Pharoah Sanders
Village of the Pharoahs

We live in very strange times, and this for many reasons. Such a consideration suddenly struck me just the other night. I was taking a stroll around the neighborhood where I live, walking my dog, and by chance, I came across a young man in his thirties, entirely focused on chatting on his cell phone with someone. In the middle of the conversation, I clearly heard him exclaim in all seriousness, "Fedez is a musical genius!" I immediately thought: "Good heavens, perhaps I've missed something." And from there, I started a general reflection. Although it is agreed upon to adhere to the Latin maxim "De gustibus non disputandum est," it is equally easy for a baby boomer like myself to not feel inclined to explore the musical offerings of rappers like Fedez (and not only) who are so popular. I admit that what I have is a form of mental laziness towards what is new, but after hearing this, I wondered what could make a musician so good as to deserve the definition of "genius," as understood from the times of Bach onwards. If I were only to list musical geniuses, I would have to mention so many that I risk forgetting someone. It is not my intention in this case, and instead, I choose to listen to and review an LP, among the many present in my collection, considered a minor work by a lesser-known jazz musician who is nevertheless no less skilled in the wake of that more experimental jazz following the free lesson from Ornette Coleman onwards. I'm talking about Pharoah Sanders and his album "Village of the Pharoahs" released in 1973.

This is certainly not one of Sanders's most well-known albums (better recommendations would be "Karma" and "Black Unity"), but the relationship established with the musical flow of "Village of the Pharoahs" is, at least for me, one of complete hypnotic immersion. It has always been this way since, as a high school student, I cultivated with my peers the listening of certain alternative music, very distant from some glam rock tendencies of the mid-'70s, which did not always seem convincing.

Therefore, it was opportune to hear that title of genius attributed to a rapper like Fedez to follow a stream of thoughts on such a matter, eventually leading to yet another replay of an old dusty LP by master Sanders. In particular, what attracts me is side A, occupied by a suite that gives the album its title, namely "Village of the Pharoahs," characterized by an uninterrupted melody where Sanders's soprano sax stands out, accompanied by a contour of percussion instruments and non-African instruments (shakuhachi, sakara, murdinom) so enchanting that they make me believe (the power of suggestion...) that I am in the middle of the African savannah. Here, scattered, I imagine reaching a village of some local tribe that, believing it a great honor, introduces me to the community's witch doctor. This supreme authority wants to catechize me to the rites existing there and, since they're at it, intends to have me sexually unite with one of his daughters (not without a certain charm). All to the rhythm of the melody sung by Pharoah Sanders and his orchestra. How can I resist this sonic flow that causes me a state of trance, halfway between the dream world and the psychedelic condition?

The transition to the compositions on side B represents a stark shift, but although the sound is less frenetic than in the first part of the work, the evocative power of the compositions is no less. "Mansion worlds" is supported by a ellingtonian piano flow that strengthens the sax chords of Sanders, in a more classic and sober musical landscape, but stimulating in imagining an efficient metropolitan scenario quite far from the wild dimension of the African savannah. It is followed by the dreamy pace of a captivating flute in the piece "Memories of Lee Morgan," as if it were the eruption of the beautiful spring season, with the inevitable awakening of nature after the long winter hibernation. Finally, it closes with a free diversion titled "Went like it came," where the musicians cheerfully hum disconnected phrases and jam over the distorted notes of Pharoah's sax.

An incredible wave of sensations and imaginations then takes me every time I sit comfortably and listen to "Village of the Pharoahs." Even if, in the opinion of some critics, it is a minor work by the author, if such an album turns out to be enveloping, the reason lies in the magic inherent in the notes released along the grooves of the vinyl, so much so that I feel the sensation of being on the African continent without needing to go there in person, but merely by attentively listening to such a magical soundscape. And if this is not the demonstration of a musician's genius, well, then how do we define a musician as a "genius"? And who knows, perhaps one fine day, it will happen that some admirer of current rappers experiences those same sensations described above during the listening of a track by Fedez and the like.