Graveyard Waltz by Draoi

# GRAVEYARD WALTZ

We wrote this album with dirt under our fingernails and whiskey on our breath.

"Graveyard Waltz" happened in the aftermath—after the landlord's notice, after the protest that didn't change a damn thing, after last call when we huddled around a table at Mary O'Hare's wondering what comes next. Eight tracks dancing between what's lost and what might still be possible.

This isn't polished studio magic—we tracked most of it live in Finn's uncle's basement with the condensation dripping from the pipes overhead. You'll hear bottles clinking in the background of "Cracked Pint Lullaby" because we were actually passing them around. The gang vocals on "Salt for Saints" include whoever was hanging around that night, including Mairead's sister who can't sing for shite but knows how to shout like her life depends on it.

From the opening mist of "Cobble Street" to the defiant stomp of "Barback's Revolt," we're building something from the ruins. The mandolin and tin whistle are fighting the electric guitar for space, just like we're fighting for ours. When Cormac's ragged baritone breaks during "Eviction Ballad," that wasn't an act—he'd gotten his own notice that morning.

We wanted the sound of a session that turns into a rally that turns into something like hope. Fast and rough in places, gentle and broken in others. Old Irish melodies colliding with three chords and the truth.

If you've ever raised a glass to lost causes and found family, if you've ever felt like the world's burning down but your mates are holding up the walls—this one's for you. Put it on loud while you're getting ready to go out, or when you're coming home with smeared makeup and stories you'll be telling for years.

This is our green-paint parade, our broken saints, our hobnail hearts kicking at the darkness.

Sláinte, ya beautiful bastards.

—Draoi

We've been raising hell across Ireland since our first gig ended in a bar fight and three broken strings. Our songs? Pure gutters-to-glory stuff—rebellion, heartbreak, and whiskey-soaked nights that blur into dawn. Punk spirit meets ancient melodies, delivered with spit and fire. Pure madness live.