Bogfire Graff from Ceilidh Concrete by TartanGrime

A raw pulse ignites on a stark bogland canvas, where MacQuarrie’s pipes, churned through battered pedals, twist into a guttural, fuzzed snarl—a sound few have dared to pull from a chanter. This track cuts deep, a testament to that restless fire felt growing up between the city's grey and the old country's wild, pushing back on what's lost. Isla’s voice rips through like sparks, spitting bilingual bars that echo a fury rooted in land rights and the raw bite of youth claiming its mark, making it undeniably personal. Sticks’ distorted bodhrán isn’t just rhythm; it’s the heartbeat of defiance, particularly in that raw, stripped-back section where only its throb drives the chant, a direct call for a collective stomp. Sàrmac’s spirit feels strongest here, tagging ancestral defiance onto a landscape being forgotten. The whole thing drags you through a righteous rage, then drops you with a final, unsettling vacuum, leaving you charged, unsettled, and ready to carve your own glyph.

We forge pipe skirl with raw trap bass. Gaelic shouts meet grinding drums. Listen up, this is our riot from the glens to the tenements.