Music: RAMP’s “Come into Knowledge”: A Funky, Cosmic Ride That Runs Out of Gas

There’s an old saying in music—start strong, end stronger. RAMP’s Come into Knowledge does half of that equation perfectly. It opens with The American Promise, a sizzling funk manifesto that slaps harder than your grandmother’s Sunday sermon. But somewhere along the way, the album decides to slip into its cosmic pajamas, curl up on a velvet couch, and ride a vibe straight into “solid, but not quite stupendous” territory. It’s like a Roy Ayers fever dream that’s just a little too mellow to be a masterpiece but far too groovy to ignore.

The Ayers Effect

RAMP (short for Roy Ayers Music Productions, in case you thought it was an enthusiastic command) wasn’t really a band so much as a science experiment in funk. Originally formed as Saturday Night Special, a Cincinnati-based R&B cover band, the group featured John Manuel (drums) and Landy Shores (guitar), both former Spinners utility players. They spent 1975-76 playing reimagined funk standards until Ayers caught one of their shows, probably mid-head nod, and decided to take them under his cosmic vibraphone-shaped wing.

Ayers, along with Edwin Birdsong and William Allen, reshaped the group, rebranded them as RAMP, and crafted Come into Knowledge as a showcase for their soul-jazz potential. The record was released in 1977 under ABC Blue Thumb, which then promptly tripped over its own shoelaces and failed to promote it. A few funkheads and Roy Ayers die-hards whispered about it in hushed tones, but the album essentially vanished—at least until hip-hop producers in the ‘90s gave it a second life.

Spacey, Smooth, and Slightly Underbaked

Recorded at Electric Lady Studios in NYC and Record Plant in Hollywood, Come into Knowledge had all the right ingredients—Ayers’ production, Birdsong’s funk wizardry, and a backing band that could groove through a brick wall. But while the performances shimmer with ethereal warmth, there’s an undeniable sense that the album is searching for something it never quite finds.

The production is peak Ayers—lush, spacious, and filled with just enough vibraphone to remind you that he’s still the puppet master here. The vocal work by Sharon Matthews and Sibel Thrasher is undeniably rich, but sometimes the arrangements drift into territory so mellow that you start to wonder if they recorded parts of this album while lounging in a sensory deprivation tank.

Track-by-Track Breakdown

1. The American Promise – Absolutely slaps. The funk guitar scratches, the soaring harmonies, the tight groove—this is the album at its peak, and you think, “Wow, this might be legendary.”

2. I Just Love You – Smooth and sweet, but after The American Promise, it feels like someone turned the lights down a little too low. Pleasant, but not much bite.

3. Give It – A Birdsong composition that tumbles and swings unpredictably. The rhythm section is restless, and the vocalists are all-in, but it almost unravels under its own chaotic energy.

4. Everybody Loves the Sunshine – If you love Roy Ayers, you’ve heard this before. This version is pretty, but let’s be honest, it’s a copy of the original with slightly less charm.

5. Come into Knowledge – The title track is dreamy and slow-moving, like a lullaby for intergalactic travelers. Gorgeous, but a bit of a momentum-killer.

6. Try, Try, Try – Breezy and playful, though it doesn’t exactly demand a repeat listen. Feels like an outtake from an Earth, Wind & Fire album that Maurice White left on the cutting room floor.

7. Daylight – This one found a second life thanks to A Tribe Called Quest’s Bonita Applebum, and for good reason. It’s got a haunting, hypnotic quality, even if it never quite explodes.

8. Look into the Sky – Floaty, jazzy, and vibraphone-heavy. Feels like a Roy Ayers deep cut with RAMP’s vocals casually draped over it.

9. Deep Velvet – A slow fade into the night. By this point, you’ve either fully surrendered to the album’s dreamlike atmosphere, or you’ve started wondering what else is in your playlist.

The Funk That Took a Long Nap

Upon release, Come into Knowledge was practically dead on arrival. Blue Thumb Records barely acknowledged its existence, and whatever promotional budget they had must’ve been spent on pizza, because this album didn’t even get a foot in the door. It lingered in record store bargain bins, appreciated by only the most dedicated funk crate-diggers.

Then, somewhere in the ‘90s, hip-hop heads dusted it off and realized, “Wait, this stuff is GOLD.” A Tribe Called Quest cracked open Daylight for Bonita Applebum, and suddenly, everyone wanted a taste. The album became a holy grail for rare-groove collectors, with original vinyl pressings selling for ridiculous amounts. Japan got the first proper CD reissue in 2007, and Verve finally brought it stateside, proving that sometimes, good funk just takes a few decades to catch up.

A Cosmic Funk Ride That Fizzles Out

At its best, Come into Knowledge is an intoxicating mix of silky harmonies, airy jazz-funk, and spacey grooves. At its worst, it’s a beautifully produced lullaby that forgets to wake up. The album kicks off with an absolute banger (The American Promise) but spends the rest of its runtime coasting in neutral. Every track is enjoyable—none of them are outright bad—but it never quite lives up to its opening fireworks.

Solid, sometimes brilliant, but ultimately, more of a rare-groove curio than an essential classic.

⭐️⭐️⭐️ (3/5)

#RareGrooveGold #RoyAyersMagic #FunkNap #BonitaApplebumApproved