music clip of the day


Tag: Matthew Shipp

Wednesday, November 18th

sounds of New York

Seraphic Light (Daniel Carter, trumpet, saxophone; Matthew Shipp, piano; William Parker, bass), live (dedicated to visual artist Marilyn Sontag, Carter’s longtime partner), New York, 2018




random sights

a while ago, outside Chicago (Illinois Prairie Path)

Thursday, September 20th


Matthew Shipp (piano), live, New York, 9/13/18




random sights

other day, Oak Brook, Ill. (Dean Nature Sanctuary)

Thursday, August 30th

Saturday in Chicago

They’re playing, with bassist William Parker and drummer Bobby Kapp, at the Chicago Jazz Festival.

Ivo Perelman (tenor saxophone) & Matthew Shipp (piano), live, New York, 2013


Tuesday, November 17th

Where would we be without the tenor saxophone?

David S. Ware Quartet (DSW [1949-2012], tenor saxophone; Matthew Shipp, piano; William Parker, bass; Guillermo Brown, drums), live

Monday, September 8th


One-word review: Wow!

Matthew Shipp (piano), live (music starts at 5:00), Chicago, 8/27/14

Wednesday, July 10th


Matthew Shipp Trio (MS, piano; Michael Bisio, bass; Whit Dickey, drums), live, Cold Spring, N.Y., 2011






reading table

Don’t be too eager to ask
What the gods have in mind for us . . .

—Horace (65 BC-25 BC), Ode I.11 (excerpt; translated from Latin by David Ferry)


Monday, June 3rd


Matthew Shipp, piano, “Greensleeves,” “Symbol Systems,” 2012

Saturday, 10/20/12


David S. Ware, saxophonist, composer, bandleader
November 7, 1949-October 18, 2012

“Mikuro’s Blues,” live, Europe, 200?*


Live, Lithuania (Vilnius), 2007*



reading table

“Variations On A Text By Vallejo”
By Donald Justice (1925-2004)

Me moriré en Paris con aguacero …

I will die in Miami in the sun,
On a day when the sun is very bright,
A day like the days I remember, a day like other days,
A day that nobody knows or remembers yet,
And the sun will be bright then on the dark glasses of strangers
And in the eyes of a few friends from my childhood
And of the surviving cousins by the graveside,
While the diggers, standing apart, in the still shade of the palms,
Rest on their shovels, and smoke,
Speaking in Spanish softly, out of respect.

I think it will be on a Sunday like today,
Except that the sun will be out, the rain will have stopped,
And the wind that today made all the little shrubs kneel down;
And I think it will be a Sunday because today,
When I took out this paper and began to write,
Never before had anything looked so blank,
My life, these words, the paper, the gray Sunday;
And my dog, quivering under a table because of the storm,
Looked up at me, not understanding,
And my son read on without speaking, and my wife slept.

Donald Justice is dead. One Sunday the sun came out,
It shone on the bay, it shone on the white buildings,
The cars moved down the street slowly as always, so many,
Some with their headlights on in spite of the sun,
And after awhile the diggers with their shovels
Walked back to the graveside through the sunlight,
And one of them put his blade into the earth
To lift a few clods of dirt, the black marl of Miami,
And scattered the dirt, and spat,
Turning away abruptly, out of respect.


*With Matthew Shipp (piano), William Parker (bass), Guillermo Brown (drums).

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