Alexander Jorgensen-Hull

Silverwater is the sound of a hazy, humid, opiate summer evening settling down and smothering the dimly lit edges of town. You can hear crickets droning, distant rumbles of thunder over the hills to the west, and can glimpse crisp bleak stars when they emerge from the gathering clouds into pockets of clear sky. You can imagine yourself inside watching the moths throw themselves against the window, sipping a cold glass of riesling as you stew in the heat that simmers as the night becomes deeper. Then the spheres fuse and the celestial synths split open and a deluge of bubbling percussion and tinkling keys and dripping bass cascade out of your stereo and seep away down the storm water drain to somewhere icy. The Necks have once again proved themselves not only masters of ‘atmosphere’ but of the tension of the transition between calm and frantic. Each contrasting moment seems to last for ever, then suddenly it is consumed by the next. Silverwater is incredible. It will leave you in an oppressive trance like a sweaty night spent with a slippery lover, tossing and turning on sonic ripples, yearning for the release of the next washing climax.