Latch Choir from Marching Breath by Draoi

A muted guitar chord opens, echoing the quiet tension of an inner room where a voice finally confronts the deep-set shame it’s carried. This track delves into the specific, almost tactile story of bargaining with a "latch" inside—a feeling fortified by years of judgment. The bodhrán lays down a firm, almost hesitant pulse, not a full-tilt charge but a steady, measured beat that suggests deep internal resistance. The lyrics, particularly "Stay, I'm staying; ease, I'm staying / We are kin when we are staying," reveal a profound shift from confrontation to a quiet, stubborn insistence on shared existence, a recognition that the parts of ourselves we deem unruly are still kin. Mandolin tremolos and tin whistle harmonics don’t soar; they shimmer, creating an atmosphere of fragile hope and careful introspection. The real innovation emerges in the mid-track interlude; traditional gang shouts are replaced by breathy, layered murmurs answering the lead vocal. These aren't shouts of defiance, but whispers of solidarity, a collective acknowledgment of shared burdens—"we see it," "we hear it," "sit close"—forming a communal balm that transforms panic into a collective, marching breath. It’s an intimate uprising, a testament to the album’s recurring theme that the truest strength can be found in stillness, a radical act of forgiveness where force yields to mercy. This quiet quorum offers a new kind of Draoi anthem, one built on the fragile power of shared vulnerability, a compelling argument for finding peace not by conquering, but by simply holding the line within.

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.