For over two decades, The Necks have been stepping onto stages with absolutely nothing in mind, waiting for the first sound to happen and then following it through -- with glacial inevitability, and never any sudden shift of gear or introduction of new material -- for an hour or so. Never mechanical minimalism -- since each moment is invested with an intense presence. This is more a dense liquefaction of time; a form unique to The Necks; no one else has even tried to do it. It's a musical form the band evolved over more than 20 years of performing, and no two concerts are ever the same. Though many of their pieces open with, or eventually arrive at, some discernable groove, Townsville just floats in a state of suspension from beginning to end. It's like watching the ocean as wave follows wave: each the same; each different: asymmetric. Bassist Lloyd Swanton who, on this occasion, provided the motif that set Townsville in motion had no idea where it would lead: 'One of the deep joys for me' he said, 'after twenty years of making music with this group, is that we're still completely unable to predict where our pieces will go.' It's a paradox that makes the band addictive and keeps its music fresh. While there's an apparent inevitability that should shut the music down, somehow it seems always to remain open. It's never clear exactly how it's going to unfold.
