The Logician

I’m heading north up Manhattan’s Eighth Avenue in August’s broiling heat just as a fast as my legs will carry me. It’s 2008 and I’ve an appointment with Robert Fripp who, aside from being the 42nd best guitarist in the world according to Rolling Stone’s 2003 poll, or the 47th best on the planet if you prefer guitar maker Gibson’s more recent hit parade, is also a stickler for punctuality.

Although I’ve been to the USA a couple of times in the past, this is my first time in the Big Apple and it’s hard to resist the temptation to loiter and gawp awhile amidst the iconic buildings and strangely familiar streets. Having seen NYC on so many movies and TV shows gives one an odd sense of déjà vu.

One person who’s definitely been here before is Fripp, smiling broadly as he steps out of the lobby of the Hilton Garden Inn just as I arrive. “This hotel,” he tells me as we start walking in the dazzling sunshine, “is the very first one that King Crimson stayed in when we first arrived in November 1969. Only back then it was called Loew’s Midtown Motor