The distinctive sound of Pharoah Sanders’ tenor saxophone, which could veer from a hoarse croon to harsh multiphonic screams, startled audiences in the 1960s before acting in recent years as a kind of call to prayer for young jazz musicians seeking to steer their music in a direction defined by a search for ecstasy and transcendence.
Sanders, who has died aged 81, made an impact at both ends of a long career. In 1965 he was recruited by John Coltrane, an established star of the jazz world, to help push the music forward into uncharted areas of sonic and spiritual exploration.
He had just turned 80 when he reached a new audience after being invited by Sam Shepherd, the British musician and producer working under the name Floating Points, to take the solo part on the widely praised recording of an extended composition titled Promises, a concerto in which he responded with a haunting restraint to the minimalist motifs and backgrounds devised by Shepherd for keyboards and the strings of the London Symphony Orchestra.
By then he had become a vital figure in the recent revival of “spiritual jazz”, whose young exponents took his albums as inspirational texts. When he was named a Jazz Master by the US National Endowment for the Arts in 2016, musicians of all generations, from the veteran pianist Randy Weston to the young saxophonist Kamasi Washington, queued up to pay tribute.
Farrell Sanders was born in Little Rock, Arkansas, a segregated world where his mother was a school cook, his father was a council worker and he grew up steeped in the music of the church. He studied the clarinet in school before moving on to the saxophone, playing jazz and rhythm and blues in the clubs on Little Rock’s West Ninth Street, backing such visiting stars as Bobby Bland and Junior Parker. After graduating from Scipio A Jones high school, he moved to northern California, studying art and music at Oakland Junior College. Soon he was immersing himself in the local jazz scene, where he was known as “Little Rock”.
In 1961 he arrived in New York, a more high-powered and competitive but still economically straitened environment. While undergoing the young unknown’s traditional period of scuffling for gigs, he played with the Arkestra of Sun Ra, a devoted Egyptologist. Sanders soon changed his name from Farrell to Pharoah, giving himself the sort of brand recognition enjoyed by all the self-styled Kings, Dukes, Counts and Earls of earlier jazz generations.
Amid a ferment of innovation in the new jazz avant garde, Sanders formed his own quartet. The poet LeRoi Jones (later known as Amiri Baraka) was the first to take notice, writing in his column in DownBeat magazine in 1964 that Sanders was “putting it together very quickly; when he does, somebody will tell you about it”.
That somebody turned out to be Coltrane, who invited him to take part in the recording of Ascension, an unbroken 40-minute piece in which 11 musicians improvised collectively between ensemble figures handed to them at the start of the session. When it was released on the Impulse! label in 1966, critics noted that the leader, one of jazz’s biggest stars, had given himself no more solo space than any of the other, younger horn players, implicitly awarding their creative input as much value as his own.
Coltrane also invited Sanders to join his regular group, then expanding from the classic quartet format heard at its peak on the album A Love Supreme, recorded in 1964. With Alice Coltrane and Rashied Ali replacing McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones at the piano and the drums respectively, and other young musicians coming in and out as the band toured the US, the music became less of a vehicle for solo improvisation and more of a communal rite, sometimes involving the chanting of mantras and extended percussion interludes.
While some listeners were dismayed, accusing Coltrane of overdoing his generosity to young acolytes, others were exhilarated. For both camps, Sanders became a symbol of the shift. “Pharoah Sanders stole the entire performance,” the critic Ron Welburn wrote after witnessing Coltrane’s group in Philadelphia in 1966. The poet Jerry Figi reviewed a performance in Chicago and described Sanders as “the most urgent voice of the night”, his sound “a mad wind screeching through the root-cellars of Hell”. Sceptics believed Sanders was leading Coltrane down the path to perdition.
When Coltrane died of liver cancer in 1967, aged 40, Sanders began his own series of albums for Impulse!, starting with Tauhid (1967) and Karma (1969), which included an influential extended modal chant called The Creator Has a Master Plan. He continued to work with Alice Coltrane, appearing on several of her albums as well as those of Weston, Tyner, Don Cherry, Ornette Coleman, Sonny Sharrock, the Jazz Composer’s Orchestra, Norman Connors and others.
In 2004 he was inducted into the Arkansas Black Hall of Fame. Ten years later, he travelled from his home in Los Angeles to Little Rock, the city where his classmates had tried, in 1957, to desegregate the local whites-only high school, for an official Pharoah Sanders Day.
When asked to explain the philosophy behind the music that Baraka described as “long tissues of sounded emotion”, he replied: “I was just trying to see if I could play a pretty note, a pretty sound.” In later years, those who arrived at his concerts expecting the white-bearded figure to produce the squalls of sound that characterised Coltrane’s late period were often surprised by the gentleness with which he could enunciate a ballad. “When I’m trying to play music,” he said, “I’m telling the truth about myself.”
• Pharoah (Farrell) Sanders, saxophonist and composer, born 13 October 1940; died 24 September 2022
