If the usual setlist from the period is anything to go by it looks like this show is missing Larks’ Tongues I, Easy Money, and, as Fripp references in his introduction, The Night Watch. Perhaps it’s just as well as the sound quality of this audience recording is something of a challenge. With various levels of distortion pummelling the microphone, parts of an incomplete Fracture are mangled and rendered almost unrecognisable. That said, even when brutalised and nearly bent out of shape, it retains a formidable energy.

Amid the sonic terror of the improv, it’s possible to discern some fine examples of Crimson at its most glowering and formidable. Driven by the drum machine’s insistent pulse, Wetton and Bruford opt for short, jabbing points while Cross and Fripp add more discursive themes on electric piano and guitar respectively. Given that so much of the nuance and interactions are either partially lost or completely submerged in the murk of the tape, it’s not always possible to judge how well the piece matches up to other improvs that the band was capable of. Yet, something of the band’s collective force, if not the finer detail, makes itself felt despite all the limitations and obstacles.

Happily, Exiles fares much better than any of the previous material, and for that matter, what follows, and thus something of that wistful spirit contained in both the song and the words can be heard escaping into the night.