Harmony @ the Grace Darling,Melbourne (11/08/2011)

Wed 17th Aug, 2011 in Gig Reviews

Harmony is the collaboration between The Nation Blue’s Tom Lyngcoln, former McLusky bassist Jon Chapple and four women one punter jokingly referred to as the Pointer Sisters. Their eponymous debut album confronts themes of depression, heartbreak, alienation and suffering in a way that is anything but harmonious.

The comforting and candle-lit surrounds of the Grace Darling seemed the perfect contradiction to a sound as bleak and severe as that of Harmony. Following sets from The Death Rattles and Hayley Cooper, the supposedly sold out crowd is sparse by the time Harmony casually approach the stage. Visually the band is unassuming. They look just like anyone else in the crowd. The six of them occupy almost every square inch of the small stage and begin after only a few introductory words from Lyngcoln.

Ghosts on Mainstreet is the first song of their set. It begins with the despairing line, “I have no mother.” Lyngcoln, who stands to the left of the three vocalists at the front of the stage, doesn’t so much sing it as makes it a confession. Whether or not it’s true is irrelevant, as the ability he has to make what he sings seem like a reality is frightening and a testament to his investment in his art.

A loose and minimal shuffle drags the heavy bass underpinning the lyrics, which are shaken by a precariously jagged and reverberant guitar. An eerie chorus drifts into the song. It fills a vast space and emphasises the solitude of the lonely protagonist Lyngcoln envisions. Everything finds its place and slowly the melody swells in volume and intensity until it breaks under the weight of Lyngcoln and co’s strained vocals and attacking rhythm. The song resolves into a gentle, doleful melody. On record, the incidental sounds that add character to the song, and the album in general, are lost under a bass heavy live mix, but are more than compensated for by the rigour with which they play.

In a way, each one of the songs that follow are all similar. The three vocalists expand Lyngcoln’s limited vocal range, which is guided by Chapple’s and Alex Kastaniotis’ solid but wandering rhythms. The music is played both in and out of time and often nears total collapse. At times they seem unrehearsed, but given the weight and power of their delivery I think it’s probably intentional.

The third song, Cacophonous Vibes, was the band’s debut release. The cover of the 7” sleeve is a black and white image of a man with his head in his hands. This pretty much summarises the intensity of the project, which is reaffirmed by tracks like No Hope, Heartache and Painted Blue.

There’s no question that this is Lyngcoln’s band. Whilst he couldn’t do it without the other five members he’s invariably the focus of the project. He makes everything so personal that you can’t help but feel that it’s him he’s really singing about. He strains his voice and his guitar as if they’re one, wringing texture and discordance from his instruments in an attempt to make every single note and lyric count.

They aim to penetrate the ephemeral, to find meaning beneath the complacency of consumer culture and identify with something that endures. The songs play out as an attack on the immediacy and familiarity of the sounds we’re used to hearing. The material is so personal that, if you identify with it, you almost believe it was made just for you. It’s at once ambient, melodious, abrasive and indelible.

Harmony is fearless in their scope and ambition. They achieve their best results through conflict and sheer volume. Where most bands would choose to approach themes of depression, heartbreak, alienation and suffering from a distance, Harmony plays from within in them. The intensity and power of their delivery was, at times, tiring and discomforting, but the impact was huge and lasting.