The kind of moody, post-rock you’d expect from a band that draws their inspiration from Pink Floyd and Mogwai. Tracks that open slowly with piano keys and crescendo with a splicing electric guitar riff and harmonise with an acoustic 6-string work magic. But the whispering vocals of Katy Wren McNamara are necessary to break the tension and are the highlights for me. The Sydney band (formally known as Greenland) have in their hands a hot little debut album of cinematic proportions. Ghostly, hypnotic and full of abstruse sounds, like a film score to a horror movie, it captures a mood. One of uncertainty, that plays on your fears with even the gaps between tracks making the silence seem eerie and the echoing notes that pulsate like funeral bells underwater. In fact, the whole album feels as if you’re walking underwater, weightless, in darkness, the lacking lyrics mirroring your inability to scream. The only comfort is in the three tracks were McNamara lends her voice, it’s the sweet relief of a decompression chamber on land. But still has the haunting feel of a Siren luring wise men to their death.