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The Rarest Ra : A Tour of the Latest Evidence-Excavated Arkestral Antiquities
by Derek Taylor
September 2000
Sun Ra's discography is an archivist's nightmare. Nearly five decades
deep with a log of entries that stretches well into the triple digits,
his recorded legacy is one of the most convoluted in 20th century
music. Unlike Ellington whose work was both heralded, scrutinized
and meticulously cataloged throughout his career, Ra's prolificacy
went largely unmapped until relatively recent years through the efforts
of such Arkestral scholars as Robert L. Campbell. Adding to the mystery
was the way in which Ra documented his own work through recording.
Calling his methods haphazard would be a gross understatement and
who knows what tapes still lie languishing in dusty canisters waiting
to be unleashed upon the world. Fortunately for all of us there are
labels such as Evidence that have taken up the call of returning relics
from Ra's kaleidoscopic catalog to wide-spread circulation.
Two of the four discs in Evidence's most recent wave of reissues come
from Ra's first flirtation with a major label—Impulse, which
at the time of the recordings was a subsidiary of the corporate behemoth
ABC Records. As might be expected the precarious relationship between
Ra and the corporate Suits didn't last long, but it did survive long
enough for ten albums from the Saturn Records back catalog to be issued.
Material from at least a dozen other LPs was perused but eventually
passed on by the Suits and returned to Saturn. Crystal Spears,
Cymbals and Friendly Love come from this 'rejected'
batch of music and all three are released for the first time in these
new Evidence incarnations.
When Angels Speak of Love and Lanquidity are in some
ways bookends to these core sessions. The former, originally released
on Saturn, was recorded at the Choreographer's Workshop in New York
City and dates from the Arkestra's fertile residency there. The latter
is different both in terms of form and substance. Initially released
on the Philly Jazz label it presents a Philadelphia version of the
Arkestra at the close of the 1970s that dips into some unexpected
influences. All four releases caulk gaping holes in Ra's interstellar
oeuvre, particularly his 70s output, and each is an advisable acquisition
for anyone interested in the man's music. Capsule reviews of all four
releases follow.
Which Saturn LP holds the distinction of scarcest Arkestra artifact?
Like most trivia surrounding Sun Ra the answer is widely open to debate
and the very fabric of his work invites such speculation. Hand-painted,
hand-printed, hand-circulated copies were the norm for Saturn Records.
Discographical accuracy and consistency were often a distant afterthought
and gauging from the degree of disorder it's a wonder that we have
as complete a picture of the Arkestra's recorded history as we do.
What's even more amazing is the manner in which this disarray stands
in contrast to Ra's music itself, which was often a model of precision
and judiciously maintained discipline.
 Writer
John Corbett casts his vote for When Angels Speak Of Love in
his incisively penned liners and it was his own vinyl copy of the
record that helped make the reissue possible. Elsewhere in advance
press from Evidence a convincing argument is made for Lanquidity
as the rarest of the rare. Whether or not this disc is the scarcest
in terms of existing numbers, after one listen it becomes apparent
that astronomically speaking it's situated fairly far out in the Sun
Ra cosmos.
Stylistically this disc has a great deal in common with other albums
from the same space/time continuum. Sharing the almost obsessive preoccupation
with tape delay and reverb that marks such classics as Cosmic Tones
For Mental Therapy, it integrates such manipulations into the
Arkestra sound in real time. Doing double duty as percussionist and
sound engineer Bugs Hunter works his equipment, both soundboard and
drum kit, like a man possessed. Whistling reverb-saturated oboe, ferrous
trumpet and a panoply of shrill overtones from each signal the start
of "Celestial Fantasy". Sparse echoplex percussion soon comes to the
fore flanked by Clifford Jarvis' choppy drum fills and cymbal accents,
which hold and carry the amorphous rhythmic signal through Ronnie
Boykins' perambulating bass plucks. "The Idea of It All" is a spastic
Be-Bop blanketed piece that rests feverishly on a lumpy percussive
pillow. The opening John Gilmore solo excoriates at the same time
it emancipates and Ra punches his acoustic keys with the intensity
of a mad accountant at an astrological adding machine racking up digits
and figures ad infinitum. Walter Miller's pipsqueak trumpet pipes
in seeking to calm the pianist, but Ra will not be dissuaded from
his appointed course charging full force to the end.
On the "Ecstasy of Being" Boykins and Jarvis join in muffled conference
while other Arkestra members interject their opinions through peripheral
percussive instruments. Danny Davis enters on pinched alto, shaping
an arid solo of squealing inflated lines and Miller answers over Jarvis'
hollow, corrugated drums. Davis returns, running a relay between instruments
before he and Miller dive completely into a roiling stream of echolalic
lines saturated in Hunter's heady reverb.
The title track is short in length, but densely packed, as Boykins'
bass thrum and clip-clop percussion are phalanxed by a line of satiny
horns. Pat Patrick's velveteen baritone breaks ranks for a brief spat
with Ra's piano and it's Miller's turn next, singing a bright, breathy
ode to the heavens. Patrick plays a plaintive coda and Miller takes
the tune out to an abrupt end.
The concluding "Next Stop Mars" takes off on a space chant with heavy
echo giving way to Ra's bustling piano. Horns blast forward with the
reed section firing up the jets first on a furious solo from Robert
Cummings followed by brass. Hunter's chopstick-like percussion scribbles
a broken rhythmic commentary on the garrulous horn debate. Fitful
starts and stops perforated by Ra's dense comping ensue before Miller's
brass pauses for a lonely reflection and Gilmore swoops in for a solo
singed in a flaming arc of multiphonics. Ra returns in a wash of Obsidian
chords opening the harmonic gates for Cummings, who rushes forward
again bleating with vinegar astringency. Miller takes another paregoric
solo and Marshall Allen surrounded by the other horns takes the album
out. All of this transpires in the space of a mere forty minutes—making
an immediate return visit a must.
 Recorded
a full decade after When Angels Speak of Love, Pathways
to Unknown Worlds and Friendly Love—a pair of albums
gathered on one disc—still find Ra and the Arkestra traveling
similar spaceways. Changes are evident both in Ra's keyboard accoutrements
and in the nature of the compositions. Both albums rely far less on
strictly composed structures and passages and more on cued ensemble
and individual improvisations. Pathways is most striking for
the aperture in provides into the relationship between Ra and Boykins.
The two men are at the rhythmic and tonal center of each of the four
pieces and their interplay conjures immediate correlations with the
recent work of Alan Silva and William Parker. On the opening title
track scurrilous trumpet and bass clarinet announce themselves over
Jarvis' martial press rolls. Akh Tal Ebah enters on fuzzed out mellophone,
mixing it up with Danny Thompson's baritone, before the horns drop
out and Ra and Boykins engage in the first of several sorties into
the figurative innards of their instruments. Bubbling sonar blips,
accelerating Doppler tone swathes and barbed string streaks vie for
supremacy in the sections where acoustic bass and electronic apparatus
intertwine all before the inevitable termination point.
Changing direction, the Ra populates "Untitled" with mysteriously
beamed keyboard lights, craggy drums and brushes, and the banshee
wail of an unidentified horn. Eloe Omoe and Kwame Hadi burn at a solar
heat (on bass clarinet and trumpet respectively) on "Extension Out",
searing through an undulating gauntlet of percussion. Stinging overblown
lines singe a winding trail of space-borne drum debris before Boykins'
bass and Ra's waveform keys surface once again for another communion
that carries over into "Cosmo Media". On this last piece Boykins'
strings emulate the pitch prestidigitation of Ra's wildly aspirating
notes while Gilmore solos frenetically pinching off a continuous volley
of puckered upper register squeals. Hadi follows for a brief statement
before a Ra-led finale.
Friendly Love focuses even
further attention on Ra's plenary keyboards thanks to the unfortunate
absence of Boykins' bass and a definitive drummer. Broken into four
parts, the album-length piece starts with tinkling preface from Ra.
Hadi blows a soothing solo over a chugging keyboard/conga backdrop
followed by Omoe on contra-alto clarinet, who takes it out. Hiccupping
horns fronted by the beastly Neptunian libflecto descend on Part II
as the dark chortles and serrated guffaws of Hadi's trumpet push through
the motley din alongside Davis' dusky alto. This piece, aside from
the beautiful work by Hadi and Davis, lacks the hermetic cohesion
of its counterparts and listening to the barrage of murky dissonance
it's easy to see why the Impulse Suits were scared off by these sounds.
Parts III and IV regain focus narrowing on Ra's carnival calliope
swirls. His initial improvisation on the former sounds like some mad
Messiaen pipe organ interlude and is dappled by Atakatune's conga
drum drizzle. Later honking horns scuffle good-naturedly over metallic
drum feedback. Part IV moves forward on momentum of a discernable
rhythmic thrust thanks to Atakatune's staccato palm rolls. Hadi, in
a decidedly quizzical mood, tests the dimensions of Ra's luminous
Moog-patterned topography before Gilmore's stargazing tenor departs
a protracted survey of the surroundings in the altissimo register
of his horn. The segment eventually fades on the strength of Gilmore's
solo dissipating quietly into the ether.
 As
Ed Michel's liner notes to this set point out, Sun Ra's fleeting deal
with Impulse resulted in the reissue and widespread distribution of
numerous Saturn treasures. But even more material was left in tape
canisters having not passed muster with the Impulse corporate contingent.
Cymbals and Crystal Spears, the two albums collected
here, are from that neglected motherlode and both make their first
appearance nearly 30 years after they were preserved on tape. Though
recorded the same year, the individual albums highlight not only different
aggregations of the Arkestra, but also different facets of the group's
omniscient sound.
Ra resides mainly at the organ throughout Cymbals, floating
over to his other keyboard instruments only on occasion. The record
is cut from the same space-Soul groove that invigorates such other
Arkestral outings as My Brother the Wind, Volume II. Omoe and
Boykins share the bulk of "The World of the Invisible" trading striated
exchanges with Ra's peripatetic keys. Throughout the piece Ra radiates
glowing tonal sheets while Boykins' plucked solo that centers the
piece is muffled but solidly resonant. "Thoughts Under a Dark Blue
Light" hits on an immediate, if uncertain, groove thanks to Derek
Morris' congas, Boykins' bass, Ra's wobbly fills and the shout of
unison horns. The Blues are thick as skillet-crackling pig grease
on this one as Gilmore steps to the celestial pulpit and belts out
a tight and tasty R&B inflected solo that stretches across much of
the girth of the tune and is arguably one of his finest tenor statements
on record. Ra follows with an exposition of his own, flanked by Morris
and Boykins, that sounds much like the Saturnian's equivalent of Jimmy
Smith circa 1958 at Small's Paradise. A straight Ebah solo stamped
with smears takes it out to an untimely fade.
"The Order of the Pharaonic Jesters" allows the horns a rest and Ra
a chance to converse at length with the rhythm section over a slippery
shuffle beat and sparkling melody. Boykins' walking ostinato is particularly
up front and supple in the mix and works like magic against Ra's shimmering
improvisations. Ebah pilots the ship on "The Mystery of the Two",
blowing phosphorous shapes in the sky above a simmering rhythmic sea,
while "Land of the Day Star" features Boykins and Davis, the former's
bow chiseling a resonant rhythmic edifice from the gusts of cosmic
dust kicked up by Ra's percolating keys. Davis' alluring solo is unfortunately
faded mid-stride and the album comes to a regrettable end.
Crystal Spears is far more esoteric and finds the Arkestra
in an orbit that is more elliptical and abstract. Whereas much of
Cymbals takes root from openly discernable rhythms, the rhythmic
end of matters here is far more often implied rather than overt. Adding
to his ranks, Ra shapes a gothic sci-fi prelude on the title track—infusing
his Moog with an array of whistling high frequency static. Atakatune
and Odun, both on congas, arrive with Jarvis and craft a thatched
rhythmic surface that goads Ra to add his marimba to the steaming
keyboard soup. "The Eternal Sphynx" builds from a marching theme of
the familiar Ra variety forwarded by unison and harmonizing horns
and voltaic percussion. "Embassy of the Living God" parses the Arkestra
into component parts. Brief solos from most of the Arkestra principals
form the bulk tumbling along a frayed thread of melody, but just as
often veering off into tangential space. Allen's oboe shears a path
to the front of the pack—at one point pursued by Omoe's bass
clarinet and eventually Davis and Gilmore. A multifarious solo from
Ra prefaces a dense percussive shower before a final howling horn
blowout. The concluding "Sunrise In the Western Sky" unfolds
over a third of an hour. Allen's oboe opens over sparse drums and
Ra's glistening electronic vibes, but the piece is largely subsumed
by Gilmore's burnished recurring tenor. Unfortunately, other than
Gilmore's marvelous long-spun solo there's not much else to fill the
vast recesses of the piece and its great length ends up being somewhat
unwarranted.
 Skip
forward five years to the height of the Fusion era. Nearly everyone
associated with jazz was visited by the urge to plug in during the
1970s and revel in the hyaline waters of electronic amplification.
Ra, in true harbinger fashion, had divined the possibilities decades
earlier on such maiden voyages as his electronic piano opus "Advice
For Medics" from Supersonic Jazz (1956). In fact, Ra's brief
opening solo reverie on the title track of this disc conjures inviting
parallels to the aforementioned pioneering piece. While such visionary
experiments weren't Fusionary in the strictest sense they were the
lineal progenitors of the music contained on Lanquidity.
A pervading groove, at times brash and corpulent ("Where Pathways
Meet"), at others supple and svelte ("That's How I Feel") informs
each of the five compositions and Ra's expansive, though skeletally
simple arrangements give prominence to the rhythm section. Richard
Williams' rubbery bass lines blend with Luqman Ali's spongy traps
work and Artaukatune's hand percussion to create an oscillating fabric
of rhythms for the horns and Ra's menagerie of keyboards to splash
with tonal paints.
The other central voices are the trumpets of Michael Ray and Eddie
Gale, both of whom mix the perfect measure of pathos and sass into
their many statements. Just check what I'm assuming is Gale's gorgeous
prefatory solo over throbbing bass and percussion on "That's How I
Feel". Beguiling solos also stream forth from stalwarts like Allen
(on oboe) and Gilmore blowing in virile balladic mode over the basic
sliding shuffle beat. The funky, frothy swagger of "Where Pathways
Meet" is given a further boost via Disco Kid's greasy-fingered solo
that slips against the bulbous belt-busting baritone duo of Julian
Pressley and Thompson. A ricocheting bass vamp fuels the atomic core
of "Twin Stars of Thence" setting up a metronomic counterpoint to
Ra's amplified ivory musings. A shimmering series of solos ensues
all buttressed on the sturdy backs of the rhythm players. Space chant
voices cast an other-dimensional spell on the concluding "There Are
Other Worlds", the weakest track on the disc where half-baked vocal
montages annex valuable instrument space. While closing on a comparatively
conventional note the program still works as one of Ra's most unique
and accessible sessions.
Originally released on the grass roots Philly Jazz label, the record
quickly depleted its original pressing stock and has since become
a high priced trophy for collectors. Now returned to widespread circulation,
the reasons behind it's formerly opulent price tag are readily available
and apparent. As a bonus a handful of fascinating snapshots from Ra's
Philadelphia sanctum are included in the liners. Calling it Ra in
a Fusion bag is reductionist and inevitably obscures the reality that
he and his faithful entourage came first, but a highly palpable groove
pervades nonetheless.
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