Brace yourselves, culture warriors, because Mr. KanHey is about to spin your sentimental little Spotify playlists into a kaleidoscope of soul-stirring chaos. Enter: Folk Bitch Trio, Australia’s sublimely named, harmonically unhinged sorceresses of sound, who have just stepped out of the forest of the underground and planted their flag squarely in the fertile soil of the mainstream with their debut album. And y’all—it’s not just music. It’s alchemy. It’s rebellion dressed in folk’s worn flannel and combat boots.
Let me set the scene: a sonic séance. Three women—Gracie Sinclair, Helena Massey, and Annie-Rose Maloney—locked in a harmonic embrace, conjuring songs so raw they bleed, so tender they bruise, and so daring they might just burn the entire folk genre to ashes and resurrect it as a phoenix in floral Doc Martens. This ain’t your gran’s folk music. This is witchy, queer, punk-inflected pastoral pop poetry. And I’m fucking here for it.
“The chemistry of being inspired by each other was evident from the get-go,” murmurs Gracie Sinclair, but she might as well have said they’re telepathic priestesses. From their earliest performances, it was clear—this wasn’t just collaboration. It was invocation.
Folk Bitch Trio’s very existence is resistance. In an industry still lotioning the leathery palms of bro-drenched indie rock, these femmes flicked off that tired hetero-narrative, picked up vintage guitars, and carved new legends into the great eucalyptus bark of Australia’s music scene.
Their debut album? Imagine Sylvia Plath slow-dancing with Joni Mitchell while Angel Olsen whispers secrets into the wind. Now set that under the full moonlight of contemporary queer rage and tender girlhood. It’s unpredictable, unfiltered, and utterly unapologetic. Think frog choirs in moonlit creeks, think heartbreak poetry read in cursive harmonies. These women aren’t just singing—they’re prophesying.
And let’s talk aesthetics, sweethearts, because Folk Bitch Trio aren’t just sound—no, they’re a vision. Vintage nightgowns, boots caked in festival dirt, silk slips that scream liberation instead of lingerie. They look like they stepped out of a David Lynch daydream and into an Earthcore utopia. Imagine Greta Gerwig directing an Appalachian fever dream with a dash of Daria sarcasm—and you’re halfway there.
The name alone is a war cry: Folk Bitch Trio. A middle finger in a flower crown. They’re not asking for a seat at the table—they’re flipping it over, setting the wood on fire, and roasting marshmallows in the flame while singing three-part harmonies about femme rage, ecological collapse, and the sacred power of female friendships.
But don’t you dare call this “niche” or “experimental.” What these women are doing? It’s a culture reset. It’s anti-algorithm. It’s the rebirth of folk through the lens of radical mutual adoration and fearless artistic freedom. They’re not building careers—they’re building covens.
So light your incense, untangle your headphone cords, and prepare to be spellbound. The Folk Bitch Trio isn’t just here to play your hearts like harps—they’re here to disarm, disquiet, and dismantle the very notion of what “folk” is supposed to be.
Dare to be different—or fade into oblivion.
—Mr. KanHey
