This reissue is one of a series of five classic albums which Matthew Shipp recorded for hatOLOGY, and it presents the pianist in a superb setting with what he calls his "String Trio." Shipp's compositions show a romantic flair, imbued with a spirit of sophisticated discovery and complex relationships, but what makes them so compelling is the manner in which the trio interprets them, each piece ringing with a sense of completeness. Shipp's performances, in particular, are orderly constructs that in retrospect take thoroughly improvised logical paths. It is to his credit that the organic nature of the pieces merges the various elements so well, and the performances of William Parker and Mat Maneri are so utterly compatible and compelling. As with almost any artistic invention, the music can be heard on a variety of levels: as chamber jazz, it has a beauty that rewards even the casual listener, while the sophisticated interrelationships give it a great depth and even charm. Ben Ratliffe notes in his detailed liners that "Shipp's debt to Bach and 20th century classical composers is obvious," and he quotes the pianist as saying he does not "know what jazz is." Whatever this music is called, the elements of free improvisation, melodic invention, and syncopated rhythms combine to create something of lasting value, evidenced in part by the relative popularity of such seemingly esoteric fare. The final piece by Ellington connects a line that puts Shipp within a tradition that places improvised music outside any pre-conceived modes.
Here is yet another chapter in Thirsty Ear's provocative and consistently excellent Blue Series. Equilibrium is a more complex extension of Shipp's last album for the label, the stunning Nu Bop. Here, employing the talents of bassist William Parker, drummer Gerald Cleaver, vibraphonist Khan Jamal, and electronics and programming whiz FLAM, Shipp moves to extend the reach of all of his previous musical excursions by putting them all to work on a single recording. And before anyone jumps to think "mess," don't. You'd be wrong. There are nine cuts, beginning with the stellar, pointillistic title track. The ensemble creates a series of contrapuntal exercises based around an engaged series of encounters between Shipp and Jamal. Shipp's ringing right hand strikes angular phrases, yet refrains from using force. Because of the textural element present in Jamal's ornate yet dynamically restrained playing, the two instruments create a weave that is knotted by the rhythm section. "Vamp to Vibe" is just that, though it's created around a series of off-minor themes, Cleaver's drums propelling the movement of the entire piece as he double-times the band. Jamal takes the first solo, creating a staircase scalar attack from the middle of the minor progression and arcing it upward before descending into the hushed maelstrom at the middle of the track. "Nebula Theory" is virtually a chamber piece, colored extensively by Parker's wondrous use of the bow on elongated lines. "World of Blue Glass" is among the most melodically sophisticated and aesthetically gorgeous pieces Shipp has ever composed. Whatever dissonance makes its way into the piece is there for the reason of having it extended harmonically into something far more rich and, dare it be said, beautiful. The hip-hoprisy that creates the rhythmic flow of "The Root" jumbles hip-hop and downtempo, elaborated on by Cleaver, whose painting of the insides of the beat is remarkable. Shipp offers chordal explorations on a marked set of changes and Jamal moves everything into overdrive as the turntables kick in. "The Key" is positively Monk-like in its rhythmic construction and Bill Evans-like in its mysteriously enchanting melodic line. And with Parker taking a bass break that's pure, basic funky blues, it all comes together in a seamless whole. The disc closes with its most difficult and compelling piece, "Nu Matrix." It feels as if it were written for the soundtrack of Andrei Tarkovsky's film Solaris via Webern's earlier piano pieces. There are sounds adding dimension, there are no rhythms, there is only Shipp's piano extrapolating on every minor seventh chord he plays. It would be a piano solo of some starkness, but the quark strangeness of the electronics makes it a meditation on schemata and closure. Shipp, whose restless vision is never clouded by grandiosity or pretense, has become the most important pianist on the scene today. Equilibrium is soul music for the mind.
Whenever Matthew Shipp sits down in front of a piano to record a solo album, I doubt he ever does so with a theme decided beforehand; the theme takes form during the recording or sometimes only becomes clear after the sessions are done. The latter is the case for Shipp’s latest solo piano offering Codebreaker, about which he reveals he was “actually shocked at how introspective the album was when I listened back to it.” And when discussing introspective piano, it’s hard not to mention the master introspective pianist, Bill Evans.
That makes Codebreaker a sort of an accidental paean to Evans and perhaps his forbear, Bud Powell, though Shipp doesn’t consciously try to sound like another piano player. When creating on the fly as Shipp typically does, the influences like Evans (or Mal Waldron) buried deep in his being will naturally spill out as well as his state of mind — thus, the inward-looking bent of these set of performances that defy convention and embrace every moment.
For tracks like “Codebreaker,” “Disc” and “The Tunnel,” the chords slowly march up and down, dwelling in the mid-to-lower registers as Shipp is apt to do, but there’s a certain deliberative motion not typical from him. Amid the tightly packed notes of “Spiderweb” are interludes of melodic prettiness. “Raygun” dashes forward with nary an open space, but almost hidden in the endless cluster of notes is an interesting melodic development. “Mystic Motion” could very well pertain to the mysterious movement of this tune, not adhering to timekeeping but mimicking the motion of thoughtful spontaneity.
Though the mood is somewhat different, the usual hallmarks of Shipp are present. You hear the clipped chords on numbers such as “Code Swing,” where he also forges a staggered path but always with a sense of knowing where he’s headed. Shipp hits the keys on “Letter From The Galaxy” in a mildly percussive manner, turning melody and rhythm into one. The notes just tumble out on “Green Man,” but Shipp hold interest by varying the density and freely vacillating between chords and single-line patterns to the point where they’re virtually indistinguishable.
Listening to Matthew Shipp create on unaccompanied piano is like peering into the soul of a man. Codebreaker exposes the soul of an artist absorbing decades of accomplishment but still capable of decades more.
Codebreaker is now on sale, courtesy of Tao Forms.
Preposterous, I know, but I hereby issue a challenge to pianist Matthew Shipp: try to make music that I don’t love. Go ahead and try! Of course, it’s not a fair challenge, because I decide what I love. Or it just mysteriously occurs inside. Either way, what I’m trying to say is that it astonishes me that this artist can release so much music that I enjoy!
In 2021 alone, (at least) seven albums have been released that feature Shipp’s distinctive approach and sound, including two wonderful trio works: a boisterous album with Francisco Mela and William Parker , and a mysterious and even mystical album with William Parker and Whit Dickey.
But in this solo piano work, he’s alone. Or...maybe it’s not that simple. In his own reflections on this recording, Shipp notes, “It’s very abstract and I don’t know if listeners will hear it, but I hear a line in my playing that’s trying to get into the trajectory that links Bud Powell’s piano playing to Bill Evans.” Hints of the artist’s inspired intent may be found in the album title: Codebreaker (TAO Forms, 2021).
For as much as I enjoy the work of Shipp, there’s a lot that I have yet to hear in his decades-long discography, and therefore I cannot compare the playing and spontaneous composition in Codebreaker to the full spectrum of his prior works. But to me this work feels unique -- and not just in shades, but in hues. This is captured beautifully by the poetry of Mia Hansford in the album’s liner notes:
infinity hues
prelude and allemande to immersion.
Unspooling in andante, a man’s foot or a woman’s,
touching rock, foundation. The map opens, burgeoning
fruit on vines. Vine trailing oak. Oak pared and sunk, or
full and uncut, splaying in the rolling light; notions
of holding. Walk into shadows and their glistening.
Breathe. Feel the skin begin.
There’s a poem for each of the eleven album tracks, and the verse pairs exquisitely with the music. Though the words aren’t recited in the recording, I can hear them in the spirit and animation of Shipp’s voicings. The reader-listener is invited to notice the conversation, sound to word to music to meaning. Each stand alone -- and together.
Most tracks are between three and five minutes long, each offering a gracious tumble of notes and chords, given space to pulse and quiver, together they sing, and more often sweetly than I’m accustomed to hearing from Shipp. The longest track, “Spiderweb,” weaves staccato notes with a tempered urgency, between and around a refrain of warm nostalgia. Here and on other tracks, the soft percussive thuds from the dance of piano pedals can sound like quiet thunder clapping in the distance, suggesting a spacious combustibility. It’s heard also on “Disc,” which opens with a brief swagger, but then charms with a gauzy beauty, a light touch, concluding on a theme that harks of a simpler, almost childlike time.
Sounding almost like a ballad, or as close as Shipp gets to such a form, “Letter From the Galaxy” intimates the complex kind of love that’s proportional to such a vast entity. A few tracks later, the mood has shifted with “Stomp to the Galaxy,” and a bluesy putting-my-foot-down kind of energy emerges from Shipp’s rampant runs to and fro the keyboard. Hansford gives imagery to the cosmic muscle: “Changeful, changing, excavating towns / easy as a glove, shoes tossed to the sky. / The warnings come with melodies as one / enormous, unassuming countenance bearing down.”
Whatever you make of some deep part of Matthew Shipp deciphering the musical trajectory from Bud Powell to Bill Evans, one thing is true: even when you’re utterly solitary with your instrument of choice, or with your thoughts, or with nature, or whatever—in a deeply meaningful sense you’re never really alone. The beautiful music of Codebreaker told me this.
The jazz world does not lack for fine pianists, but those
who can sustain listener interest through an extended solo set always have been
in shorter supply.
These days, few pack their soliloquies with more
information, drama and free-ranging thought than Matthew Shipp, who proves it
on a gripping new album, the aptly named "I've Been to Many Places"
(Thirsty Ear). Though the recording won't be released until Sept. 9, Chicago
listeners will get an early listen on Aug. 27, when Shipp holds the stage alone
at PianoForte Studios, on South Michigan Avenue. Presented as a lead-up to the
Chicago Jazz Festival, which begins the next day, Shipp's recital will be
broadcast live on WDCB FM 90.9.
Better still, he'll be playing a Fazioli grand piano, a
high-toned instrument with a uniquely translucent sound utterly unlike the
weightier tone of Steinways and other excellent pianos. The chance to hear
Shipp playing new music on a Fazioli in a concert-hall setting does not come
along often.
Even for Shipp, whose resume includes tenures with such
formidable ensembles as saxophonist David S. Ware's quartet and
multi-instrumentalist Roscoe Mitchell's Note Factory, the prospect of sitting
alone before those 88 keys is daunting, he says.
"What's challenging about it is that you have to have a
very specific concept for it," explains Shipp. "Because there are a
lot of great pianists who aren't going to have a concept for solo.
"And I don't want to say who they are, because I don't
want anybody coming at me," adds the pianist, with a laugh.
Well how about naming those whom Shipp feels have a real
voice?
"There are pianists who have very specific solo
concepts – Cecil Taylor's one, Keith Jarrett is one," says Shipp, who
indeed cites two strong, if quite dissimilar soloists. Taylor's tempests at the
keyboard surely are far removed from Jarrett's meticulously sculpted,
quasi-classical improvisations.
"And it has nothing to do with whether you like their
(musical) language or not," adds Shipp. "They do actually have
concepts for solo piano."
So does Shipp, whose pianism sounds more crisply voiced than
Taylor's and less rarefied than Jarrett's. Ultimately, though, Shipp's solo
orations are far afield from either of those pianists and from just about
everyone else, as well, a point he proves throughout "I've Been to Many
Places."
From the classically tinged ruminations of the title track
to a lush transformation of George Gershwin's "Summertime" to the
rhythmic eruptions and clashing melodic lines of "Brain Shatter,"
Shipp's solos veer in multiple musical directions.
One hastens to add that none of this is easy listening. On
the contrary, Shipp's solo music brims with influences of many fearless musical
thinkers, among them the American iconoclast Charles Ives, the Viennese 12-tone
innovator Arnold Schoenberg and the aforementioned jazz titan Taylor.
In any event, piano devotees who prefer to sit back, tap
their toes and enjoy a pleasant melody probably should look elsewhere. But
those who wish to hear a valued intellect grappling with musical ideas across
the full range of the keyboard will find plenty to ponder in this work.
To Shipp, this album represents not just a series of essays
in sound but, beyond that, a kind of summation of where he has been in his
travels with Ware, Mitchell and others. As if to emphasize the point, he has
chosen to revisit specific compositions that he has recorded before, having
played "Tenderly" with the David S. Ware Quartet on
"Earthquation," "Summertime" in a duet with bassist William
Parker on "Zo" and two Shipp originals – "Waltz" and
"Reflex" – with Parker and violist Matt Maneri in the Matthew Shipp
String Trio on "Expansion, Power, Release."
"Your experiences definitely shape you," says
Shipp. "For instance, I know 'Summertime' on 'Zo' is completely different
than 'Summertime' on 'I've Been to Many Places.' How I got to all the places,
how I got from A to Z, I don't know.
"Is Z any better than A? I don't know. But I just know
I've ended up somewhere different. Nothing freezes. Everything is always
flowing."
It certainly is when Shipp is at the keyboard, as he was
last summer, leading his trio before a standing-room-only crowd at
Constellation, on North Western Avenue. Though producing a profusion of ideas,
Shipp somehow maintained clarity of sound and thought, his
all-over-the-keyboard pianism a feast to behold (with empathetic support from
bassist Michael Bisio and drummer Whit Dickey).
When he played an hour-plus solo show in 2006 at the
long-gone HotHouse, the massive quality of his chord clusters, the density of
his textures and the complexity of his rhythms made a striking impression.
Judging by the music on "I've Been to Many Places," Shipp has
sharpened and refined his approach to the keyboard since then, though one
hesitates to leap to conclusions too readily. The unpredictability of Shipp's
work suggests he might be playing something totally different next week at
PianoForte.
To keep in fighting trim, Shipp says he practices keyboard
exercises of his own making and plays a lot of Johann Sebastian Bach, whose
"Well-Tempered Clavier," of course, is the bible for all keyboardists
with a sense of history. But practicing alone in your room isn't quite the same
as trying to build an argument alone at the piano, with an audience hanging on
every note – or not.
When Shipp performs alone, he sounds as if he has very
nearly forgotten that anyone else is in the room, which can be dangerous.
"I do get engrossed in my own space," he
acknowledges. "And I wouldn't know how not to. But, at the same time, you
are sensitive to the vibe in the room. I'm not going to say I completely go
inside myself and I'm not cognizant of whatever the vibe is in the room, but I
would say … I'm within myself.
"I'm trying to be introspective. I'm being more honest
with the music."
Matthew Shipp caught ears when he was playing with saxophonist David S. Ware and bassist William Parker, but it soon became clear that this pianist—who will turn 53 this year—was wholly his own man. He formed a great trio, he became the curator of a recording series, he experimented with electronics, he dove back into jazz standards and he developed into a wholly original player in the solo piano history of jazz. He is one of the few jazz musicians of the new millennium to generate ink suggesting that jazz was developing an appeal among rock fans.
What do you want this guy to do next?
Rumors that he might retire turned out to be false. And, in fact, his latest release—a stunning solo piano recital—may just be a classic, the kind of record we talk about and play for each other decades later. Piano Sutras is a glorious, generous, fully mature expression of creativity that could only have come from one artist. It is as good and adventurous as jazz is going to sound in 2013.
These 13 tracks (two, “Giant Steps” and “Nefertiti”, were not written by Shipp) are relatively brief and focused pianistic essays. They cover a wide stylistic range, but each is driven by a logic or strong sense of sequence. They don’t typically sound like standard jazz—there no “tune”, variations on the tune, return to the tune sequence—but neither are they “free jazz” in any meaningful sense. Shipp, in this collection, has refined a style that allows composition and improvisation to work seamlessly as partners, seemingly indistinguishable. Could this be some kind of “modern classical music”? I guess so, except that Shipp remains a jazz player at his core: emphasizing the surging rhythms and blues sensibility that remain the core of great original American music, whatever name you want to give it.
Some of this work has a dramatic foreboding. “Uncreated Light” begins with alternation between dark low clusters and pretty high chords. Shipp lets his left-hand figures ring with overtones, the sustain suggesting music beyond what you can hear. A spiraling theme then emerges in his delicate right hand between the thunderous statements from below. It’s easy to imagine this music accompanying a scene of danger imposing on innocence from a suspense movie, perhaps.
Other songs here are as light as air. “Angelic Brain Cell” is like a post-modern minuet—a light dance piece that flitters and skips and suggests the spark of movement and intelligence in every note. Patterns of repetition arise and vanish, Licks turn into variation, unison lines grow quickly out of phase and then transform into counterpoint. It is an astonishing, ingenious performance.
Shipp’s takes on the two jazz standards are also riveting. “Giant Steps” is set out as a delicate ballad, with Shipp’s control of harmony and his sustain pedal on display. He just plays it once, no improvising, like a psalm or a love song. “Nefertiti” is also played with a sense of respect—the questioning melody absolutely intact—but Shipp also explores the tune as a challenge for his pianism, moving through it in waves of arpeggios that suggest Liszt as much as Wayne Shorter.
I think so much of Piano Sutras because it reaches into me and brings me pleasure and recognition and surprise. “The Indivisible” ends the collection with crashing bass notes and rolling tremolo, with delicate rising interludes and splashes of light in the form of sudden high octaves. It sounds to me like a mountain climber and a deep-sea diver, like a person coming to terms with herself and like a history of a music suddenly pounding its way to a conclusion. Maybe it’s just a feeling I have and nothing I can articulate in a review typed out on a keyboard, but this is music that frames up a whole history: of an artist, of listeners, of the artists who formed the history of the art form, of the culture and time that allowed this art to flourish.
All of this is in there, inside this brilliant recording by Matthew Shipp.
MATTHEW SHIPP’S ‘THE PIANO EQUATION’ WILL STAND THE TEST OF TIME
Matthew Shipp's The Piano Equation is a fully improvised solo piano recital to stand the test of time, sitting in the realm where mathematics and magic collide.
Free improvisation, as practiced by a band, requires musicians sufficiently egoless and blessed with ears such that satisfying patterns can emerge, uniting all musicians in a single, spontaneously discovered pursuit. Years of experience (and, usually, experience in playing together) are near-necessities.
For solo pianists, playing without a composed theme creates different but related challenges. The listening is internal. Where am I going? How do musical ideas connect? Am I merely leaning back on old licks or favorite patterns? How can I use my exceptionally orchestral solo instrument? How do the independent lines I create with two hands relate to each other?
Pianist Matthew Shipp has performed improvised solo piano often in a storied career. And, although Shipp is often heard as a knotty and “out” downtown player, The Piano Equation finds him celebrating his 60th birthday with logical grace. Performing 11 freely improvised pieces, he nonetheless has produced a recording of great beauty and logic, creating distinct performances that are simultaneously shocking and beautiful, equally classic and daring.
First, Shipp is playing here with a technical precision and brilliance that are unassailable. Before digging into questions of melody or harmonic invention, this recording demonstrates mastery of the piano itself. Shipp’s lines ripple with precision when he needed them to, and they slur like saxophone licks as required. They thunder and ring, strum and strut. He elicits overtones from the instrument to make the performances more orchestral, and he uses the piano pedals to create startling effects. His ability to shift from loud to soft or from rumbling distortion to chiming bell-like thrill is a pure thrill. “Tone Pocket” is a tour de force of sound and sound technique, with the wooden box of the piano echoing on command in accompaniment, with garrulous banged passages suddenly disappearing into wind chimes, and with the piano seeming to be strummed or plucked even though Shipp’s hands are only working the keys.
More importantly, however, Shipp has been able to create pieces out of thin air that seem utterly worthy of composition. They do not meander from one cool lick to another but instead adhere to a principle or central idea throughout, achieving unity while still sounding like adventures in the moment. “Radio Signals Equation”, for example, begins with a strong but short phrase in two parts, and Shipp keeps that phrase in his head and fingers for the full length of the performance. He repeats it in subtly different ways, returns to its initial tonality or key, or moves the shape of that phrase to other tonalities at will. He pulls it apart and distributes its elements to one hand or another. He uses the phrase to inspire a “solo” in the middle of the performance that works as a more expansive elaboration of the phrase’s interest and strength, including finding a rocking chordal motif three minutes in that launches the second portion of the performance. Still, Shipp plays the craggy but precise counterpoint that’s characteristic of his style eventually, finding both the chordal lick and the opening phrase both at home in a set of repeated phrases that sound as appealing as a Keith Jarrett solo despite being more tensile and less sentimental.
gic, creating distinct performances that are simultaneously shocking and beautiful, equally classic and daring.
First, Shipp is playing here with a technical precision and brilliance that are unassailable. Before digging into questions of melody or harmonic invention, this recording demonstrates mastery of the piano itself. Shipp’s lines ripple with precision when he needed them to, and they slur like saxophone licks as required. They thunder and ring, strum and strut. He elicits overtones from the instrument to make the performances more orchestral, and he uses the piano pedals to create startling effects. His ability to shift from loud to soft or from rumbling distortion to chiming bell-like thrill is a pure thrill. “Tone Pocket” is a tour de force of sound and sound technique, with the wooden box of the piano echoing on command in accompaniment, with garrulous banged passages suddenly disappearing into wind chimes, and with the piano seeming to be strummed or plucked even though Shipp’s hands are only working the keys.
More importantly, however, Shipp has been able to create pieces out of thin air that seem utterly worthy of composition. They do not meander from one cool lick to another but instead adhere to a principle or central idea throughout, achieving unity while still sounding like adventures in the moment. “Radio Signals Equation”, for example, begins with a strong but short phrase in two parts, and Shipp keeps that phrase in his head and fingers for the full length of the performance. He repeats it in subtly different ways, returns to its initial tonality or key, or moves the shape of that phrase to other tonalities at will. He pulls it apart and distributes its elements to one hand or another. He uses the phrase to inspire a “solo” in the middle of the performance that works as a more expansive elaboration of the phrase’s interest and strength, including finding a rocking chordal motif three minutes in that launches the second portion of the performance. Still, Shipp plays the craggy but precise counterpoint that’s characteristic of his style eventually, finding both the chordal lick and the opening phrase both at home in a set of repeated phrases that sound as appealing as a Keith Jarrett solo despite being more tensile and less sentimental.
For listeners who might be new to this kind of thing, Shipp even provides a brilliant two-minute miniature with a hummable blues lick at its start, middle, and finish. “Clown Pulse” is built on a simple idea, and it is toyed with for just enough time, like a sleight-of-hand coin trick at close range. Shipp swings it and sashays it and doesn’t dally.
What Matthew Shipp has done on The Piano Equation is a profound achievement. He has distilled his piano style into something sharp and distinct—very possibly the most concise and cogent statement of his pianistic sensibility. Shipp has demonstrated how free improvisation can produce results that get right to the essence without almost any wasted notes. And he has made a recording that seems comparable in the best ways to things like Keith Jarrett’s early Facing You or Chick Corea’s Piano Improvisations Volume 1. But the album is also more dazzling for being wholly improvised and for merging and engaging romantic piano sensibility with both more harmonically dissonant playing and the knotty patterns and concepts that are original to Shipp himself.
For years pianist Shipp has gone his own unconventional way. Critics have shunted him into the avant garde piano category. That’s not where he belongs. He is the sole occupant of the Matthew Shipp category. The listener with open ears will understand that individuality is the core of Shipp’s approach. The title of his new solo album, Zero, may suggest metaphysical implications. My advice is, don’t worry about metaphysical implications. Simply listen to Shipp’s keyboard mastery and the wide range of emotions in his playing—and leave categories behind.
Shipp is a natural collaborator. His most frequent recording companions are musicians who share his comfort with free expression. There are few videos of him playing alone. [...] As for the new Shipp album, Zero, the eleven tracks of the primary CD are beautifully recorded on a splendid piano. The second CD presents Shipp delivering “A Lecture on Nothingness.” He calls it “Zero,” as he does the album. Whether the talk is metaphysical depends on how you hear it.
Pianist Matthew Shipp has been at the forefront of free jazz and improv since he joined David S. Ware’s famous quartet in the early 90s.
He’s built up a massive discography both as a leader and sideman and has developed a unique and commanding voice on the piano. He is currently releasing a flurry of four albums that display his mastery in a variety of contexts.
First up is the album Cool with That by the group East Axis, which came out on July 2nd on ESP-Disk. Here, Shipp is joined by Allen Lowe on tenor and alto sax, Kevin Ray on bass, and Gerald Cleaver on drums. This was followed shortly by “Reels”, a duo recording with drummer Whit Dickey that came out on July 23rd courtesy of Burning Ambulance Records. Next up is the album Village Mothership. This finds him reunited with his David S. Ware Quartet bandmates William Parker on bass and once again, Whit Dickey on drums. This album dropped October 15th on Dickey’s TAO Forms records. These releases are rounded out by a solo piano album called Codebreaker, also due out on TAO Form records on November 5th.
Whether new to Matthew Shipp or a longtime fan, these releases provide the listener with an opportunity to understand Shipp’s playing in different contexts. What is consistent across these recordings and what changes? How does he respond to those around him?
Artist: East Axis
Album: Cool With That
Label: ESP-Disk
★★★★ (4/5 stars)
The appropriately titled “A-Side”, which opens the East Axis record, is a great place to start. The tune starts slowly, allowing the members of the group to get familiar with each other. Shipp interjects note clusters here and there, prodding the ensemble to coalesce around his piano. When things get properly moving, it is Cleaver’s drums and Kevin Ray’s bass that give the music its sense of motion, but Shipp constructs a complex harmonic architecture that provides the core. He covers a vast amount of sonic space with his piano, often playing slowly-evolving arpeggios while accenting these with his off-hand. And while ostensibly being free jazz, rarely do his choices sound purposely discordant, although he does occasionally give a blast of Cecil Taylor-style bass notes to provide emphasis to a passage. It’s Allen Lowe’s saxophone that darts furthest in and out of conventionality providing a wonderful sense of tension to the piece.
East Axis Cool With That, ESP-Disk 2021
Matthew Shipp maintains this central role throughout most of Cool with That. He speeds up to match the controlled chaos of “Oh Hell I Forgot That” and slows down into the darker “Social Distance”. At times his runs are reminiscent of a modern-day McCoy Tyner, Schipp’s phrasing seeming just a bit more modern. But through it all, he is the gravity and the density of the ensemble, the key element that pulls the other voices into coherence.
The album culminates with a nearly thirty-minute piece simply titled “One”. It begins with the group firing on all cylinders, sounding like a hard bop quartet that has decided to jettison all the rules they used to follow. Once again, Cleaver and Ray establish a great sense of momentum, and Shipp drapes all kinds of harmonic complexities onto their rhythmic skeleton. The piano seems more turbulent than before, but the instrument’s sense of gravity remains. The saxophone pokes and prods the others, but this time Shipp answers Lowe’s maneuvers with equally darting figures. Around the halfway point, Shipp falls into a conversation with Cleaver and Ray. While there is meaning in his harmonic choices, he seems to be exploring his rhythmic identity in conjunction with the drums and bass. The passage is fascinating and ultimately proves to be a preview of Reels, his album with Whit Dickey.
Artist: Matthew Shipp / Whit Dickey
Album: Reels
Label: Burning Ambulance
★★★★1/2 (4.5/5 stars)
Reels plays out as inverse to Ornette Coleman’s early records. Coleman removed the piano from his group to give harmonic freedom to the players. On Reels, all but the drums and piano are dispensed with allowing their voices to be placed in the forefront. It’s as if Whit Dickey and Matthew Shipp have walked away from a party to have a deep and private conversation.
The emphasis of the duo seems to lean towards rhythm here but not in an overt way. This is free jazz after all. Dickey and Shipp find pulses and beats, improvises around them yet quickly move on to keep exploring. It’s often difficult to see who generates a particular musical idea, rather they cultivate the material together.
Matthew Shipp/Whit Dickey Reels, Burning Ambulance 2021
“Cosmic Train” displays the duo’s agility and quick movements. The opening seconds contain a sprightly interjection that almost nods to the classic Billy Strayhorn tune “Take the A Train”. But this only lasts a moment and is implied and not overtly stated. From here, Shipp pounds out thunderous low-end chords prodding Dickey into action. They spar back and forth, finding pulses and rhythms, examining them, and then abandoning them. Halfway through the piece, they find a particularly intriguing beat and linger there a bit longer. Here both the piano and drums thunder together. If Strayhorn’s song tried to imitate the tempo of the New York subway, Shipp and Dickey conjure the immense power of a freight train.
“Hold Tight” is a more pugilistic affair. The two players possess a telepathic sense of communication but they dance around each other. This tune is less about working together directly but instead engaging in a push-pull, each instrument reacting to the other in an almost confrontational manner. Meanwhile, “Moon Garden” is much more sparse. Yet the sonic field isn’t skeletal. Shipp uses the length of his keyboard for his ever-evolving harmonic structures and Dickey alternates between cymbals and toms to cover both the lows and the highs.
Perhaps the album’s highlight is “Vector”, the most rhythmically engaging piece. Despite the freedom of the music on Reels, the piano usually doesn’t sound incoherent or jarring, but on this song, Shipp pushes the limits of conventional harmony. He does this with a constant and insistent pulse, a constant stream of notes that almost become an ostinato figure except that they are always morphing into another shape. Dickey propels the piece forward with his drums, pushing the implied beat to the fore. The latter half of “Vector” builds the intensity even further, as if that aforementioned train is threatening to come right off the tracks.
Artist: Whit Dickey / William Parker / Matthew Shipp
Album: Village Mothership
Label: TAO Forms
★★★★1/2 (4.5/5 stars)
Village Mothership finds Shipp and Dickey joined by bassist William Parker, Shipp’s former bandmate in the seminal David S. Ware Quartet. All three of these players are familiar with each other and the entire record possesses a sense of hard-earned mastery.
“A Thing & Nothing” begins the record with a constantly metamorphosing structure and feel. Despite the tune’s amorphous nature, nothing feels frantic or rushed. Every note is where it should be and each instrument proceeds with a clear sense of direction and purpose. There’s a calmness and confidence and when they fall into lockstep, the material almost sounds composed even if we know otherwise. “Whirling in the Void” follows and is more dense, largely because Shipp inserts himself with the same sense of gravity that made his role on the EastAxis so vital.
Whit Dickey / William Parker / Matthew Shipp Village Mothership, TAO Forms 2021
Much of the album oscillates between the egalitarian feel of the aforementioned “A Thing & Nothing” and the Shipp-centric approach of “Whirling in the Void”. Either way, it’s a wonderful recording. It’s not like Dickey and Parker are novice players overwhelmed by Shipp’s playing. They are certainly complicit in this music. The title track might be that highlight here, and at eleven-plus minutes it gives the trio a chance to explore both approaches. After a short solo drum intro, Shipp leads the charge with an awe-inspiring piece of piano playing. This is the densest moment on all these records, almost rivaling doom metal in the tectonic weight of his playing. Yet “Village Mothership” constantly changes and becomes more delicate as the piece continues. Each player takes turns leading the song, with Parker and Shipp especially trading the tune’s navigation. It’s a masterclass in modern Improv, absolutely essential.
It seems appropriate that the last of these albums finds Matthew Shipp performing solo. Codebreaker is a revelation, an opportunity to see his artistic vision stripped bare. There is no one to react to but himself. Because of this, much of Codebreaker has a much more song-like quality than most free jazz group recordings.
Artist: Matthew Shipp
Album: Codebreaker
Label: TAO Forms
★★★★ (4/5 stars)
That’s not to say things don’t get complex and challenging. “Spiderweb” sounds like its name, Shipp’s improvisations are rhizomatic, deftly pursuing multiple ideas at once. The strong chord punctuations on “Code Swing” imply he might just start to swing, but it’s all smoke and mirrors.
Matthew Shipp Codebreaker, TAO Forms 2021
The various phrases just build tension. Release comes from the tune unraveling slowly rather than finding the beat. Perhaps the most rhythmically intriguing piece is “Stomp to the Galaxy”. There’s a logic at work here that seems just out of reach, like some sort of musical chaos theory. The darting figures possess the physicality of a rhythm without any steady meter, rather it sounds like a system derived from the random pattern of raindrops.
In the context of these four albums, Codebreaker is like a monologue that can bring expanded meaning to a conversation. Here, we hear Shipp’s true voice which only amplifies his role in other contexts. And believe it or not, these four albums are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Matthew Shipp’s intimidating discography. What we can discern though is that he is a master.
Whether playing loud or soft, in the forefront or deftly accompanying his cohorts, his presence on any record demands to be reckoned with. And for any true fan of this music, his work cannot be ignored.
For years pianist Shipp has gone his own unconventional way. Critics have shunted him into the avant garde piano category. That’s not where he belongs. He is the sole occupant of the Matthew Shipp category. The listener with open ears will understand that individuality is the core of Shipp’s approach. The title of his new solo album, Zero, may suggest metaphysical implications. My advice is, don’t worry about metaphysical implications. Simply listen to Shipp’s keyboard mastery and the wide range of emotions in his playing—and leave categories behind.
