Ralph Darden is a ham. The Philly expatriate will tell you as much himself. This may seem incongruous with the subtlety involved in fronting the dub-heavy ragga rock trio Jai-Alai Savant, currently housed in Chicago.

But then again, nobody ever said Sinatra—for all his vocal beauty—was a nice guy. So what the fuck do I know from disparity?

Darden, 32, is very much at odds with himself. So much so, he even has a DJ/producer superego he calls "Major Taylor." One of them is Batman to the other's Bruce Wayne.

"Exactly. The idea of a self-made flawed hero," says Darden, a comic fanatic. "The idea of heroes and villains with fantastic abilities and alter egos always had an impact on my creative persona."

Bruce Wayne is a normal guy obsessed with vengeance, attempting to exorcize his internal demons by fighting an array of colorful adversaries. He's got no super powers. Just a lot of money, knowledge, high concepts and a bat costume.

And Darden? He's a depressed art school dropout with more issues than a newsstand from a middle-class, black, single-parent home with the attention span and organizational skills of a "5-year-old, a poster child for ADHD and Prozac if you will," laughs Dadren. He has no college degree, no wealthy parents and, thus, no super powers. However, he's acquired a vast knowledge of subversive music and ability to conceptualize, write, DJ, produce and perform, all of which he has focused into a gregarious alter ego.

So, to recap: Ralph Darden equals Bruce Wayne. Major Taylor equals Batman. Darden's Burberry glasses equals the bat suit.

Major Taylor exorcises Ralph Darden's demons and provides him with an outlet. He also produces and conceptualizes all that Darden writes and records for JaS. Taylor did the first JaS EP, the new Thunderstatement (Gold Standard Laboratories).

Hell, in 2006, the only guy busier than Darden, drummer Jeremy Gowertz and bassists Dan Snyder and Mike Ali, is Taylor, producing as he will Flight of the Bass Delegate, Savant's debut full-length due this summer. He's also working on a double 7-inch, a battle record with producer/pal Diplo remixing Savant songs, some remix stuff with Hollertronix's other half, Low Budget. Plus, Taylor's working on a remix album for Mars Volta, friends who'll repay the favor by appearing on Bass Delegate.

BatDarden aside, the former bike messenger and founder of longtime Philly reggae punk band Franklin, likes all things dangerous. Like Brazilian jiujitsu sport-fighting.

His current band's moniker comes from jai-alai's parlous quotient; to play, one guy with wicker hooks strapped to his arm hurls an ivory ball at the other at speeds up to 180 mph. "To be a savant at this crazy-ass sport you must be a pretty bad motherfucker."

Moving to Chicago, after playing with his pals in Franklin for 13 years, was a pretty fearless move that paid off. "I have some pretty lofty goals that I couldn't see coming to fruition in Philly," says Darden. The Jai-Alai Savant tune "When I Grow Up" addresses this (indirectly), telling the story of a superhero who loses his mind after fighting his greatest adversary and leaves his metropolis in flames to wander the universe to find himself.

"Don't get it twisted," says Darden. "I live in Chicago. But I'll always be a proud Philadelphian. Matter of fact, I'm getting a SEPTA bus tattoo."

But getting it twisted is exactly the point of Thunderstatement. Its lyrics are about heredity, insanity, Philadelphia, Chicago, sex, violence and internal demons. And Batman. The music—whether it's the balls-out joint of the title track, the affectation-less reggae of "Murder Pon the Dance Hall, Part 1" or the dub-spacious combat rock of "Sugar Free"—exists in the red. Not just because of bassist Snyder's propulsive pulsation or Gowertz's dense riddims. That's the sound Darden and Taylor have wanted to create ever since they were a kid, so to speak, seeing The Police in concert. That trio's room-rattling groove was the same dub-punk sound that Darden later came to appreciate in Fugazi and Trenchmouth.

"It made me feel like I was going to crap my pants. I remember thinking to myself, "That's the fuckin' sound I want to create.'" That sound is one of "distorted roots"—where the rhythm section is written in a typical one-drop fashion synonymous with roots reggae but its vocals and distorted guitar push the song over the edge. It's not quite reggae but not quite regular rock either.

"Now, as long as we don't pretend like we are a straight-up reggae band, I think the songs will remain tasteful."

Wed., Jan. 18, 8 p.m., $8, with Aquila Rose, Little Light and Rahim, The Khyber, 56 S. Second St., 215-238-5888, www.thekhyber.com.