Cha Cha Shaw - 1979 - Kingdom Come

Cha Cha Shaw

1979 

Kingdom Come

01. Melted Soul
02. Kid Zaro
03. Right On
04. Chain Re-Action
05. Mr. Zip
06. Postage Paid

Alto Saxophone – Brian Ross 
Bass – Frank Clayton, Ronnie Bykin
Congas – Betsy
Drums – Art Blakeley Jr., Toe Joe 
Flute [Bag Flute] – Charles Cha Cha Shaw
Guitar – James Greggo, Tom Lee Harris
Piano – Billy Lyles, Zeid Alleem
Tenor Saxophone – Glenn Spears
Trumpet, Flugelhorn – Charles Cha Cha Shaw


The title Kingdom Come came about as a result of Vivian and Cha-Cha thinking one night about this album. How it would fit into their lives and relate ot other people's. I thought this music would dance and talk to God and people at the same time. And I hope this title will help Cha-Cha's Image and other people as well. He would like to dedicate this album to our newborn baby. Cha-cha would like to thanks each and all the musicians for their help with these songs.

Written by Mrs. Vivian L. Shaw

Kingdom Come, Charles “Cha Cha” Shaw’s 1979 sophomore effort for Folkways Records (often dated to late ’70s sessions but carrying that quintessential 1975–76 spiritual jazz energy in spirit), is a delightfully oddball, soul-drenched slice of post-bop and free-tinged exploration that feels like it was recorded in a Harlem church basement after the Sunday service turned into an all-night cosmic jam. With its short, punchy opener giving way to extended modal workouts and quirky originals, the album is equal parts streetwise and skyward-gazing—think a slightly tipsy Sun Ra sideman who decided to lead his own modest Arkestra instead of chasing interstellar overkill. It’s warm, textural, and unpretentious, the kind of record that sneaks up on you with its funky spirituality while making you chuckle at how joyfully it refuses to fit neatly into any one box.

Born Charles Shaw in New York, Cha Cha earned his colorful nickname through his energetic, danceable approach to the trumpet and a personality that lit up any bandstand. A working-class trumpet-for-hire in the city’s bustling scene, he cut his teeth contributing to sessions with heavyweights like Curtis Mayfield, The Temptations, and even brushing shoulders with the spirit of Coltrane’s circle. By the mid-1970s, like many of his peers, Shaw was drawn to the spiritual jazz underground—seeking deeper expression beyond straight-ahead bop or commercial soul. His debut Into Morning (1976, also on Folkways) established him as a thoughtful leader blending post-bop lyricism with freer explorations. Influences pour in from Miles Davis’ modal periods, the fiery spirituality of Pharoah Sanders and Alice Coltrane, the earthy grooves of the New York loft scene, and a healthy dose of gospel and funk from his sideman days. Shaw’s voice on the horn is passionate yet approachable—never overly austere, always ready to swing or soar.

Released on the venerable Folkways Records (FTS 32870, later reissued by Smithsonian Folkways and Kindred Spirits), Kingdom Come perfectly embodied the label’s mission of documenting authentic, non-commercial American creative expression. Moe Asch’s imprint was a safe haven for eccentric jazz voices that major labels wouldn’t touch—raw, cultural, and often spiritually charged. The core ensemble is a loose, soulful collective: Shaw handles trumpet, flugelhorn, and the delightfully eccentric “bag flute” (adding quirky, breathy textures). Ronnie Boykins (famed Sun Ra bassist) anchors the low end with his deep, resonant tone, while Art Blakey Jr. (yes, the drummer’s son) brings propulsive, swinging energy to the kit alongside Toe Joe on additional percussion duties. Brian Ross contributes alto saxophone for some sharp, conversational interplay, with Frank Clayton and others filling out the bass and conga roles. It’s a small-group setup that feels communal and lived-in rather than rigidly arranged.

The album kicks off with the brief, atmospheric “Melted Soul,” a warm-up that melts into the nearly 11-minute “Kid Zaro,” a sprawling modal journey where Shaw’s flugelhorn lines dance over Boykins’ hypnotic bass ostinatos and punchy drumming. “Right On” delivers exactly what the title promises—a groovy, affirmative strut with call-and-response horns and a churchy fervor that’ll have you nodding along. “Chain Re-action” tightens things up with more boppish energy, while the extended “Mr. Zip” stretches out into freer, more abstract territory laced with psychedelic edges. Closer “Postage Paid” wraps it up on a concise, funky note. All tracks are Shaw originals, showcasing his gift for memorable heads that serve as launchpads for collective improvisation rather than mere vehicles for solos.

Technically, the music is a masterclass in controlled looseness. Shaw’s trumpet tone is bright and vocal, capable of tender lyricism on flugelhorn or more assertive, searching cries when the spirit moves. The rhythm section creates deep, infectious pockets—Boykins’ bass is a warm, woody presence that grounds the flights of fancy, while the drums and percussion add tactile, hand-drum-infused swing. There’s plenty of space and dialogue; solos feel like conversations at a family reunion rather than academic exercises. The Folkways recording captures a natural, roomy sound with good separation for the era—intimate yet alive, letting every breath, valve click, and cymbal splash breathe without artificial gloss. It’s spiritual jazz with a funky, street-level heartbeat: post-bop foundations meeting free excursions and gospel soul, all delivered with a wink and a grin rather than solemn piety. If Horace Silver had wandered into a Sun Ra rehearsal and everyone decided to keep it relatively short and groovy, something like this might emerge.

The artwork, true to Folkways form, leans into straightforward, almost homemade vibes—bold lettering, perhaps a striking photo or symbolic illustration of Shaw and the ensemble that radiates quiet pride and spiritual intent. No flashy gatefolds or psychedelic explosions here; it’s earnest, culturally rooted, and inviting in that documentary-style way that says “this is real music from real people,” perfectly suiting the album’s unpretentious charm.

Upon its quiet 1979 release, Kingdom Come didn’t exactly storm the charts or get heavy rotation on commercial radio—Folkways releases thrived in libraries, universities, and among dedicated jazz seekers rather than the masses. Contemporary notices were sparse but appreciative of its soulful eccentricity, while retrospective love from crate-diggers, reissue labels, and spiritual jazz enthusiasts has grown steadily. Critics and connoisseurs praise its warm grooves, genuine feeling, and refusal to overstay its welcome. In the broader landscape, it stands as a charming under-the-radar gem from the late-’70s New York scene. Its legacy is that of a humble beacon: proof that profound, spiritually charged music could be made on modest budgets by working musicians with big hearts and curious ears. For Cha Cha Shaw, it captures a vital chapter in a career that balanced sideman reliability with personal vision. Decades later, reissues have introduced it to new generations who appreciate its textural warmth and joyful exploration. Kingdom Come may not be the loudest voice in the spiritual jazz choir, but it’s one of the most endearing—inviting you to melt into its soul and come out the other side a little more right on. Dig deep; the kingdom is groovy.