What can I say? What is there to say? It’s The Necks. You’ll either get it – and like it – or you won’t. If you do get The Necks, you’ll love this album (comprising just one track, a 42-minute improvisation), which is somehow both exactly the same as every other Necks album, and what you'd expect from this singular Australian trio; but at the same time it's also completely different from everything else they've ever done. And that's the appeal of The Necks, right there; as the late John Peel used to say of his favourite band, The Fall: "They are always different, they are always the same".

So what of Bleed? As with all Necks albums, it begins quietly, even tentatively, as if from nothing. The blank slate here is a delicate yet assertive piano figure, which builds not just in volume but also in textural complexity. You are taken on a journey into the unknown, but as always with this outfit, it's a trip of discovery and surprise, and into beauty, rather than a cause for dread (or a dead end).

As ever, the trio are rather opaque about who's doing what, and where, but it sounds as if there are electronics and an electric guitar in here somewhere as well as the customary piano, bass and drums. It's difficult to tell; but, it doesn't really matter. It's the scenery, what you discover on your journey, and who you meet, rather than the destination or mode of transport that's important. Bleed is immersive and – inaurguably – gorgeous and thus truly compelling.