Shipp's dense chords and atonal playing carry a lyricism and occasional use of space entirely his own.
DNA is Matthew Shipp and William Parker's second duo outing, following Zo, and by 1999 Shipp had already staked his claim as a pianist uninterested in smooth consensus. Where his first album with Parker tested the waters of their rapport, DNA commits fully to density and dissonance. Shipp plays thick, clustered voicings that pile atonal weight onto Parker's solid, singing bass line. There's no safety net here—no drums to anchor time, no horns to melodize. It's just two voices arguing in real time, and the argument matters.
The album wraps two traditional pieces—"When Johnny Comes Marching Home" and "Amazing Grace"—in this same uncompromising language. Hearing hymns and marches filtered through such deliberate harmonic friction should feel wrong, but instead it feels honest. Shipp doesn't deconstruct these pieces to mock them; he honors them by refusing to look away from complexity. His dense chords recall Cecil Taylor's attack, though Shipp's willingness to use silence and let single notes breathe gives him a different temperament entirely.
This is a record for listeners ready to sit with difficulty. It's not Shipp's most accessible moment, nor is it a turning point in his catalog—more a statement of principle. If you want to know what drives his playing, DNA answers plainly: the search for honesty over comfort, density over clarity, and the absolute faith that a bass and piano can say everything worth saying.