Take the A train rumbling through Matthew Shipp's piano: repeated fistfuls of Johnny Staccato chords, gunmetal black-and-white flesh tones, Weegee-board edges jutting out at ramrod left angles, no 52nd Street exit in sight but out the window maybe a ruminative Siberian death march or two through "Summertime" or "Autumn Leaves," grand 19th-century storm clusters crashing into 20th-century seawalls of silence, systematic fingers besieging sleek architecture like carpenter ants on a wood binge. Let's call this Money Jungle Music—full of static runs, urbane claustrophobia, and weird repose, issuing from an all-night lounge where the ivory tinkler makes the distance between Erroll Garner and Cecil Taylor seem as short as the fuse on the man who keeps requesting melancholy-baby... More >>>