Review Summary: Radial dispersion for the congregation..
It kicks off on an oscillating Hammond, some systolic tick, chimes too precious, small electronic dirges, attic rattling, a humming stretch hollowed-out.
At the twelve-minute mark - tom-toms, sharp, metronomic, light-footed.
Then the crash-topped hat, the bass drawing a wide marching arc, the synth buzzes constricting down the middle.
A half-hour in, and it has all hived properly, assembled into a compressed ball of sound.
Then the guitar arrives, and ominous turns desperate.
It clots again, thicker still this time, a few more instruments in the pot, and finally demobilizes in a slow fit of melancholic piano and cymbal clatter.
Silverwater soaks in variable brew.
From avant-garde to Far Eastern to post-rock to minimal jazz, round ‘bout downtempo ambient and back, like a Puccini piece, the masks just keep on falling to the floor.
A sustained show of elegant little kinks, secret compartments, tempo overlaps, keen architecture and moods all too un-obvious.
Exactly how The Necks keep that asynchrony together for its hour-plus run, is why these sorts of ambitious sonic undertakings go belly-up most of the time for most acts.
You have it or you don’t.
