Late-sixties… with Marshall Allen on Jupiterian flute and Danny Thompson on Neptunian libflecto. ‘Great slow blues, creepy space voice, very cool space-exotica, crazed circus fanfare and a cacophonous romp.’

The two Saturns, from 1966; plus a third, previously-unreleased volume of five originals and four standards.
‘More of a collection of statements than a style. Some of the tunes, with their odd juxtapositions of mood, could be mistaken for silent film scores. Perhaps they were audio notebooks, a way to generate ideas which could be developed with the band. Regardless, they serve as compelling standalone works. The fingering reflects Sun Ra’s encyclopedic knowledge of piano history as his passages veer from stride to swing, from barrelhouse to post-bop, from march to Cecil Taylor-esque free flights, with a bit of soothing candelabra- swank thrown in. Sunny’s attack is mercurial, his themes unpredictable. His hands can be primitive or playful, then abruptly turn sensitive and elegant. As with the whole of Sun Ra’s recorded legacy, you get everything but consistency and predictability.
‘The listener also experiences something rare in the omniverse of Sun Ra recordings: intimacy. His albums, generally populated by the rotating Arkestral cast, are raucous affairs. With the Monorails sessions, we eavesdrop on private moments: the artist, alone with his piano.’

From 1982, this was the last of the El Saturn studio albums.
Open, upful and swinging, including the only recordings of Blue Intensity and the title-track Celestial Love, besides a bouquet of other Ra originals, and a couple of Duke Ellingtons featuring the one and only June Tyson in full effect.
Surely the arrangement of Charlie Chaplin’s Smile, with Tyson and Gilmore upfront together, will cheer you up a bit.

The George Harrison… Just Like A Woman detourned… O-o-h Child, Mr Bojangles… even an uptempo, conga-driven My Way.

Live, organic, cosmic house from the master for the fiftieth SS. Slow-burning electro-boogie — synths over a clicking, swaying, volatile beat — and a more uptempo jazz trip, with dusty, wacked-out breaks.

First time out for this wildly raw dubplate, sister-recording to the Pablo master-rhythm, shot through with other-worldly incantation.
Surely that’s Family Man stalking a sunken cavern, and his bro battering all seven shades out of his drum-kit, like Meters on fire; and Chinna on guitar, glazed and violent. The mixing rears up right in your face.
Producer Gussie Clarke says Theophilus ‘Easy Snappin’ Beckford is playing piano, with the front removed so he can strum the strings (like he finally snapped) — but he credits the work overall to Augustus Pablo.
Transferred from acetate — fuss-pots don’t grumble, just be humble — though the flip brings a clutch of criss, unmissable alternates, direct from Gussie’s tape-room (where the files are entitled ‘Classical Illusion / The Sun’).
Heavy, heavy funk. Simplicity People dug in. Stunning.

Last few.