The Necks (live at Strange Brew)

Bristol
6 September 2026

Australian improvising jazz trio The Necks appear to have made Bristol’s Strange Brew one of their second homes, having appeared here annually for the past four years. Due to these regular visits, clearly a relationship has developed between town and group and the venue is busiest I have seen it with folk of all ages bustling around in preparation for the night’s treat.

It is an interesting spectacle, because although the crowd knows to look forward to two forty-five minute sets and a short intermission, what those two sets might entail is anyone’s guess. The air of anticipation is further heightened by the lack of a support slot, so nothing interferes with the trio’s planned or unplanned journeys. The arrival on stage of the trio — Lloyd Swanton on bass, Chris Abrahams on piano and Tony Buck on drums — is about as understated as it is possible to be, with the three dressed casually in black under subdued red lights.

The set-up seems strange, with the piano facing away form the bass and drums; but as the first set tentatively opens, hesitant cymbal steps, ruminative, sparse bass notes and the poignant first few piano chords, it starts to make sense. Chris is often rapt, with eyes closed, seated stationary, hands out front concentrating on just a few notes, fingers dancing above the keyboard; but as the piece develops, so he is intent on wringing as many variations from those few keys as possible.

The rhythm section is extraordinary and for the first set, the percussive build up is all cymbal wash and drum scrapes as Tony attempts to cut an arc through the skin with a brush, the windscreen-wiper motion the primary rhythmic impulse. The half-stroked, half-twisted bass notes seem to bridge the gap and between them, the players imbue the room with a Zen-like calm, at least for a little while.

On first glance it would appear little is happening; but as the intensity builds and the surface shimmer starts to break up, so undercurrents emerge and when Lloyd breaks out the bow, the spaces between the notes start to fill. It is hard to decide on whom to focus as the players in their own ways are all compelling, seemingly static with either mask-like serenity or emotional waves passing over.

The synergy makes you smile and as you look around the audience, similar impressions are spread across faces. As the sound begins to swell and the volume increases, you feel the goosebumps rising; but before you know it, the swell recedes and they are back to a distant wash as if addressing some distant sandy beach.

Once the set is actually over and incredibly forty-five minutes really has passed, you realise that Tony has only beaten one drum for the whole time, with everything else being cymbal work; and Chris has moved maybe a few inches along the seat. When Lloyd introduces them before leaving the stage, Chris genuinely looks as though he has come out of a trance and you can see why they need a rest.

As the second set begins after a half-hour break, I look around and see couples with their arms wrapped around one another, choosing as one to surrender to this trio who lead them by the hand to unknown pastures. This set starts with stoked bass and some metal bowl-like object that generates resonance against the drum skin while the piano takes a more diffuse and romantic direction, the bass supporting with a bruised croon.

There are more drums this time, giving a slightly martial undercurrent, and there is a little more tension as things progress, with the romantic direction giving way to an almost industrial one, the low end of the piano a constant rumble and the demonic sawing of the bass a cross between a yawn and a roar. It is a dramatic shift.

At one point I walk away from the action — or inaction, if you like — and turn to look across the audience and see the way the dim light seems to shimmer with the inescapable array of sound. Mysterious tones are emanating from somewhere, as if a fourth player is hidden away behind the stage. Chris is hammering at motifs on the keyboard as if forcing square pegs into round holes, while the bass saws and gnaws; breaths became shorter and that sense of panic that comes from running headlong into the dark.

The way the piece imperceptibly drifts through sections is slightly offputting; so from industrial ravage, multiple sounds clashing and refracting to a single piano note around which everything else then begins to revolve like a black hole. A cacophonous, broken-glass morass that once again shifts like a kaleidoscope and begins to reduce and recede until the romantic piano once again rises like the sun after a violent storm until silence is regained and the trance is broken.

It is a very different effect to the first set and is a great example of how the same base elements can be hewn into drastically alternate shapes through this alchemy of talent, personality and a sense of adventure. You have the feeling that they could appear on stage every day of the year and the results would always be different. Long may the magic continue.

-Words: Mr Olivetti-
-Pictures: Michael Rodham-Heaps-