Jarman's reeds cut through layers of percussion and voices, building something that feels ceremonial and alive at once.
Egwu-Anwu opens with voices and hand percussion settling into a groove that feels both ancient and improvised, then Joseph Jarman's soprano saxophone enters like a conversation already in progress. The album moves at its own pace — sometimes floating, sometimes locked into a steady pulse — with no rush to resolve anything. Jarman layers soprano and alto over drums, talking bass, bells, and chanted vocals that anchor the whole thing in something ritualistic. There's an African weight to it all, but filtered through free jazz sensibility; this is not a folk recreation but a working through of spiritual and sonic ideas.
By this point in Jarman's career, he'd moved well beyond his early Art Ensemble of Chicago days. Egwu-Anwu (Sun Song) captures him leading his own ensemble and thinking hard about how melody, rhythm, and voiced sound could work together without Western harmonic structure. The pieces breathe — "Sunlight" and the title track give space for solos to unfold, while instrumental layering builds a thick, textured sound. This is chamber music, but African chamber music, drawing on Yoruba aesthetic and spiritual practice.
The album matters because it shows a major figure in the avant-garde refusing to stay in one place. Jarman had already proven himself in group settings; here he's asking what solitary vision, surrounded by musicians he trusts, might sound like. It's not his most celebrated work, but it's essential for anyone tracking how free jazz engaged with non-Western traditions in the late 1970s without appropriation or condescension.