Watch makers

I OWE a lot to this particular single. It was absolutely pivotal in convincing me, at the age of 13, that I wanted to be a guitarist when I grew up; so it could be argued that King Crimson are to blame for the fact that I've been pretty much penniless for most of my life, coming embarrassingly late to the notion of pursuing a conventional career structure and, in every sense, attempting to grow up.

I wouldn't change a thing, though - except for maybe adding a few rows of zeros at the end of the amount rather than the beginning in my bank account - and I'm still glad I spent my 50p pocket money on this single when I did, in Calders record shop in Greenock in 1974.

The singles were displayed in a glass case in Calders, lending them a semi-precious status in my impressionable young mind. I had already been mentally scarred in the most rewarding and wonderful way by the first two King Crimson albums, but the sight of a single by them, with its innocuous Island Records "palm tree" label, under that glass counter made my unorthodox teenage palms sweat.

I forked over the meagre readies with the unseemly and excitable haste of a Razzle habitué and scurried home to bung my purchase on to my brother's state-of-the-art 70s stereo - Rank Wharfedale amp and speakers, Garrard SP25 Mk III turntable... Hai Karate aftershave and a Vesta curry close at hand.

I had unwittingly just bought two performances by the best line-up King Crimson ever boasted - a contentious statement, but I'm sticking by it. Founder member and owl-faced sage Robert Fripp was joined herein by Bill Bruford, John Wetton and David Cross - and rockets have been launched into deep space with less collective thrust.

All I knew then was that I'd neverThe Night Watch doesn't adhere to the ever-popular principle of mile-a-minute speed, although he does peel off a brief and blistering flurry in the middle of it. In fact, it's all about choice of notes, and Fripp's elegantly unexpected tumble of singing sustain, culminating in a pure note so high that it must be right off the guitar neck and somewhere over the pickups, is a sanctified work of actual genius.

Aptly enough, it sounds as though you're listening to a painting.