Sun Ra Arkestra: Lights on a Satellite review – fitting tribute to a century of jazz
One way to celebrate your 100th birthday is with a new album, which is Marshall Allen’s response to his centenary. A distinctive and often wild alto saxophonist, Allen has dedicated his creative life to the Arkestra, the group founded by “cosmic jazz” pioneer Sun Ra (born Herman Blount), which he joined in 1957 and which he has directed since 1995, shortly after its founder left Earth for his preferred planet, Saturn. An Afrofuturist, Sun Ra entwined Egyptology, space travel, bebop and proto-electronica into a spellbinding whole, but behind the fancy dress and cosmic obsessions there was always a conventional, highly polished big band, owing more to Duke Ellington than to deep space.
On Lights on a Satellite, you get both sides of the Ra legacy from an immaculately recorded 24-piece band. The title track is led by Allen’s restless, writhing sax into an ominous, slow-building piece pierced by frenzied solos, in contrast to Friendly Galaxy, an easy-going romp shimmering with outer planetary effects. Alternately comes Big John’s Special, a purring piece of 1930s brass, Baby Won’t You Please Be Mine, a recently unearthed torch ballad, and even that Tin Pan Alley warhorse, Way Down Yonder in New Orleans. A century of jazz, alternately exuberant and mysterious.
