Moby would have wet himself had he heard it; maybe even sold his stake in Teany for a simple sample. For this self-proclaimed "bride of Christ" sounded as if she were from another time and plane, clanging her convulsive tambourine and singing verses from the book of Revelations like Mavis Staples possessed by the Holy Spirit. But the bald one didn't discover the lone lost recording of Sister Gertrude Morgan. Ropeadope Records founder Andy Hurwitz did, as he was flipping through discs in New Orleans during Jazz & Heritage Fest 2002. It only took one listen of Morgan's mysteriously labeled Let's Make a Record live LP (recorded in 1970, and pressed in small, discrete batches by the legendary Preservation Hall) before Hurwitz was on the phone negotiating a proper reissue of the record with Ben Jaffe, overseer of the jazz mecca. (Meanwhile, Jaffe re-released Morgan's raw voice-and-tambourine tracks in 2004, to coincide with a traveling exhibit of her art organized by the American Folk Art Museum in New York City.)

"[She] has to be the best-kept secret in blues and gospel music," explains Hurwitz. "I could not believe that her voice wasn't world-famous."

Hurwitz says it only took "about 12 minutes" to spark plans for both a Ropeadope re-release with extensive liner notes (including some of Morgan's haunting simplistic paintings) and a remix record. There was one hang-up, however: Hurwitz wasn't comfortable with the suggestion of selecting a dozen producers for the job, similar to the successful but spotty looting of Verve's vaults on countless compilations, most notably by Madlib. Such an approach could distort the deeply spiritual, raw power of Morgan's two-track recordings. A carefully constructed "reinterpretation," on the other hand, could take her to the higher, clouded realm she celebrated in song.

"Sister Gertrude's music was too sacred for something as shallow [as a simple remix]," says Hurwitz. Turns out he had Philadelphia's own Madlib in mind from the start — the chameleonic soul man King Britt. "I felt no single person was better-suited for the project because I knew he'd treat it with respect and integrity. Britt wasn't going to take the easy way out, raping the sister's work for the sake of making a hit. Just look at Moby's Play."

Inspired: "We were going off Sister Gertrude -- she was in the room with us because her spirit, her vibe is so huge, the essence of everything," says Tim Motzer (left). Photo By: Michael T. Regan

Convincing Britt to commit was about as easy as Hurwitz's original call to Jaffe, although Britt admits he had to Google Morgan's name a bit before he realized who the hell she was: a revered New Orleans legend, saintlike in some circles, yet rarely spoken about in graveyard tours. Once he heard those original two-track cuts and saw some of her paintings (collected in the hardcover book Sister Gertrude Morgan: The Tools of Her Ministry), the producer was wholly engrossed in the project. It helped that he'd fallen into a creative funk since releasing his first hip-hop album, 2003's space odyssey Adventures in Lo-fi (on BBE, featuring rhymes from Quasimoto, De La Soul and Britt's former Digable Planets collaborator, Cherrywine).

"I was just looking for a new sound, a new inspiration," admits Britt. "And my mom's like, 'You need to find God, you need to go to church,'" Britt says, with a groan and a laugh. "After hearing Sister G, I realized we all need a sense of spirituality right now. The whole world is in cahoots and it's Armageddon time. People are losing their sense of hope, so I think records like this are exactly what people need."

Britt was so taken aback by Morgan's fiery sermon-songs that he immediately insisted on including frequent collaborator (as part of the Sylk 130 collective) Tim Motzer in the songwriting and production process. Motzer owns 1K Recordings and has played with everyone from Les Nubians to Patti LaBelle and Philadelphia poet Ursula Rucker. He even has an ambient project in the works called Soft Lunch, under the guise of Tilomo ("King uses it for sex," jokes Motzer), as well as a solo record that Britt describes as "very Ziggy Stardust … we [Britt's FiveSix imprint] are actually trying to license it to a major label."

Sitting on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, amid the stifling midafternoon sun and several wannabe Rockys, it's clear the two are more than session mates with a similar lust for crate digging (they actually headed out to Lancaster at 6 this Sunday morning for the town's monthly record fair, where some prime David Axelrod and Don Cherry platters were consumed). That's partly because they've known each other since the heyday of Britt's residencies at Silk City in the mid-'90s, including the Saturday house and electronic party Back to Basics, and a Monday mix of hip-hop, soul and live music that often featured Motzer's virtuoso fret work.

"I'm into the old-school mode of production — getting the right people to make the best product," says Britt, as the three of us sit down on a bench near the museum's monumental entrance. "That's what Quincy Jones would do: Get the right people to do everything, like on Off the Wall for Michael Jackson. Tim is a super musician, whereas I've never had training or anything. So coming from that point of view, I may play a chord the wrong way, but it really doesn't matter if it's wrong or right."

"It's just whether this is working or not," adds Motzer. "Ultimately, we complement one another. The holes are always covered, which is cool."

Britt continues, explaining that he prefers collaborating over the reclusive bedroom producer role largely because he was an only child — an only child so bored he played Dungeons and Dragons by himself. (Too bad he didn't know Philadelphia's drum 'n' bass dungeonmaster Dieselboy back then.)

Five months of constant writing and chance improv — with nary a second for a D&D match — went into the Sister Gertrude Morgan record. The attention to detail and refusal to simply remix with synth stabs or piano keys certainly shows. The opening cut, "Let's Make a Record" (tracked by Motzer and his Fractured Reverb Underground bandmate, bassist Barry Meehan), is as dark and disturbing as it is a joyous battle cry of treated riffs, snappy breaks, gumbo-thick basslines and hallelujahs from the heavens. Every séance that follows is as sonically surprising, from the way "I Was Healed by the Wounds" hits you right in the chest with a choice "oomph!" sample and tribal percussion patterns to the sheer soul-singeing intensity of "Power (Voodoo Version)" [see sidebar]. If she's listening, Sister G is probably smiling right now, momentarily content that her message of salvation will live on — especially in these troubled times of tsunamis, war and of course, the Mississippi Delta flood that washed away her beloved city.

"Man, it's just beautiful," says Hurwitz. "I should also add that this record is bigger than King and he knows it. The real story here is about Sister Gertrude Morgan — her lyrics, her passion and her art are borderline religious to me. If there was one artist past/present/future that I could sit down with for a roadside chat, it would be her."

"Some people erroneously call this a remix record, when it's really a full-blown production," adds Motzer. "We're writing songs around what she already wrote down, being inspired by her vibe. We were going off Sister Gertrude — she was in the room with us because her spirit, her vibe is so huge, the essence of everything. She had this great message in the '60s, one that's just as relevant in 2005."

Relevant, and better than another techno-lite blues album from Moby?

"Well, he did sell a lot of records," says Britt, laughing. "I'd rather hear Sister Gertrude in the Top 10 than the new Ludacris. I want us to release pop records, but in the sense of our pop — just good songs with longevity that people can sing. Whatever happens, we're embarking on a heavy journey the next few years."

King Britt Presents Sister Gertrude Morgan, Sat., Oct. 8, 8 p.m., $25, Painted Bride Art Center, 230 Vine St., 215-925-9914, www.paintedbride.org.

One Track Mind

"Power (Voodoo Version)" featuring G. Love

At first, they thought he was crazy. Or maybe it was just his margarita talking. Either way, King Britt and Tim Motzer weren't about to say no when G. Love asked the duo to kill the lights in Britt's studio for a "Voodoo Version" of Sister Gertrude Morgan's already evocative song, "Power."

"We couldn't even see him, but he ripped it on the harmonica and took it over the top," says Britt. "He brought the dirty swamp vibe out."

Motzer, in turn, went absolutely wild with his riffs — fingerpicking his strings, strangling his guitar's neck, and even getting a little Phish-y. (Motzer's Jazzheads quartet would have totally gotten booked at Bonnaroo, had their Avant Wot Not LP not come out in 1999.)

"I was trying to conjure the voodoo, so to speak, by playing slide guitars," explains Motzer. "It just evokes so much — that sound of tearing your heart out of your chest. It's very beautiful and brutal, the most gorgeous nasty sound you've heard. It's like modern-day blues in a sense."

To achieve an ultramodern excursion into Delta blues, Britt started with Morgan's time-stretched vocals (setting her singing to a certain pitch and amount of beats per minute) and the usual bedrock of a production: A beat. This track does more than dust off a drum break, though. It goes for the broken beat vibe of West London, a shadowy, soulful sound popularized by Jazzanova in the States. Consequently, the track is manic for its entire eight minutes, even a little claustrophobic, with "deep, dark and dubby" basslines alongside keyboard snippets that recall the best of reggae. Britt is so happy with the song that he's considering submitting it for Grammy consideration.

"'Power' is intense," says Britt. "It was total voodoo: A groove that continually builds and turns into a complete trance."