Crafty
Whilst going to school at Binghamton University my pal Dave lived in nearby Ithaca. I would visit him a lot and soak in the town's wonderful vibes and explore the Cornell campus, trying not to be too jealous I ended up in Binghamton (the far less expensive option). Anyway, Dave ran lights for a lot of the school's productions, and as such clued me into an upcoming gig: Robert Fripp and his League of Crafty Guitarists. For those who don't know Robert Fripp here's a quick summary: Mostly known for being the guitarist/figurehead in 70's proto-prog-metal band King Crimson, he also worked with Bowie, Gabriel, David Sylvian, Daryl Hall, Blondie, and others. I love his early experiments in live looping (with tape) the best. He is also known to be a bit of a tough, cheerless character.
Anyway, my roommate Frank and I drove up to Ithaca to catch this show. Beforehand I got to meander backstage given Dave's access. This wasn't too exciting except when I stumbled into the busy green room and there, two feet away, was Fripp sitting and drinking tea. He looked up from his newspaper and stared at me with a soul crushing sneer. I couldn't bring myself to utter anything. Maybe I said, "'scuse me" before I backed out into the hall.
The performance was astounding. A dozen acoustic guitarists orchestrated in such a heavy, angular manner I hadn't previously dreamed possible. The concert featured a solo vocalist as well. She would walk to the front of the stage every few tunes and sing simple a capella ditties to soothe the brain before the next onslaught.
Halfway through the set Fripp walked up to the microphone and said, "So this is a prestigous academic facility. Perhaps you have some questions for us about what we do?"
Quickly there was one volunteer who asked, "Is this music scored or learned by ear?"
Fripp seemed slightly disappointed by the basic nature of this question, but still answered diplomatically. He explained the music was learned by ear and collaboratively arranged.
He selected another raised hand, and that person wondered, "How do you tune your guitars?"
This time the disgust at the amateurish query was clearly visible on his face. "You can read about that in any number of rock guitar magazines," he spoke in a long sigh, and continued, "Is there anything more meaningful you'd like to ask us directly while we're here?"
The audience grew uncomfortable and afraid, but that didn't stop somebody from shouting, "Are you gonna play any King Crimson?"
Fripp recoiled as if shot in the heart. In contemptuous disbelief he groaned into the microphone, "This is Cornell?! Perhaps we should go back to just playing music." He sat back down and got ready for the next piece.
The audience, shocked and embarrassed, let out a collective weak-ass "ooo" before the next set began. Frank and I, though, enjoyed full belly laughs because ha ha fuck you Cornell you suck.
(To be fair, much of the audience - like me - were probably not Cornell students, but still let me have this.)
I don't want to sour you on Mr. Fripp, so I'll leave you with the following. A decade later I was living in the Bay Area and caught him at other shows, including another guitar-centric stint at Slim's. Before the set he and three others armed with acoustic guitars entered the audience and serended one particular table with a jaunty song. Fripp sported a rare smile during this bit. Once on stage he explained that was his sister in the audience, and it was her birthday hence the special musical treat just for her. He also proudly noted she was a hairdresser who lived here in San Francisco, and we should all visit her salon. Pretty frickin' cute.