The venue is not yet even at half capacity when The Necks initiate their ethereal, improvisational wanderings.

They make quick work of searching out the melodic and rhythmic space that awaits them, and as the sun descends into twilight they are on an aural ascent into a realm that is theirs and theirs alone. Theirs are compositions of veiled presence, which never wholly reveal themselves or arrive at any destination point. They're always moving, yet equally rooted firmly in time and space of the present moment. It's as if they occupy transient spaces that oscillates outside of memory, which works in beautiful contrast to tonight's headliner — a man who places memory at the very core of his expression. And tonight the ever-splendid Riverstage proves to be an ideal venue to stage The Necks' sublime, musical meditations. Throughout their set the breeze carries a soft mist of river vapours through the lighting and a beautifully poetic harmony of sound and setting is formed. 

It's only been four years since Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds graced this very stage, yet the promise of now experiencing the exquisite, brooding intensity of Skeleton Tree in the live arena invites a sense of anticipation that feels like it could very well have been simmering for long beyond this time frame. The forms that these songs conjure are like apparitions; post-corporeal presences made of memory and the deep sentiments that pervade the entirety of memory's essence, so it's a subtly strange moment when the songs' conjurers take the stage — the quotidian nature of witnessing mere physical bodies walk out onto a stage creates a surreal kind of tension with what is to come. The quotidian-surreality of this moment, however, is largely saturated and drowned out by the waves of adoration which roll over and render it almost imperceptible. And the moment they begin to play, this contrasting tension evaporates — in an instant these people become something else and arrive somewhere else.

Anthrocene is the first place of their arrival and it works as an extremely powerful opener. Not only does it hit with a brutal, emotive intensity, but it draws us into the intimate space on stage. Black curtains hang down from the side lighting rails and box the stage in, creating a sense of containment for the dark energies within, allowing them to permeate every bit of the space to the thickest degree. Jesus Alone draws us in further, to the very darkest depths of this black lodge. The moment its final notes ring out the side curtains are dropped and the space opens up. A slightly less sonically brooding version of Magneto then acts to transition us into other territories. It's a weighty 1-2-3 combo that could very well leave an audience left laying devastated in their tracks but Cave strategically moves forward and steps into his preacher's guise to resurrect with Higgs Boson Blues. Now that he well and truly has us he stops pulling us in, loosens his grip and begins to push the performance out. There's a dramatic kind of shift as the performance moves from a space of intimacy and begins to slowly creep forward. The aforementioned song works its way out into the pit before From Her To Eternity leaps out and saturates the entire hillside with its manic energy.

Cave is now hitting his stride as a fevered performer and continues to project himself out with Tupelo. He's in a surprising playful mood tonight, too. When a punter in the front barks a Red Right Hand request, Cave quips, "We could do that, but if we did it now we would do irreparable damage to the set. Leave it to the professionals, we've done it before. It's kind that you like the song, but we'll do it later, especially for you." It's a surprising quick parry of humour that counters expectations of this being a purely solemn affair, not only adding greater dimension to this performance, but also the man and the myth.

A gorgeous rendition of Jubilee Street winds things in a little, before Cave moves back and takes his seat at the piano to steer the band through the calmer waters of The Ship Song, Into My Arms, and Girl In Amber. A heart-wrenching version of I Need You continues along these channels and then Cave takes his place again at the front edge of the stage to pay his promised dues with Red Right Hand. The band make accentuated attacks several times through the song, stabbing with a fierceness of volume that pierces in great fright. It's the kind of assault of sound that one would typically only expect from the likes of Swans, and it's a great wonder to hear it in the unlikely setting of Riverstage.

The Weeping Song, The Mercy Seat, and Distant Sky keep the dynamism moving and Skeleton Tree finally brings things home with a deep, emotive thud. Anyone familiar with the previous set lists on this tour likely feel a brief moment of dread when the band return to the stage with Mermaid and then Cave announces that the venue's curfew limits them to one more song. When he asks what the crowd wants to hear it's evidently a heartbreaking reveal that the sublime lament of Push The Sky Away is going to be cut as the final encore, and so it seems that even Brisbane's most majestic venue has its drawbacks. Any dregs of disappointment, however, are quickly swept up and lit ablaze by the furious finale of Stagger Lee. They don't hold anything back on this one. At the six-minute mark Cave turns, asking for a signal of how many minutes they have left, and upon receiving confirmation leads the band diving head first back into a final three minutes that is a veritable onslaught of performative intensity. It's a frighteningly effective way to cap things off and another near-flawless touch to a night that will be cherished in the memories of a great many for a long time to come.