Some records arrive with a clear sense of purpose. “When There Is No Sun” is one of them. Commissioned by Omni Sound and curated by Ricardo Villalobos, this global recording project brings together a carefully chosen cast of electronic music producers to reimagine the universe of Sun Ra — drawing from two existing Omni Sound releases: “Living Sky”, the meditative 2021 instrumental album recorded by the Sun Ra Arkestra under Marshall Allen’s direction, and “My Words Are Music”, a spoken-word collection of Sun Ra’s poetry performed by a constellation of poets and voices.
This is not a tribute record in the conventional sense — a collection of respectful nods toward a canonical figure. It is something more alive than that. Each contributor takes fragments of sound and text from the source material and pulls them into their own creative orbit, the results spanning Detroit, Chicago, Berlin, Belfast, Istanbul, Lusaka, and beyond. The connective tissue is not genre but intent — artists who treat sound as a living force, and the dancefloor as a space of genuine transformation.
Chez Damier, one of the foundational architects of Chicago and Detroit house, does what he has always done best on our premiere pick “The Endless Realm (H2H Mix)”. Alongside Ben Vedren, Chez transforms the groove into something that feels less like music and more like communion. His contribution featuring the vocal talents of Tunde Adebimpe carries the warmth and humanity that has made his discography a lasting touchstone of deep house, translating spirit into rhythm with quiet authority. This is an ethos carried over to “The Three Dimensions of Air” where Anthony Joseph is charged with bringing Sun Ra to life.
Ricardo Villalobos takes charge of “I Have Forgotten” in characteristic fashion — time stretched and bent, small details expanding into vast emotional territory, repetition used not as a crutch but as a portal. His pair of remixes embody what has always made his work distinct: the sense that if you follow the groove far enough, something shifts. One thing that doesn’t shift is the gravity of Tara Middleton’s words, speaking directly from the mind of Sun Ra and his awe inspiring poetry.
Underground Resistance brings the weight and conviction that have defined their practice since the late 1980s. Theirs is techno as defiance — machines turned into instruments of resistance, high-voltage rhythm speaking directly to the conditions that produced it. Their choice to work with Saul Williams’ invocations is fitting; Williams, whose work has spent decades fusing poetry, hip-hop, and political urgency, meets UR on entirely common ground. “The Outer Darkness” circles around Williams’ musings while UR provide their characteristically sublime production that sits effortlessly at the crossroads of house and techno. The second of their work on the VA, “When Angels Speak”, centers around a dubbed out spacey groove that satisfyingly shuffles just ahead of Saul Williams in a syncopated fashion that adds further dimensions to the action.
Calibre arrives from a different corner entirely. The Belfast producer — trained as both musician and painter — brings his signature blend of deep pulse, warm basslines, and understated melody to bear on the source material. His drum and bass carries a weight and interiority that sits apart from the more floor-focused contributions, a reminder that repetition can be intimate and that subtlety can carry immense gravity. The results of both the ambient and riddim packed versions of “Chopin” by Ayse Turan Sorel’s own account, surpassed all expectations.
A Guy Called Gerald bridges the record’s generational and geographical range with ease. The Manchester pioneer — whose innovations across acid house, jungle, and drum and bass remain foundational to British dance culture — brings a forward momentum to his contribution that feels entirely in keeping with Sun Ra’s own refusal to look backward. His reinterpretation of “Message to Black Youth” feat. Mahogany L. Browne lands with particular resonance; poet, founding member of the Last Poets, and activist Abiodun Oyewole adds further weight to the record’s commitment to language as resistance.
She Spells Doom — the project of Zambian producer Wamya Tembo — is perhaps the most striking addition, and the one that most clearly reflects the curatorial vision of Villalobos, who pushed for younger voices to sit alongside the established names. Tembo’s sound draws from Congolese rumba and soukous, Gqom, sci-fi and horror cinema, and the house and techno aesthetics he absorbed while living in Geneva — a constellation of influences that produces something visceral, cinematic, and entirely its own.
Barış K closes the circle in the most fitting way. The Istanbul DJ, producer, and archivist — whose decades-long excavation of Anatolian psychedelic tradition has earned him international recognition — contributes an intricate remix honouring Abiodun Oyewole’s voice and Sun Ra’s poetry. For co-producer Ayşe Turan Sorel, whose journey began in Istanbul’s music scene through the (((godet))) club and the SOAP crew—and who has maintained a long-standing collaboration with Ricardo Villalobos and Barış K, including releases on Honest Jon’s Records—this project holds special significance: a true full-circle moment.
Sun Ra once said that when there is no sun, there are those who create their own light. When There Is No Sun takes that conviction seriously. It does not attempt to recreate or museumify what Sun Ra built. It attempts to continue it — to pass through the portal he opened and find out what is on the other side. On the evidence of this record, what is on the other side is very much worth hearing.
You can still grab a copy of “When There Is No Sun” via Omni Sound’s Bandcamp.
More info on Chez Damier
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