Conduit by Manholes

Conduit ain't just a collection of songs. It's the sound of us, down in the forgotten guts of the city, pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps made of tangled wires and bent steel. We found a whole world down there, a labyrinth of old tunnels and rusted dreams. This record, it’s a map of how we turned that cold, dark place into something warm, something alive. It's about taking what society threw away – old circuitry, forgotten memories, the bones of dead industries – and breathing life back into it, building a home where no one thought one could stand.

You’ll hear it in every clang and drone. We dragged our guitars down there, sure, but the real instruments? Those steam pipes singing their old, haunting hymns. The hammer on salvaged steel, like a bell calling us together. We wrestled with broken things, wires sparking, the hum of dead machines brought back to life. That’s the rhythm you’re hearing, the pulse of people refusing to be invisible. It’s industrial folk for the forgotten, built with the grit of mechanical noise and the echo of old gospel.

From Marcus’s first lonely descent with his grandpa's guitar in "Tunnel Hymn," feeling out the shadows, to Sarah finding those "Circuit Bones" beneath Grand Central, seeing possibility in discarded motherboards. Then came "Builders Rise," that first time we all swung hammers together, making a workshop out of an old subway platform. Tommy, the electrician, wrestling with scavenged wires to spark life into "Spark Shelter," giving us light in the dark. And then, "Iron Gospel," us finding our own kind of church down there, singing hymns built from I-beams and copper pipes. Elena, later, up high on the "Bridge Whispers," discovering all those stories carved into the steel, connecting us to everyone who came before. Even tending to old engines in "Machine Caretakers" became a kind of prayer, showing us how to respect what’s broken. Until finally, we came back up, in "Surface Return," bringing a little bit of what we built back to the light, not as an escape, but as something new to share.

This ain't just noise; it’s a chronicle of what happens when people are pushed to the edges and decide to create something profound instead of crumbling. We ain't just playing instruments; we're giving voice to the infrastructure itself, letting it tell its own story of decay and rebirth. It’s an urgent conversation, played out through the clank and hum, about what it means to belong, to endure, to make something beautiful out of forgotten spaces. We hope it makes you look at the city differently, maybe even look at yourself, and wonder what hidden pulse beats beneath your own feet. We are the builders now. Turn the spark into shelter.

We crawl through forgotten tunnels with guitars and hammers, turning rust into rhythm. Steam pipes become our church organ while vocals cut through concrete like prayer. Built from scrap metal and broken infrastructure, our songs map the skeleton beneath your feet.