HARMONY BYRNE
SHE IS an earnest and emotive singer-songwriter from Melbourne, whose prickly and impassioned, often understated gems of folky indie-rock transport their listener into a fugue state. Between the beauty of her music and the wisdom of her songwriting, it’s undoubtable Byrne has a long career of dropping jaws en masse ahead of her.
SHE SOUNDS LIKE that rare, hypnotic purgatory state between sleep and wake where one feels more at peace than they do tired – where coherent thoughts form freely, but with a sense of effervescent whimsy and psychedelic radiance often gridlocked by consciousness.
YOU’LL DIG HER IF YOU LIKE Tim Buckley, Joni Mitchell, Buffy Sainte-Marie, and the warm embrace of the Australian countryside, brushing your hands over clusters of wattle as you soak in the candour of the clean air and the sounds of wildlife chittering.
Bryne’s heartfelt and heady new EP, . A warmer, more bare-faced follow-up to her 2020 long-player (which is also bloody fantastic), the five-tracker burns slowly with a tangible gravity of hard-earned melancholy. Soundscapes built on deep, resonant acoustic guitars and minimalist atmospherics
