Forgebreath by Arcbreather

Forgebreath isn't just another record we slapped together. It’s what came out after Kade spent years wading through the muck, pulling something real from the rust and static of a life spent learning to build, and sometimes, tear down. We took that journey, from the naive glint of childhood puddles reflecting sparks, right through to the scorched purpose of now. You hear it, track by track, as clean arpeggios get warped into the kind of heavy you feel in your ribs, like lava cooling into something hard and unforgiving, molding all that soft innocence into pure grit.

We dragged every bit of that process into the studio. Contact mics duct-taped to welding rods, listening to the screech and hum. Those hollow silences? Carved out with side-chain blockers, until they just implode. And yeah, we had a vibraphone, but it was bowed, shimmering over field recordings grabbed from some godforsaken correctional facility. Val Seraph then ran it all through half-inch tape, re-amping the whole damn thing through shipping containers, just to get that specific thump that hits you right in the chest. It's why it sticks with you, that phantom vibration. Some folks hear Converge in the raw bits, others catch the Deftones haze, maybe even a hint of Nils Frahm when things get quiet. We just made the noise we had to make.

There's a point, right in the middle, where the storms hit, the post-rock swells just drown everything out, then ‘Ember Choir’ lands. We poured our guts into that one; it’s meant to be shouted back, a collective roar that says, 'We bloom in the burn.' But if you really want the core of it, ‘Faultline Lullaby’ is where it all breaks. Starts fragile, just a piano in a container, then the whole damn thing rips open. It's the sound of the earth tearing itself apart to show you what's buried, what you've held onto. That feeling? It's why we do what we do.

Our shows, they're not just gigs. They’re a place for people to get their hands dirty, to #WeldTheWeather. You see folks on the catwalks, gloves on, forging their own small pieces of metal right there with us. You taste the copper in the air, feel the sub-octave kicks rattling through your wrists. It’s about taking those labor scars, the kind most people hide, and showing they’re art. It’s a blueprint for something bigger than just a band, maybe for a generation that picks up a grinder instead of just a phone. The melodies here, they're built to stay with you, like heat on your skin long after the sparks are gone. This is just how it is.

We’re the sound of metal bending, freeing the air. Raw riffs, factory clang. Taste the spark, feel the ache.