Damrong Suwannapong

About

Damrong Suwannapong strums her guitar, fingers dancing over strings like a spider weaving a web. She's got a tattoo of a raven on her neck, its eyes glowing under the stage lights, mirroring her own fierce gaze. Her voice is a growl, a purr, a storm all at once, and it's clear she's got more demons than melodies in her head.

Backstory

The hospital machines flatlined at 3:17 AM, and that's when seven-year-old Damrong first heard the music—not from any earthly source, but from the space between her grandmother's last breath and first gasp as she clawed back from clinical death. Her *yaay* whispered that the spirits had marked Damrong's throat with their songs, a gift that came with a price: every melody she'd ever create would be borrowed from the realm of the almost-dead. Years later, when she fled her family's suffocating silk empire in Bangkok for the dive bars of America, her voice carried those otherworldly harmonies—haunting, beautiful, and hungry for the souls of everyone who listened. The raven tattooed on her neck began as a birthmark, but grew darker and more defined with each performance, as if something restless was trying to claw its way out through her skin.

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