" data-original-title="" title="">The Necks, an Australian trio who, as individuals, are involved in all sorts of music—from straight ahead jazz and fusion to indie rock and contemporary composition- -have been issuing long-form improvised sets since the mid-1990s. Their debut, Sex (Private Music, 1995), was everything that improvised music supposedly isn't: intensely rhythmic, trance-like, tonal, episodic, and—significantly—quite easy to connect with on an emotional level. Their modus operandi emphasizes textural, timbral, and harmonic explorations over the more familiar melodic, contrapuntal improvisational approach.

Twenty years later, with the release of Vertigo, the Necks remain a vital concern. It's not hard at all to believe that this 45-minute plus journey is completely improvised, with a little post-production pixie dust thrown in. When you listen to it, what you're hearing is the sound of three musicians listening to each other and responding. Their choices are honed by lifetimes spent playing all sorts of music, and by two decades worth of experiences as the Necks.

A description of the music would be as much a spoiler as revealing the plot twists in the latest Star Wars movie. The trio's original notion was to maintain a drone that ran the entire length of the piece. That didn't quite happen on Vertigo, though the piece features several lengthy drones that impart an atmosphere of doomed mystery to the whole. More dissonant and electronic than some of their previous work, Vertigo would make a powerful soundtrack to a horror flick.

Vertigo emphasizes atmosphere over conventional chops, and favors gradual unfoldings over sudden transitions. Though it's a continuous piece, there are two discrete sections and multiple recognizable themes. The latter are customarily implied by hovering around tonal and timbral centers. Keyboardist