Light-years separate the Earth from the stars in the night sky, and the original stars may be long since extinct by the time we receive their light. Such an image comes to mind in thinking of Music from Tomorrow’s World, a posthumous compilation of two previously undiscovered sessions by Sun Ra and the Arkestra. These two dates from 1960 are important additions to the Ra canon, filling out our knowledge of the tail-end of his Chicago period.

The first half of the disc opens a window onto Sun Ra’s long and fruitful 1960–61 residency at Chicago’s Wonder Inn. The band on this occasion is a stripped-down sextet version of the Arkestra. The session opens with two gentle features for Marshall Allen’s flute (and, on “Spontaneous Simplicity,” an unidentified second flute—producer John Corbett suggests this may be George Hudson, otherwise heard on trumpet on this date). But the star of the session is unquestionably John Gilmore, who’s in tremendous, brawling form throughout. The demonically fast “Space Aura” is pure excitement. Boykins and Hardy lock into a stomping groove, and just before the mordant, honking theme is stated you can hear someone in the audience shout: “Play it baby! Play it, Sun Ra!” Gilmore’s solo is extraordinarily hard-edged, primal, all bold leaps and hollers. Hudson responds with an acrid, almost jeering trumpet solo. Next up are two ineffably sardonic readings of Gershwin. On “S’Wonderful,” Ricky Murray’s plummy vocal butts up against the Arkestra’s raucous backup chorus. “It Ain’t Necessarily So” is righteous, deep-in-the-pocket swing (some more tremendous Gilmore on this track), rounded off by a mordantly warped and truncated reduction of the lyrics to the message “The stories you’re li’ble / To read in the Bible / They ain’t ne / Cessari / Ly so.” The climax of the session is “How High the Moon,” a tune that (rather surprisingly, given its title) was never elsewhere recorded by Ra. The Arkestra’s rendition is introduced by a bandmember reciting Ra’s poem “Imagination” (“If we are here / WHY CAN’T WE BE THERE?”); the band then jumps on the piece at a torrentially fast tempo. Gilmore, furious and triumphant, is the man of the hour, launching into the turnarounds like a shark hungry for the next chorus. Hudson, the perfect foil, stands back calmly, tartly delivering up fractured, cooled-out phrases. “China Gate,” a Victor Young tune debuted by Nat King Cole in Sam Fuller’s 1957 film of that title, ends the session with a bit of exoticism.

The second session is a studio date recorded at Majestic Hall. The music here is no less superb, but a serious warning is in order concerning the sound, which is loggy and heavily distorted. Acoustics aside, this is a fascinating session. The setlist includes four previously unknown compositions; records of the titles having been lost, they have been simply labeled “Majestic 1” through “4.” The band is on this occasion an octet with some unfamiliar names in the personnel. This is, for instance, apparently the only time alto saxophonist Gene Easton recorded with Sun Ra. Even more intriguing is the presence of baritone saxophonist Ronald Wilson, who worked with the Arkestra in the 1980s but whose earlier stint with the band was until now represented by a single track on We Travel the Spaceways.

It’s Wilson who often steals the honours here, in fact. On “Velvet,” “Majestic 2” and the torrid swinger “Majestic 4,” he’s bruising and excitingly combustible; but he also waxes tender on “Majestic 1” (a sumptuous Hobart Dotson ballad), and is handsomely Carneyish on “Tapestry from an Asteroid.” Gilmore is less prominent than usual on this session but contributes an extraordinary, airborne cadenza to Harry Revel’s “Possession,” an exotic ballad from the Les Baxter/Dr. Samuel J. Hoffman album Perfume Set to Music which had previously featured on the Arkestra’s album Sun Song. Cornetist Phil Cohran (who was to stay in Chicago after Ra decamped, later becoming one of the founders of the AACM) is elegantly poised among the swelling saxophones on “Majestic 3,” incomparably soulful on the bumping, feisty minor-key “Majestic 2.”

Despite the atrocious sound quality of the second half of Music for Tomorrow’s World, which will prove a stumbling block for the casual listener, this is music which ought to be heard. It is of considerable historical interest for its role in fleshing out the Sun Ra story, but more importantly it is also jazz of great vitality and beauty. Praise is due to John Corbett, curator of Atavistic’s Unheard Music Series, for making available this valuable addition to the musical archives.

Nate Dorward

Cadence, February 2003