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Sydney is not known for its fireflies – just as the Appalachian hill-country of Virginia, Kentucky and East Tennessee is not known for its picturesque sandstone harbours. But, as anyone familiar with the dun bushland quarters of the city’s hinterland knows, there are fireflies here – just as there are local pickers seized of all the spirit and fervour of those most enduring musical traditions of the American South. Sydney’s own The Morrisons are just such a band of peerless pickers: musicians possessed of ancient and unsleeping fire tempered and refined by conservatory education and grown warm and nourishing with closeness. The Morrisons have appeared at Port Fairy Folk Festival, The National, Out On The Weekend, Secret Garden, Blue Mountains Music Festival and countless others, and have supported the likes of US trad. soul luminaries Lake Street Dive, Canadian alt. country icon Lindi Ortega, and fast-rising weird-country star Marlon Williams (NZ). Cementing their place at the

“Sik, I just mute the sound” - anonymous internet troll #1. “You guys suck, just stop” – hater. “It’s a bit aggressive, Peter” - Pete’s Mum. The Morrisons stand for originality, the way they used to do it. And with the above words of support and encouragement spurring them forward for the last three years they’ve nurtured their punk rock sound into the bastard child of Jello Biafra and Keith Richards. They emerged from the bowels of the pink palace in Northcote where they also recorded their first EP, a scuzzy mix of hardcore punk, blues and garage rock. They took to the stages of Melbourne like Tom Cruise to Oprah’s couch, they jumped all over it and professed their love of everything. After playing even more shows, including a gallery takeover during the Northcote High St Festival (the noise of which shut down the adjacent world music stage) they decided it was time to get some of their sweet sounds onto hot wax. After knocking out four more short/fast/loud tracks onto 7” they