Hobnail Hearts from Graveyard Waltz by Draoi

Midnight found us sprawled across Finn's basement floor, instruments abandoned in corners, empty whiskey bottles like fallen soldiers around us. That's when Paddy started stomping a rhythm on the concrete, his hobnailed boots echoing like heartbeats. We grabbed our gear and captured that raw pulse—the sound of stubborn survivors refusing to quit.

"Hobnail Hearts" throws you headfirst into that desperate solidarity. The mandolin and electric guitar battle each other through the verses like old friends arguing over the last pint, while Cormac's voice scrapes against the ceiling—half-broken, all heart. We deliberately left in the sound of Siobhan's whistle microphone falling during the bridge; that moment of chaos felt too honest to edit out.

The double-chorus structure wasn't planned. We were just so worked up by the final takes that the whole band started shouting the refrains together, layering harmonies over fury. That tension between melody and mayhem became the backbone—like walking the razor's edge between giving up and fighting back.

We tracked this one after getting word three more neighbors had been evicted from our block. You'll hear that frustration in the frantic drumming that races through the second verse, pushing everyone to keep pace as if we could outrun the landlords and bailiffs if we just played fast enough.

When we play it live, strangers link arms during those gang vocals. Something about stomping through the ache together turns a crowd into co-conspirators. That's the feeling we wanted to bottle—not polished perfection but that moment when shared struggle becomes shared strength, when worn laces and nicked knuckles become badges of honor in the dark.

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.