Formed at the experimental Dakh theatre in Kyiv, the quartet draw deep from Ukrainian folk traditions, reshaping them through years of fieldwork, archival study, and performance. 

Their sound cannot be easily named: polyphonic vocal lines, deep percussion, and a broad instrumental spectrum resist simple categorisation. Since the full‑scale invasion of Ukraine, their presence has taken on new purpose. Each performance holds stillness and insistence together, not as commentary, but as testament — sound that endures. Their music asserts survival through listening.

Their latest album, Ptakh (“Bird”), is both title and symbol. Written during wartime, it echoes with the tension and tenderness of a country in struggle. These are not protest songs in the conventional sense — they are songs of presence. Of those who remain, those who return, and those who will not. The lyrics of celebrated writer Serhiy Zhadan lend gravity to the title track, while pieces like “Vesna” and “Plyve Choven” gather emotional weight as collective elegy.

On stage, costumes and visual works by Ukrainian artists frame the ensemble’s presence, not as decoration, but as part of the extended field of sound and context. DakhaBrakha do not perform so much as gather attention — inviting listeners into a shared act of bearing witness.