Enough has been written about the importance of this album and how it has stood the test of time. It says something about this listener's growth, at least; when I first heard Exposure in high school, I called it the biggest waste of talent on record, given the roster of musicians playing on it yet the distinctly non-Crimson results. But I wasn't ready for punk rock, I suppose, and Fripp was - hence this stellar effort (as I grew to see it within a couple of years!) that fuses New York avant-garde, punk (in spirit if not in yobbish playing), ambient music, and - yes - even a touch of King Crimson (in the devastating Breathless). And I was too young and uninformed to know anything about the fight between Fripp and RCA record boss Tommy Mottola over Daryl Hall being the main vocalist on the album, with Fripp's loss in this tiny power struggle resulting in Peter Hammill, Terre Roche, and Peter Gabriel sharing the vocal duties.
That said, I'll aim my comments at this reissue. In a nutshell, Fripp does the same thing here that he's done before, producing the same infuriating results: he tampers with the original artifact to reflect his present attitude towards it, instead of just reissuing the recording as first released. I find it as frustrating now as I did when he remixed Exposure in 1985, just the same as with individual discs within the various generations of Crimson reissues, whether earlier, like Islands and Larks' Tongues (where tiny changes produced annoying results) or more recent, like Discipline and Three Of A Perfect Pair (with bonus tracks that marred the spirit of the record in the first case and radically improved it in the second).
The first disc is the original LP mix of Exposure, so that's great; it's now on CD, with all its unique moments restored: the fast fade of Disengage, Terre Roche's dismissive "Hah!" at the end of the title track (which once more ends on "X"), the much longer narrative at the end of Haaden Two (including the wonderfully paradoxical "Both the things weren't true; that's definitely true"), and probably a few more subtle differences I missed the first time around. Putting the various versions side by side, the original mix is thicker and grubbier, but still my favorite. Punk rock, right?
Disc two is where the problems start. Take note - spoiler alert! According to Fripp's informative but typically discursive liner notes, the original idea was to repackage the first remix/reissue (1983 LP, '85 CD) with the unreleased Daryl Hall vocals as bonus tracks. Of course, Fripp then decided to redo things to "create" a version of the album as he'd originally mooted it. This mix, therefore, is basically the 1985 version, but with Hall's lead vocals substituting for all the Peter Hammill vocals except I May Not Have Had Enough of Me and for Terre Roche's vocals on Exposure. Peter Gabriel remains as the voice of Here Comes the Flood and Roche as Mary. The Hammill versions as they appeared on the 83/85 remix are now shunted to the end as extra tracks, except for his take on Chicago, which is dropped entirely, though you get a separate Daryl Hall version of Mary and a duet of Hammill (fine) and Roche (awful, sorry) on Chicago. The labelling of the 1985 mixes as "alternate" is disingenous, to say the least.
So how about those Hall vocals, resurrected after all these years? Frankly, they're not that good. I recognize the punk ethos teeming in the mix and Hall's determined need to shrug off his pop star status and go with the artistic spirit of that remarkable age, and it's well established that Fripp was caught up in it too, which shaped the sessions into this resulting album. But honestly, the tracks aren't comparable to the official release. Chicago works well enough - the blues are the blues, after all, though I still prefer Hammill's menace on the familiar version. And Hammill is simply much better at channeling the fury and edge of 1979; he'd been capable of being a proto-punk screamer (with Bowie and John Lydon on record as endorsing him) well before Hall was even singing Sarah Smile, thus Disengage (with almost entirely new lyrics, possibly improvised and basically rubbish) loses everything in its "new" version. This is not to slight Hall, who's talented, just a bit out of his depth: his take on Mary is fine, though little different in spirit to Roche's, and he does sterling work on the title track -- though still not a patch on Roche's utter nutcase delivery on the original. NY3 (retitled here) is the one real success, but basically it's a different song so can't be compared; it loses its Hells Kitchen found vocal and has proper lyrics sung by Hall over the instrumental track; they're good, and the results are similar in spirit to NY3NY (on Hall's Sacred Songs album), which put new words to "I May Not Have Had Enough Of Me." It's certainly the high point of the Hall material on this record.
My position is this; fans would have been better served if the second disc had been the 1985 remix with the unreleased Hall versions as bonus tracks, but I suppose that's too much the industry way of doing things for Fripp to go along with ultimately, and he had a chance to assemble something close to how he'd envisioned it originally. It's just not as good. Fripp hints at acknowledging that in the liner notes when he observes that Mottola's stubbornness caused the album to take a different direction, with the results as we know them, and that fans can reassemble the familiar album through programming regardless. This assertion isn't true, by the way -- that we can put back together the 1985 album Fripp decided not to reissue here -- because he leaves off the 1985 Hammill version of Chicago, which was a different vocal take to the 1979 mix. Instead we get the unreleased duet, which as I've noted is less than successful; Terre Roche tries her Yoko Ono thing again but this time sounds like she's being strangled on the fade-out. Of course, the irony here is that Fripp was right as much as he was wrong. You get the original version in all its scruffy glory and you can create a version of the 1985 mix if you want (which I've done), but only with the help of the earlier reissue to get what's missing. So there you go!
OK, just a few words on the package. The liner notes are excerpts from his diaries, which explain choices in mixing, etc. but aren't useful for quick reference. The pictures are great, if not always the best quality: newspaper reprints, unused cover concepts, a work-up of some attempted remake of Alphaville with Debbie Harry. The best element is the musician credits; finally, you get a clear list of players for each song. Fans may want to learn that Levin is the bassist throughout (not John Wetton), Phil Collins and Jerry Marrotta drum on a couple of tracks each, and on everything else (Breathless, Disengage, NY3, and I May Not Have Had Enough) is latter-day Mahavishnu Orchestra drummer Narada Michael Walden, which helps explain why Breathless in particular is like some ferocious outtake from Red. And that's Sid McGinniss playing the massive funk riff of Exposure, because Robert just could never do that sort of stuff, could he?
By the way, if you buy the Japanese version, you also get two separate sleeves, just like the LPs (a single one for the 1979 version, a gatefold for 1985), plus a postcard, an OBI, and a Japanese booklet. Very nicely done, in fact.
Another curio fans may want to find, I also have an Italian/Indian (?) re-release of Exposure from 2006 that just preceded the double reissue (VH Records, RFCD 01010202). Its mix is the 1983/85 version and the package is a single-sleeve mini LP, with a redundant booklet that provides in larger type everything on the inner sleeve (also included). Nice for the aging audience who might now wear bifocals. The real gem, though, is a much longer (by nearly 2 minutes!) take on Water Music 2. This is not a merging of 1 and 2, I should stress, but a longer track that show how the familiar version actually fades in about half way though. Nothing radically different, just more loops, but a surprise and a real treat once I figured it out.