At the other end of the Alpine Way from Jindabyne, perched on the lower slopes of the Snowy Mountains, between Tumbarumba, Corryong, Cooma and Thredbo, lies the village of Khancoban. Once a mainstay of the Snowy Hydro construction, the population's dwindled to a hardy few hundred; a ghost town where lonely fires crackle, sounds bounce from the majestic peaks and the clear, icy sky is ever-present.

Of course, since I've never been there, this is all conjecture, imagery summoned up by a Melbourne five-piece, who for all I know have never been there either. But I prefer to believe that they have, as this mini-album has the melancholic, boundless feel of a country town abandoned by the world. Look at These Lines Can Be Traced, the excellent waltz-feel opener. Misty reverb leads into brittle piano falling from bleak peaks, to be joined by the spectral slide guitar, echoing through the valley behind the yearning vocal lines. The moment of the song is when Andre draws out the last syllable of "hard to define" until it's unbearable and the backing washes over the top of him.

Khancoban sit somewhere between alt-country and alt-folk, I suppose, between Wilco and Augie March, though less rock and pop respectively. The vocals, kept well forward through most of the album, are reminiscent of Glenn Richards (from Augie), with an accent similarly more of Ireland than back o' Bourke. Andre's voice twists and rolls in unexpected ways, finding syllables in out-of-the-way corners, taking the time to find each word before falling into the next. The lyrics themselves are sparse and whimsical - "I think the chimney's blocked, she said/Smoke and the light" - and occasionally bleak - "This bastard brother of mine/And how he cheated" - using words for feeling and texture rather than profound insight or narrative.

As a whole, we're talking about painstakingly crafted, sparse soundscapes, fitting together Andre's lead vocals and picked guitar, Jen's neat harmonies and keyboards and Andrew's lap steel and banjo. Some tracks have simple string highlights - the woody cello on Take Me Where I Might Want to Go is a notably great line. Underneath, missing textures are filled in by Jason's unshowy bass and Jemima's mallets-and-brushes drums, with broken, interesting beats in the same vein as Wilco's Glenn Kotche. The spacious arrangements are intensified by the tempos, contemplative yet insistent, wandering through the sound, with slow builds the order of the day. This can be a handicap in a pub but the space between the notes is very evident in a better listening environment.

The exception is the album's centerpiece, Everywhere I See the Sea, Khancoban's most widely circulated track. All of a sudden we're moving, breaking from picked guitar into a lively country jog with a classic slide solo. It's by far the most catchy tune here, both on record and live. After the bridge it moves into a slightly ill-advised, Mt Eerie-esque mass choral backing and degenerates into a bit of studio giggling, as does Take Me Where I Might Want to Go, undercutting the beautiful feel of the track. This also creates a jarring transition into the pure soundscape of the final, untitled track, full of gentle amp reverb and feedback, as the album fades back into the misty valley from whence it came.

It's an impressive debut release. The one-paced nature of most of Khancoban's catalog is a bit of a handicap in live shows, especially with an inattentive audience, but works well in context on the album. There's a lot of maturity and restraint in these songs, and the slightly raw production suits the feel nicely. They've mostly avoided getting too close to their obvious influences, laying the groundwork to move past in the future. Definitely one to keep an eye on.