Kinfire by TartanGrime

Kinfire feels like a full circle for us. This album isn't just a collection of songs; it’s Isla’s story, a raw, sometimes trembling journey that started with her alone on a midnight ferry, just the gulls and the roar of the sea for company. You know that feeling of being the last voice in a big, empty room, that quiet fear? That’s where it starts, whispered over chanter drones and the ghost of a ferry horn, our pipes run through those battered pedals of Skye's, sketching out exile as a drum in your chest.

We wanted to capture that starkness, the chip-shop grease and peeling paint of an estate stairwell, turning those whispered confessions into something fierce. Keiran's whiskey-barrel snares hit like a neighbour's fist on a door, asking if you’re alright, transforming shame into a shout of 'I'm still here.' It’s about reclaiming pride from the edges. And then, there's that shy spark, that quiet hope, a mantra blooming from a hesitant breath: 'from lone torch to bonfire.' That’s the heart of it, manifesting kinship out of sheer will.

Slowly, the noise swells. It’s the block waking up, not just us, but a chorus of strangers turning pots and keys into drums, singing their surnames until they feel like ancient clan names again. That’s when the ceilidh truly starts, not just in a hall, but out on the street, voices rising together over the rumble of 808s and the bright, defiant pipes. Our tracks are built on that call-and-response, the kind that can turn a Glasgow pub chant into a stadium-ready roar. We're taking old ballad fragments and igniting them with trap sub pressure, making you want to sing like you’re finally home.

This isn't just about sound; it's about building a homeland you can dance in. The "Gaelwave" isn't some trend we’re chasing; it's the feeling of a whole community waking up, turning our spray-painted kilts and LED sporrans into armor for tenderness, not just rage. Skye’s "tartan glitch," that moment where the pipe drone collapses into a breathing halo before the final drop, isn't just a production trick. It’s the sound of surrender, that collective gasp before a triumphant shout, proof that courage can taste like peace.

By the end, stepping back onto that ferry isn't about being alone anymore. It’s about carrying a chorus, with LED sporrans blinking like hearths tucked into pockets. Kinfire is our invitation to find that belonging, to turn private ache into public courage. We’ve poured everything into making this album a warm, accessible path to a shared joy, a testament to how folklore can be lived today, on these streets, with these pipes, these beats. It's a shout, a dance, and a quiet promise: you're not alone. We hope it sticks with you, a story whispered from one heart to a bonfire of voices.

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.