Bristol
15 November 2024
Massive drums, double bass and a shiny grand piano meant The Necks were crammed into what remained of the stage. A physically crowded space that suited the band’s intimate interlock.
Their first set was a slow interchange. Chris Abrahams’ Kawai piano scattering the “In C”-like seeds over Lloyd Swanton’s tensive abstractions and Tony Buck’s cotton-balled shimmer. A concentrated concrète, subtly slipping its skin into uncharted territory, pushing the staples of traditional jazz instrumentation toward a tangled newness which seemed to leap out of nowhere, momentarily held before dissipating from view. The trio, thirsty for more, attentively re-seeking that sweet spot.The octopus-handed Chris Abrahams burning bright chords that clustered star-like, letting the dark notes in. Reflectively diverting clusters tonally seized upon in plucked plenitudes, the double cymbal mantra melding the free-floating flux. A gobsmackingly beautiful slant scooped up by deep curves and tingling resonance. Each musician locked into their repeating jigsaw, osmotically overlapping to bring forth proper magic.
Forty-five minutes of delicious intrigue that retrospectively felt like they were just warming up and taking a nod from your Three album’s “Bloom”, the second half delivered a spectacular follow-up. The shivering train of cymbal action jarred slightly against the close-knit intimacy rising from the other two, but slowly made sense as the dazzle-pinned piano and bowed see-saw transected its hypothermics. Lloyd created these intricate flurries of bouncy rhythm that caught hold of the repetitive glow, audibly transforming it until there was no separate musician but a solid shifting mass that leaked not momentary magic but a prolonged lilting energy that just grew. Sonics that totally lit up your senses, had me blissfully ensnared, swaying along, arabesqued fingers and all.I heard a harmonica but none were being played (how do they do that?) Other illusive shapes broke from the melee, slowly de-tangled to pool in conversational semi-abstracts. The piano player in the zone, getting carried off on those mutating phrases he was creating. I looked around at the audience — so many closed eyes taking this in as the bassist cut his input and the drummer eased the shimmering betweens until the vibrating air slowly fell from its frame to silence.
First time seeing The Necks live, and on the strength of this, it won’t be my last.
-Michael Rodham-Heaps-
