged” are mutually ex-clusive.

For thirty years, the Brondesbury Tapes were lost to time; collecting dust in someone’s collection. What little the public had of the tapes were bootlegged for decades before (and after) their first official release in 2001. It’s easy to understand the moth-to-a-flame appeal for young Crimson fans with YouTube channels, no? The Tapes are a fascinating relic to begin with. How did Giles, Giles & Fripp, this little fawn in the clearing, become King Crimson, destroyer of worlds?

I thought for sure that Fripp was saving the Brondesbury Tapes for some big vinyl box set, to release on some amorphous future anniversary. I was pleasantly surprised to see A Selection From the Brondesbury Tapes re-appear earlier this month; remastered from the original source by David Singleton.

How the Tapes had listenable audio quality in the first place, I’m not entirely sure! At that namesake Brondesbury Street “flat,” Peter and Michael Giles, Robert Fripp, Ian McDonald, and Judy Dyble, with contributions from future King Crimson lyricist Pete Sinfield, made demos on a secondhand Revox reel-to-reel recorder. Their “mixer” wasn’t much more than bits and bobs laying around the “studio!” With this 2025 remaster, the noticeable surface noise has been reduced on most tracks. Perfection clearly wasn’t Singleton’s goal for the Tapes, though. There’s a hum here, latent static there, the occasional click. Lo-fi on vinyl isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, it’s not always mine. As fate would have it, the original tape of “Passages of Time” (a proto-“Peace – A Theme”) degraded in quality such that the tape hiss overtakes the music. Singleton chose not to scrub this; instead presenting it as part of the music. It’s oddly cohesive with the bolero; applying a tremolo to Judy’s double-tracked voice and playing well with the fade-in. Audio quality purists might not appreciate the naturalistic approach. History purists absolutely will. Preserve as it was, and preserve as it’s changed. Exalt the passage of time. This is, after all, an album about germination. Save for noted moments, the Tapes’ sound quality as a whole has greatly improved from the 2001 release.

For years, I spouted the line, “If In the Court of the Crimson King had been recorded by Giles, Giles & Fripp, it might have sounded something like the Brondesbury Tapes.” Calling my own bluff here: that statement is reductive. Quite a few of these tracks had previously appeared on Cheerful Insanity: “Suite No. 1,” “Erudite Eyes,” “She Is Loaded,” and “Under The Sky." “Passages of Time” evolved into “Peace – A Theme” for In Wake of Posideon.“ Suite No. 1” and “Tremolo Study in E Major (Spanish Theme)” were cut up and rearranged into “Prelude: Song of the Gulls” on Islands. “Why Don’t You Just Drop In” was rewritten a few years down the line, becoming “The Letters.” And, of course, there’s two recordings of Crimson King cornerstone “I Talk To The Wind.” Sure, these tracks are the Rosetta Stone of Fripp history. (Frippstory?) Yes, it is remarkable how fully-formed “I Talk To The Wind” was from the jump. To fully understand where King Crimson came from, you have to examine Giles, Giles & Fripp’s unique blend of jazz with British folk-pop. “Suite No. 1” even plays with classical elements. Fripp proves he’s worthy of the title of fretmaster with the tight, rolling fingerpicking. It’s uncanny to hear him experimenting with feedback so early on “Drop In.” It’s not quite as screeching as we know him for today. A lot looser, but it serves the decidedly ’60s material.

A Selection highlight “She Is Loaded” is lighthearted and very nearly pop; with its barbershop-adjacent introduction and terribly catchy layered “all together now” vocals. “Her (– her – her) kisses never get better/They (– they – they) just get wetter and wetter/I – (I – I) curse the day that met her!” Try getting that out of your head. I haven’t had much luck. Michael Giles proves to be one of the most underrated drummers in the rock-and-roll canon. His playing on “Loaded” is especially textural and illustrative, and he wows on “Wonderland”’s time signature changes. The whole thing would fall apart without him. Though he didn’t get last-name billing in the group (Giles, Giles, Fripp, and McDonald just doesn’t have the same ring to it, I fear,) Ian’s presence is essential to this Selection. His playful saxophone lines on “Make It Today” and “Loaded,” flute on “Erudite Eyes” and “Plastic Pennies,” and flute-clarinet duo on “Scrivens” add character to the material.

When original Fairport Convention frontwoman Judy Dyble arrives in the latter half of A Selection, the whole atmosphere changes. Giles, Giles & Fripp go from jazzy tones to an honest-to-goodness late ’60s folk outfit. A wonderful one, at that. Including both Peter Giles’s recording of “I Talk To The Wind” and Judy’s may seem tedious to casual fans. It’s little more than an experiment in reverse echo; or perhaps double-tracking that primitive technology couldn’t quite sync. Judy shines on the tracks King Crimson wouldn’t touch; the true British folk. Her voice was light, soft, and pure. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could talk to animals and had birds doing her wash. “Under The Sky” feels more at home with Judy’s flitting voice, but it doesn’t compare to the fresh-faced beauty of “Plastic Pennies.” Its gorgeous petal-pulling harmony is rounded out by the Giles brothers. The guys’ vocal harmonies are consistently excellent, if atypical.

A Selection From the Brondesbury Tapes is billed as the best-quality tunes of the full two-disc set. The one track I’m left wanting is “Hypocrite;” the lone surviving track from the group’s 1967 recordings. Though not from that Brondesbury flat (it was recorded in the basement of a hotel, of all places!) it was nevertheless included on the full Brondesbury Tapes release. Why not here, too? It’s certainly got the historical significance to argue its inclusion. Aside from this slight omission, this Selection is representative of what the Tapes are all about.

As far as packaging goes, I do wish DGM & Co. kept the photo that appears on the 2001 (and many bootlegs') release. The guys’ brown-and-gray outfits and silly hats were more pastoral, lighthearted; folksy looks for folksy material. Hugh O'Donnell's choice of dark background and blocky red text is more in keeping with King Crimson’s iconography. Perhaps this visual language is meant to attract the Crimson die-hards. I couldn’t help but laugh when I first removed the album’s inner sleeve (which I immediately switched out for rice paper.) It exclusively advertises albums by...Robert Fripp. No small booklet telling the story of Giles, Giles & Fripp. None of Peter Giles’s amusing original liner notes. No gatefold sleeve with a blurb explaining Singleton’s remastering process. Just Fripp!

Giles brothers (and literally everyone else) snub aside, this iteration of the Brondesbury Tapes so clearly treasures its material. Every band starts somewhere. Not all are afforded the chance to start with legend. Not only did King Crimson get the best debut album of all time, they had a legendary set of demos preceding it. This perfectly-blemished set proves that rudimentary equipment can, in fact, produce captivating recordings. “Limitation breeds innovation,” right? That bust-up equipment has got to be in the right hands, though, and the right musicians have to be in the room.

The Brondesbury Tapes are worth losing a YouTube channel over. I’m thankful A Selection neutralizes that risk...for now.