- The album cover to Melbourne band Harmony's self-titled debut captures the quality of their sound quite neatly. A foggy and blurry image presents a woman - almost completely indistinct though she's but a step away - against a backdrop of what appear to be gnarled gum trees. The only thing that can be clearly apprehended is the ugly breach of the shotgun that woman has pointed straight at your guts. That's Harmony, to a tea: raw folk fuelled by rough and punky energy, perniciously besmirched by the lowest of lo-fi presentation (there's a great video of the band performing live in a stairwell - and it doesn't sound very different from their 'studio' efforts), grinding out songs about the darkest elements of Australiana. Tom Lyngcoln (formerly of the Nation Blue) has a voice that cuts through the band's greasy noise like the roar of a wounded bull. Yet the name Harmony hasn't been chosen purely for it's brutal irony. Harmony's three girl chorus do indeed harmonise like a soul, gospel and r'n'b choir in the midst of this Australian gothic nightmare, by turns lilting and soaring, and providing a beautiful counter-weight to the more punishing sounds being shoved at you. Harmony is an odd beast indeed, but with this record they are a worthy addition to that shed at the back of the property where we keep Australia's darkest and most misbegotten music.