The most startling effect of the set was Chris Abrahams' piano, whose hammers sounded like they had been altered with carpet tacks, giving off a jangling, metallic sound as if a saloon pianist was attempting this very dense and sophisticated music. There was eve a stretch where the band created a vibratiing sensation that sounded like when you leave one window in your car open and its creates that thumping suction sound that nearly causes you to drive off the road. They sustained this eerie single note for the entire 45-minute set like this was a Terrence Malick film, creating - depending on what head space you were in - either an unbearable tension without any release or a release unburdened by any tension whatsoever. Bassist Lloyd Swanson barely touched his strings, preferring to itch or tickle them at the neck (ahh, now we get the name).

And the Necks completely befuddled us from the first note: an unsettling subterranean drone that breathed, then weakened, then breathed again. Granted, we knew next to nothing about this Australian trio, and we didn't want to know we wanted to walk in to this - the opening night performance of the ACJF - like we've been walking into movies lately: no advance hype, no trailer/scene-hunting on YouTube, no spoilers.

Head-slamming improvisors, right? El Wrongo. For some reason, we expected a group with a name like 'The Necks' to be one of those punky, post-modern bands like Kneebody or Gutpuppet who skronk with a harDCcore heart.

Angel city jazz festival