Review: Sun Ra Arkestra, Fiddlers Club

Space is the place tonight at Fiddlers as the Sun Ra Arkestra land from Saturn, bringing their astral vibes with them. Sun Ra himself may have shed his mortal coil back in the early nineties but his band still travel the galaxies bringing the esoteric free jazz fusions of his creativity to aliens and humans alike.

Well, let me rephrase that. In-keeping with the great composer’s belief that he was from Saturn and was bringing the message of peace back to planet earth through the medium of his music, the Arkestra are still conveying that message in some style. Fronted by the veteran Marshall Allen, still sprightly at ninety-three years old, the ten strong Arkestra drift onto stage in their sparkly silver and gold Egyptian robes. They begin the twiddlings and bleeps that build slowly into a blissfully incoherent crescendo signalled by Fred Adams’ shard of Miles Davis-like trumpet.

The soulfully robust vocals of Tara Middleton are introduced to the mix by the second number and the lovely jazz cacophony continues apace with Marshall conducting each member while squealing on his own sax. This really feels like the neon streets of New York more than Saturn. Joyous, gritty, and with a slightly addictively seedy edge that you can taste. Marshall switching from sax to a strange flute-like wind instrument for that space effect that sounds like The Clangers.

The brass section and the hooded keyboardist weave their way through the crowd during We’re Living In the Space Age. They climb back onstage to launch into a New Orleans sounding number with great squalling from the brass, solid vocals from Middleton and a burning boogaloo feel. The hammond organ break from the now un-hooded Farid Abdul Bari-Baron preceding a perfectly synched and hypnotic slow hand clapping passage from the audience.

They end the first set with We Travel The Spaceways and open the second with Wake Up Angels, a flute-led insistent rhythm, an ethereal boogie with instruments flowing and darting all over the place. Another showcase of brass virtuosity follows, Dave Hotep’s guitar on the edge of the sound seductively guiding it, and as things get into a funkier vein we get the marvellous Funkadelic-flavoured Nuclear War.

The comparison is obvious as Arkestra are out there in the same kind of sphere that George Clinton inhabits, an Afrofuristic area. And it’s a joyous, psychedelic celebration with the kind of exemplary and finely tuned musicianship which gels and compliments each part superbly. Be-bop meets free jazz meets swing meets New Orleans and improvisation and all stops in between.

The brass groove of Rocket Number Nine blasts us toward the airy, wonderful and light Love In Outer Space, the three-sax attack of Watch The Sun Shine, a Charlie Parkerish alto sax break from Knoel Scott complimented by more Miles from Fred Adams, and the Arkestra winds down and files off stage playing the gentle crazy calypso of Travel the Spaceway. If there’s a better collective groove this year then I’ll eat my space helmet.