The Necks: Different every time

Each performance by improvisational trio the Necks is a unique experience for that night’s audience.

Pianist Chris Abrahams, percussionist Tony Buck and bassist Lloyd Swanton, who formed the Necks in Sydney in 1987. Picture: Camille Walsh

Three acoustic instruments are positioned on an otherwise empty stage, awaiting the touch of three musicians. When they emerge to applause, the pianist sits with his back to the drummer and double bassist, so that he may better hear what his colleagues are about to perform.

None has a firm grasp on what the other two will play, and in those moments of silence, before one member introduces the first musical idea, the audience prepares itself for a performance that has never been heard before, and will almost certainly never be heard again.

Since the Necks were formed in Sydney in 1987, this has been the premise that drives the ensemble of three musicians, made up of pianist Chris Abrahams, percussionist Tony Buck and bassist Lloyd Swanton. Individually, their backgrounds in improvisational jazz led to a shared fascination with the twin concepts of unpredictability and intangibility.

While they are performing, all that exists is the unique interplay of notes, chords and harmonies that emerge from the piano, bass and drums — instruments that are provided by the venue, so adding another layer of improvisation beyond their musical abilities. Once they leave the stage, the sounds from that performance will exist only in the memories of those who happened to be in the room.

If the Necks’ approach to innovation and creation does not always result in greatness — there are too many variables at play to guarantee such an outcome, which is part of the thrill of the unknown — it does tend to invite a mood of enchanted intensity among audiences.

Seeing the Necks in motion is the sort of experience that any serious music fan should seek out at least once, not only for the novelty but for the church-like atmosphere at every performance.

With 15 studio albums to their name, the Necks are one of few acts to draw a clear distinction between their studio and stage incarnations. Though the trio has released four live albums, it does not play songs on tour that audience members might recognise from a previous recording.

In part, this is because many of their compositions tend to run for about an hour. Each piece of music unfolds and evolves almost imperceptibly, with small variations that emerge into larger themes before being subsumed by other thoughts or motifs.

Depending on the energy of the rhythm section on a particular night, the overall effect can sometimes evoke emotions — euphoria, anxiety, ponderousness, claustrophobia — that other ­artists can only dream of tapping into. For live performances, the Necks’ sweet spot is seated venues that accommodate up to 300 patrons, and their international fan base regularly fills such spaces in cities across Europe and North America — as well as in their home country, where a national tour begins tomorrow in Brisbane.

The trio occasionally performs for larger audiences, where the same principles apply: a few moments of on-stage silence, before one of them introduces an idea that leads the group down unexpected paths.

A year ago, the Necks supported Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds on their national tour. What might sound on paper like a jarring clash of stylistic contrasts was less outlandish in the flesh, as the trio can conjure a maelstrom of sound not too far removed from a rock band in full flight.

While the ensemble has never troubled the mainstream — does this measured approach sound like something that might be suitable for a traditional radio playlist? — it has attained both critical and industry acclaim through its 31 years in operation.

The Necks’ soundtrack for the 1998 film The Boys was nominated for ARIA (best soundtrack album), AFI (best musical score) and Australian Guild of Screen Composers awards.

In 2012, their album Aether was added to the National Film and Sound Archive’s Registry of Recorded Sound, which described the group as “a unique and widely admired three-piece band who play distinctive improvised music”, and noted that the 2001 album was “a masterpiece of their style”. Last year, a writer for The New York Times described the group as “the greatest trio on earth”, a claim that feels closer to truth than hyperbole.

The Necks’ instrumental approach to making music invites the listener to paint the canvas with their own language to summarise the experience, though perhaps part of the attraction is the inherent challenge of such a task. When it comes to describing the band, sometimes words just aren’t enough. In either case, much of the group’s recorded works tend to provide fertile grounds for deep concentration.

“A heart surgeon told me it’s the one piece of music that he and the nurses can agree on in the operating theatre,” says Swanton of the group’s 1989 debut album, Sex.

“People have told us that they were actually conceived by their parents to it,” he adds with a laugh.

Irish novelist Roddy Doyle recently told The Guardian that he wrote his 2017 book Smile while repeatedly listening to the 2003 album Drive By.

Sex was a piece of music that proved useful for Swanton as a way of calming his first child, and it has a minor reputation for being an ideal soundtrack in birthing suites, too.

Ironically, given the title, the album has no climax: it consists of a gentle but propulsive thrum that lasts for nearly an hour.

Years ago, the Necks’ recorded music was also helpful for inducing a comedown from some of Swanton’s other work as a jazz musician

“In the early days, what we did with the Necks really provided a therapy that I personally needed,” the bassist says. “I’d often get home after a gig and feel pretty wired up.

“I’ve never been one to get into the recreational drugs side of things; it was a natural high from the music. I couldn’t sleep but didn’t want something really intense, because I’d just done that.”

He found that classical music was “way too emotional and dramatic” for trying to relax. “I don’t want to sound egocentric, but I used some of our earlier records, in a therapeutic sense, quite a lot,” he says. “But eventually everything changed, and I didn’t really have that need any more. And also, I couldn’t bring myself to listen to myself the way I could in the early days.” He adds with a laugh: “The excitement wears off.”

Their most recent album, last year’s Unfold, broke with tradition somewhat by offering four pieces of music of between 15 and 22 minutes each — instead of a single work that can run up to an hour. But for the three musicians, nothing compares to the high-wire act of playing before an audience, where they are encouraged to explore the limits of the creativity and musicianship they have earned over the decades.

“It reaches parts of me that nothing else that I do reaches, on a regular basis,” Swanton says of playing live. “I’ve had some extraordinary experiences over the years, playing incredible music with incredible musicians, but somehow we’ve set the Necks up to do the thing that we are most satisfied by.”

As the last notes from the piano, bass and drums ring out and fade away, each concert by the trio tends to end as it began. Those who have gathered to witness this singular performance allow a few beats for final thoughts and consideration before the sound of applause breaks the silence.

The Necks open their national tour tomorrow in Brisbane, followed by Parramatta (Sunday), Melbourne (February 9), Hobart (Feb 10), Wollongong (Feb 23), Marrickville (Feb 25 and March 3), Lambton (March 1) and Blue Mountains (March 2).