William Parker's bass lines anchor Shipp's most experimental work, grounding abstraction in rhythm and purpose.
William Parker anchors this record in a way that keeps it from floating into pure abstraction. Shipp's piano work here is deliberately fractured and dissonant, especially when Antipop Consortium enters with electronic textures that shouldn't work in a jazz setting but somehow do. Without Parker's bass — thick, searching, deeply intentional — the whole thing could collapse into mere novelty. Instead, his lines carry weight and intention, suggesting harmonic roots even when Shipp is tearing melody apart.
The presence of Daniel Carter on trumpet adds another layer of controlled chaos. Carter plays sharp, angular phrases that cut through the electronic noise rather than sit comfortably alongside it. Khan Jamal's vibraphone surfaces occasionally, offering warmth that feels almost stubborn against all this dissonance. Guillermo E. Brown on drums keeps things propulsive without settling into groove — he's pushing forward, not locking in.
This is Shipp working consciously as a bandleader on material that challenges conventional jazz listening. It's experimental without being unlistenable, and that balance matters. If you approach this as a straightforward piano jazz album, you'll be confused. Come to it as an exploration of what happens when you strip jazz down and rebuild it with electronics and open form, and the record becomes genuinely absorbing. Parker's role — the unshowy foundation under everything else — is what makes the risks pay off.