I’ve got a thing for Brian Eno.
It began several years ago when a fellow high school stoner brought over his vinyl copy of Here Come the Warm Jets, a record that – though having been released four years prior – was a new discovery in our endless search for music that “did it” for us, music that rose above the dreadful clatter of disco and the sensitive MOR that dominated mid-70s radio in central Alabama.
A million groups fit this bill at the time, one of them being King Crimson, and it was through reading about them (Robert Fripp, specifically) that my friend had happened upon Mr. Eno. So we put the record on and became infatuated with the strange sounds and rhythms. But even though “Baby’s On Fire” became something of a weekend battle cry for us, we perceived Eno as little more than the jester in the court of the Crimson King, not realizing he was actually more a Merlin whose sonic magic would prep our ears for the music in our future. He was duly noted, but not further pursued. (more…)
