Hearthcall by Flintbone

We’ve always spoken of the Hungering Hollow, of what it consumes. With *Hearthcall*, we turned our focus inward. Not in retreat, but to understand a different kind of strength—the quiet siege. The Bonekeepers knew it, a patient, unbroken pulse where ancestral memory isn't just inherited, it’s *chosen*. This album, it’s about that choice.

We wanted to capture the slow, deep breath of something truly ancient, something fiercely steady. You’ll hear it in the low, breathing drones of "Breathfield," a warmth that invites you into a space where calm feels like oxygen. The idea was to frame cultural heritage as a living thing, not a relic. This isn't about grand pronouncements; it’s about a deeply personal commitment, a simple hum that connects us all.

That four-note "hearth-call" motif, it became the heart of everything. We crafted it so it feels instantly familiar, like a memory you already carry, a thread woven through every track. You’ll find it from the gentle cross-rhythms of "Patient Pulse," where it feels like clasped hands holding steady, to the aching devotion of the track "Hearth-Call" itself. It’s a hum taught by elders, yet chosen anew each time.

Musically, we stripped things down to their raw essence, layering warm baritone guitar drones deep like the earth, with the precise, restrained taps of bone percussion from ethically-obtained remains. Yara’s throat singing and overtone work, especially on pieces like "Chosen Kin," isn't just performance; it’s a wordless incantation, a reaching back. We even resurrected those reclaimed church organ chambers, burying prepared guitars in them to create tones that feel both prehistoric and utterly otherworldly, like they've been echoing in stone for millennia.

This record unfolds in movements: an awakening of low, breathing sounds, then a steady heart-pace woven with bone resonance and soft hand percussion, finally settling into a hush that feels like a hearth relit. Tracks like "Quiet Siege" radiate a soft ferocity, a refusal to surrender with tearful grace. And by "Against the Hollow," you feel a brave warmth rising, like the heart itself holding the line. The climax in "Boundless Keeping" is a tidal bloom of tenderness, a vast, wordless expansion of that hearth-call motif that speaks of shared triumph, proving endurance breathes, it doesn't roar. It outlasts.

For us, *Hearthcall* is more than just music; it's a parable. It asks what we truly keep, what we choose to nurture when the world demands we forget. It’s about finding your people, feeling your chest break open with relief, as on "Chosen Kin." We believe this exploration of consented memory and shared guardianship is vital, a quiet stand in a world often too loud to hear its own ancient wisdom. It’s a challenge to the idea that traditions are abandoned through progress, suggesting some were lost out of a different, forgotten necessity. This album, we hope, acts as both archaeological artifact and a quiet, profound warning, a living vow carried forward.

We dig up bones from old graveyards and turn them into instruments. No vocals, just the sound of death talking through mammoth tusks and cracked femurs. This is what happens when folklore meets the end times.