Neil Finn has already captivated the pop world with his finely crafted, bittersweet songs. Now he's about to join forces with the Australian Chamber Orchestra. By Simon Wooldridge. Photographs by Greg Barrett.

It's interesting to note that cartoonist and philosopher Michael Leunig draws his characters from the inside out. He starts with the dot of an iris, then the eye and facial features, and up to the distinctive curly quiff which Leunig sees as an unfurling, natural representation of growth. As Leunig draws on his hand, Neil Finn accepts the temporary tattoo with some fascination while, waiting his turn, Richard Tognetti looks on. Tognetti, artistic director of the Australian Chamber Orchestra, jokes about the lines which already exist on his palms - one for work, one for worry, he laughs.

The three have come together in Sydney for the first rehearsal of their new collaborative project, Parables, Lullabies and Secrets. There is already a rapport and sense of like-mindedness here, but perhaps Tognetti is right to feel a little concern. Last year, Tognetti and Leunig teamed up with rock icon Peter Garrett for an Aussie take on Peter and the Wolf and Carnival of the Animals. In bringing singer-songwriter Neil Finn to the party, they undoubtedly want to repeat the success of the 2000 show. Or, as Tognetti attests, they may simply want to revisit what he calls the "Ah, that felt good" of the last collaboration.

Responding to lyrics from Leunig, Finn will contribute material and also perform in Parables, Lullabies and Secrets. The ambitious project also involves composers Brett Dean and John Rodgers, sound sculptor Paul Healy, and the acclaimed children's choir, Gondwana Voices.

Tognetti [top left], Leunig [bottom], Finn

Up to this point, Finn has been more or less a satellite to the project, sending and receiving CD demos of the music as he toured the world as a solo pop artist. (He recalls taking a day off touring to visit Peter Gabriel's famous Real World studios in Bath to bang out his ideas for one of the songs.) But while this is a first meeting, there is a sense of kindred purpose between the three men.

"That's part of the reason we've embarked on this, we feel there's some shared perspective on things," Finn says. "Obviously I wouldn't go so far as to say I have Michael's deep philosophical brilliance, because I do think he's a quite special and extraordinary guy. But I think there's a compassionate view of the world that comes through his work that I hope mine shares, and a tenderness and appreciation of melancholy."

Audiences around the world will be familiar with the exquisite poise that Finn describes. Finn is New Zealand's finest music export, rightly described by Tognetti as an artist "widely regarded and widely respected as being one of the great musicians alive today." As leader of three musical incarnations, Split Enz, Crowded House, and his own solo work, Finn has placed eight Number 1 albums in the Australian charts, and worked his way into our hearts and minds with classic pop songs like "Something So Strong," "Mean to Me," "Better Be Home Soon" and "Sinner".

On record he may cut a mysterious figure, but Finn is contrastingly easygoing in person. Earnest, maybe, but with his greying'80s hairstyle and his casual denim look, he's anything but intimidating. At 43, he attests he's just coming into his own, outlasting the insecurities that accompany the pop performer, and which have dogged his previous albums. While he's a perfectly amiable interview, his lyrics have hinted strongly at a deeper darkness. When it comes to these issues, he's the kind of subject who answers every question to apparent satisfaction, but who in the end manages to reveal little of himself.

In what Finn describe as the most diverse year of his career, Parables is his greatest challenge. In recent months he's worked with his revolving Band of Strangers, performing with a line-up drawn from fans who sent demos in the post. He was then joined by a second round of guests, comprising some of the biggest names in modern music, all of whom had flown to the Southern Hemisphere to be part of the show. Joining him were Eddie Vedder of grunge band Pearl Jam and Johnny Marr, guitarist in the legendary '80s sophisti-pop band the Smiths. His backline came from Radiohead, the critically acclaimed UK outfit at the forefront of experimental rock.

"It's only recently that I've gained the courage - no, that's not the right word - the bollocks to ring people up and go, 'Hey, I really like what you do, do you want to take part in this thing?'" says Finn of his collaborative experiences. "And I've been amazed at how positive people are if you ask them."

It was Leunig - a casual acquaintance of Finn's when both lived in Melbourne - who displayed the necessary "bollocks" to proposition Finn by mail. He succeeded not only because of their mutual appreciation for each other, but also because of his description of Tognetti and his orchestra.

"Michael described the ACO as quite a special orchestra which had a massive enthusiasm within its ranks for new stuff, and had great emotional and textural depth, and [had] Richard as the kind of Svengali inspirational figure at the head of that," Finn recalls. "He described him as a brilliant violinist-surfer-visionary."

Ironically, this quite typical and accurate description of Tognetti in many ways angers the gifted musician. Tognetti is preoccupied with the term "crossover" and its contrary definitions. In the pejorative sense, the crossover is the self-conscious marketing drive which seeks to broaden the classical audience by borrowing the aesthetic and personality of the mainstream. With Tognetti's interest in surfing, and his dress-down, flannelette style, he seems to fit the bill perfectly.

The sort of crossover Tognetti prefers - and what he hopes to achieve with Parables - is a real artistic alliance between the musical poles of classical and pop. Significantly, he hopes such alliances will go some way towards averting the crisis he believes is facing both forms of music.

"From both sides, there's a sense that pretty much everything has been done," he says. "And in a way, everything's been done in isolation."

"[Collaboration] has been occurring for a long time, but still it's been like curious neighbours looking into each other's houses," he continues. "You'd call that visitation, I suppose. I'm really concerned with the kibbutz element, so you've got different people all living in this common artistic space. That for me is crossover that is vital and maintains integrity."

Finn is self-effacing about his dalliances with orchestrations in his own work. "When pop musicians have embraced orchestras, it's been with quite pretentious renditions of pop songs," he says, admitting, "I speak partly from experience there."

Leunig is less likely to have encountered such a collision of cultures. He confesses that he does not own a television, and he's unlikely to indulge in rock radio. His is a perspective not so much informed by pop culture as formed from self-imposed isolation. But his contribution is at the core of Parables.

"Humanity has always struggled with an impending sense of disintegration (madness and chaos) in the social and personal sense," he wrote in a letter which all three agree acted as the "seed" for collaborations. "Presently we struggle with an unprecedented scale of things and speed of things plus the probability that the natural world is seriously injured, in decline and out of balance - a calamity which is emphatically echoed in the heart of the human nature (that other wilderness), a sort of crippling stigmata wound of profound consequence to human behaviour and collective and personal sanity - an out-of-balance condition in human affairs."

Leunig described his letter as a "possible philosophical resource," adding, "It might seem a bit lurid or banal, I'm not sure which, but I hope there's some value in it." He's hoping to evoke the hope that in the subconscious depths of the soul there lies a forgotten "secret treasure". It falls to Finn and Tognetti to try and create this sense of a primal sanity - a tall order by anyone's standards.

After a series of photographs are taken, the three re-convene in the rehearsal room of the ACO offices at Circular Quay , where these themes are well on the way to being realised.

There is a basic chronology to the piece which mirrors a human life moving from childlike innocence, through loss and confusion, to a return to the "simplicity, truth and sanity" Leunig described, and an inevitable and peaceful death.

Finn and Tognetti are still talking over a re-arrangement of Finn's opening tune, "Real and Right and True". As an introduction to the concert, it's a crucial piece. Intentionally and uncomfortably bathetic, it's an attempt to confront audiences with their own cynicism. "As a sullied adult, you can't help but look at innocence as a close cousin on saccharine," Tognetti explains. The first step towards recognising Leunig's "secret treasure" is to overcome that sneering disbelief in sincerity and integrity.

It seems that with Tognetti's additions, the melody is no longer "True" enough for Finn. As Finn thumbs through the plaintive melody on the piano, he explains where the new chords Tognetti has placed around tune dilute the piece. He wants resolution to come from F, not A sharp. It's strange to see such musical minds remonstrating over such simple arrangements - an illustration, perhaps, of the conflict between the inherent simplicity of great pop, and the deeper complexity of classical music. Fittingly, Finn calls this work "folk music".

"My role isn't to contribute difficult music," he says. "It's to pull lyrical ideas that people just grab hold of to make simple and hopefully beautiful things that can tie ideas together."

Leunig moves in from the outskirts where he has slowly paced throughout the discussion. He dispels the impression of being distanced from this end of proceedings - he's not counted as a musician - by humming the melody. Taking a seat facing Tognetti, he rocks childlike as if in trance, whispering the words "Real and right and true" to Finn's melody, then questioning the timing.

All of this goes on under the watch of fly-on-the-wall journalists, and the more obtrusive presence of a television team, who lever a boom microphone back and forth between Finn and Tognetti as the dialogue continues in earnest. Tognetti looks up at one point to see the lens looming a metre away. "F***," he says. "There's a camera right there."

The assembled press shift in their seats as the primary participants in the concert file in. Arranged around the three are violinist and composer John Rodgers, sound sculptor Paul Healy - who brings with him a range of percussive instruments, from tubular bells to a rusted brake disc from an HD Holden - and Lyn Williams of the Gondwana Voices, who'll add songs and voice effects to the mix.

Rodgers explains the concept behind his section, "The Garden of Deep Despair", in which a bee visits groups of the Gondwana Voices, each representing a flower bed. Then he turns the back of the bow to the strings and begins to work in frantic, furtive strokes, tapping at the fingerboard, and glancing harmonics and scratches from the instrument by turns. The journalists of the press gallery roll their eyes as the display draws on, the idea a little too "tiddlybonk" for their urbane tastes. But Finn watches, transfixed. Unlike the press corps his role is to be open and, most importantly, to learn.

"It's so evocative and completely different from anything I've observed before," he says of the possibilities of the orchestra. "I could put anything on a pop record these days," he says later. "I don't feel that there's any barriers. But I'm not aware and educated enough about the way that orchestras can behave and work to have really embarked on that in a very confident way. After this I might be more inclined to see those textures and that world as being very easy to embrace in the future."

Eventually the floor is thrown open to questions. Just over a month away from the first performance, this is the main players' first real meeting. They explain that as there is much to be done, they are reticent to pin down a project that will certainly evolve over coming weeks. "If you wanted me to talk about a couple of ideas which are central, I don't know if that is, in fact, relevant. Or wise," Leunig chuckles. "We're using a broad philosophy as a sort of a garden in which to grow the music. If the philosophy is there or not, [it] does not matter. It's something that's come from the philosophy, and this is what is real."

"Basically we've created an apparition to respond to, and it's as if the apparition falls away but the music remains."

"It will be complete at the last rehearsal I'd say and we will be tweaking it up until that point," says Finn, "to try and make it as powerful and beautiful and mysterious as we can. We're trying to marry a lot of different worlds here in an enterprise like this the stakes are quite hight. The risk is part of the attraction - we could fall flat on our face."

The journalists file out, leaving the three to their high-wire act. The reporters offer a joke, which gives some hint at the jaws which gape at the bottom of such a fall. "I forgot to ask Neil one question," one smiles. "I wanted to know if he was going to dress up as a bee."

Parables, Lullabies and Secrets opens July 7 at the Melbourne Concert Hall before an east coast tour. Tel: 1800 807 349.