The Rabbit Box presents WOLFCHILD + Kelsey Sprague Band + Armour

Friday, Jan. 30th / Doors 7pm / Music begins at 8pm

$18 adv. / $20 dos : https://tickets.venuepilot.com/e/wolfchild-kelsey-sprague-band-armour-2026-01-30-the-rabbit-box-theatre-seattle-93e51f

WOLFCHILD is a Portland,OR based Cinematic Folk Rock band with influences ranging from the immersive earthy sounds of Gregory Alan Isakov, Lord Huron, and The Paper Kites to the contemporary experimentation you might expect from Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, or Andrew Bird. They have performed on stages such as The Troubadour, Mississippi Studios, “The Egg” (Albany, NY), Folklore (UK), and Java (Paris); At festivals like Imagine Music & Arts, Cascade Equinox, Oregon Country Faire, SXSW, Burning Man, 4 Peaks, Summer Meltdown, Northwest Folklife, and many more. At the heart of the project is Gabriel Wolfchild and his brother Elion TruthHeart. Wolfchild weaves music that feels like memory — raw, poetic, and elemental. With his enchanting vocals, unique guitar work and lyrical storytelling, Gabriel invites listeners into deep emotional landscapes that touch the wild edges of the heart. Elion is a virtuoso multi-instrumentalist who effortlessly flows between drums and a variety of exotic string and woodwind accompaniment. He contributes to a rich vocal harmony that only brothers can create. Rooted in folk, shaped by spirit, and carried by the wind of the Pacific Northwest, Wolfchild’s music holds a sense of reverence — for grief, for beauty, for love, for truth. Whether they are singing of inner transformation or the aching beauty of the land, Wolfchild reminds us that vulnerability is power, and that song can be a portal back to what matters most.

Kelsey Sprague Band weaves songs that feel like love letters—tender, nostalgic, and achingly human. Our sound blends old soul with indie folk intimacy, evoking the warmth of vintage radio and the ache of a well-worn memory. Every song is a slow dance between heartbreak and hope, written to bring people home to themselves. 

What Rob Moura hopes you hear when you press play on his music is a familiar language rendered alien. True to his Seattle-based surroundings, the songs he performs as Armour are verdant and waterlogged, and they move with dark clouds permanently affixed above them. Moura’s featherweight vocals and labyrinthine guitar structures may at first recall the classic folk of Nick Drake, and the pieces are similarly plaintive - acoustic guitar, even-keeled vocals, and an unflinching honesty - but the songs themselves are complex coils of emotion, all of them tightened under the repressive pressure of modern-day living.