All licensed songs featured in Daredevil: Born Again’s episode 3 - At the Hollow of His Hand - and their connections to the plot, explored

Daredevil: Born Again has always used music as a storytelling tool, shaping the emotional landscape of its characters and their struggles. Episode 3, At the Hollow of His Hand, continues this tradition, using its soundtrack to reinforce its themes of fate, justice, and identity.

From Latin rhythms echoing Hector Ayala’s heritage to a haunting Slayer track foreshadowing his doom, every song in this episode carries weight. And just like the coquí frogs of Puerto Rico—whose calls are heard in the episode’s final moments—these tracks cry out with meaning, longing, and inevitability.

Here’s how each song weaves into Daredevil: Born Again’s darkest chapter yet.

[It did.]

Mi Canto – Salvi ft. Franklin Dam, Yuli, Sitofunk

"Mi Canto" translates to "My Song," and that’s exactly what it is: a statement of identity and defiance. The track plays early in the episode, reinforcing Hector Ayala’s connection to his Puerto Rican roots, something that looms over every decision he makes.

In a moment of calm before the storm, Hector reminisces about his homeland.

“And the coquí, it mates for life, right? So, every sunset… thousands of these frogs start calling out to their one and only love. It’s the music of the island.”

His words linger, a bittersweet reflection on belonging, loss, and the life he may never return to.

Like the coquí’s song, Mi Canto is Ayala’s voice echoing through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, a reminder of who he is before everything is taken away.

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Dreams Tonite – Alvvays

"If I saw you on the street, would I have you in my dreams tonight?"

The soft indie dream-pop of Alvvays’ Dreams Tonite, plays during Matt’s brief moment of respite. The lyrics speak of nostalgia, longing, and the distance between two people, perhaps mirroring Matt’s strained relationships, especially with those he has lost.

The song’s melancholic tone sharply contrasts with the chaos that follows, making it the perfect calm before the storm. Matt wants to believe, just for a night, that justice prevailed. But Hell’s Kitchen doesn’t allow its dreamers to sleep peacefully.

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Crionics – Slayer

"I've fallen from promises, damned to take risks on my own."

Metal fans will recognize this early Slayer track as a brutal, relentless force, and that’s exactly what it represents in the episode. "Crionics" kicks in when White Tiger suits up, a stark contrast to the idealistic tone of the trial. Hector Ayala is done waiting. Justice won’t come from the system, so he will carve it out himself.

The lyrics echo his descent into action:

"Living my life with one distant hope, a cure that will kill my invincible foe."

Except in Hell’s Kitchen, there is no cure. Only consequences.

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Una Palabra – Carlos Varela

"Una palabra no dice nada, y al mismo tiempo lo esconde todo." ["A word means nothing, and at the same time, it hides everything."]

This haunting Cuban ballad plays in the aftermath of Ayala’s death. Fisk’s manipulation is complete. One word, one lie, and suddenly White Tiger is gone, and the Punisher is framed in his place.

"Si un día me faltas no seré nada, y al mismo tempo lo seré todo." ["If one day you are gone, I will be nothing, and at the same time, I will be everything."]

For Matt, this is more than just another fallen soldier in Hell’s Kitchen’s war. It’s a sign that his dream of justice is slipping through his fingers.

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The music of the island

As the credits roll, the episode doesn’t close with a song, but with something far more haunting—the sound of the ocean and the calls of the coquí frogs. It’s the same sound Hector described earlier in the episode, a memory of home forever out of reach. Remember his words?

"And the coquí, it mates for life, right? So, every sunset… thousands of these frogs start calling out to their one and only love. It’s the music of the island."

But in Hell’s Kitchen, no call is answered. Hector’s voice is silenced, his fate rewritten by those who hold power. And just like that, the coquí sings for him one last time, a requiem for a man who was never meant to survive the city’s brutal justice.

Justice is supposed to be blind. But in Daredevil: Born Again, justice is always listening.

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Echoes that never fade

Music isn’t just a backdrop in Daredevil: Born Again. It is memory, identity, and fate playing out in every note. "Mi Canto" carries the defiance of a man who refuses to be erased. "Dreams Tonite" is the fleeting hope of something better. "Crionics" is the cold inevitability of what’s coming.

And Una Palabra—a song about the power of words, or the void they leave behind—becomes the last thing we hear before the coquí’s final cry.

Some voices fade. Others? They become legend.

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