With Harmony and Abyss, Matthew Shipp continues to improve upon the synthesis of jazz, electronics, and neo-classical composition first shown on his contributions to Thirsty Ear's ongoing Blue Series. Adhering to the methods established on 2002's Nu Bop and last year's Equilibrium, Shipp combines his acoustic piano with William Parker's bass, Gerald Cleaver's live drums, and the varied electronic hi-jinx of Chris Flam. The resulting mix avoids the wilder extremes of both free jazz and abstract electronica, and instead takes a more moderate scoop from the middle of each.
This neither-fish-nor-fowl approach has been decried as populist pandering in some quarters-- particularly by those with fond memories of Shipp's more radical, molten work on records like David S. Ware's Cryptology-- but to his credit, Shipp clearly doesn't give a good goddamn what his listeners might expect of him. He resolutely plows forward on Harmony and Abyss, leaving jazz orthodoxy further in his rearview. In fact, only one track here-- the burbling, pointillist "Invisible Light"-- contains what can easily be identified as improvisation. Otherwise, the album sounds carefully and almost rigidly composed, with Shipp's repetitive, chunky chords meticulously mapping out the shades and melodies of each song in order to ensure that no one gets lost peeking down any side streets.
The album contains Shipp's most seamless integration of acoustic instruments and electronics yet, and its peak moments fall well outside simple categorization. "Virgin Complex", with its swirl of bowed strings, electronic vapor, and lyrical piano recalls the avant chamber-pop of Rachel's Systems/Layers as much as it does any jazz. Parker's nimble bass drives the quietly propulsive and majestic "Blood 2 the Brain", a multi-faceted track that wouldn't sound out of place on a DJ Shadow release. Elsewhere, Flam takes to the foreground, as on "String Theory" where Shipp's piano drifts unmoored through a wilderness of mysterious, foreboding whirrs and thuds. Best of all might be "Amino Acid" where Flam's electronically generated hoofbeats and thunderclaps effortlessly link onto Cleaver's dexterous percussion to form a woozy, lurching conga line beneath Shipp's inverted Monk-esque pounding.
Strange as it may sound, though, the album's fussy, studied flawlessness is its chief flaw. The opening "Ion", for example, sounds as though all distinguishing fingerprints have been deliberately wiped away, leaving Shipp at the piano running restrained, depersonalized scale exercises over a stiff, boxy breakbeat. It's the sort of generic, unobtrusive piece that seems intended to not startle the customers down at Starbucks. Such antiseptic moments are rare on Harmony and Abyss, but even so, it's a bit disappointing to see such adventurous players operating within a format where so little seems to have been left to chance. Shipp should now feel completely secure in his ability to unify all these disparate musical elements; maybe next time he'll feel freer to air things out and really tear the roof off.
