ANNABEL LEE - S O R O R - MILK TV | CANCELLED

Beyond sounding absolutely badass, this modern western moniker alludes to a fierce femininity that won’t think twice before throwing kicks right where it hurts, only to smile melancholically at the sun minutes later.

ANNABEL LEE

Formed in Brussels in 2016 by the bubbly Audrey Marot, Annabel Lee is a garage pop band that has no qualms ploughing into grunge or punk when heads start bobbing somewhat too sluggishly. Beyond sounding absolutely badass, this modern western moniker alludes to a fierce femininity that won’t think twice before throwing kicks right where it hurts, only to smile melancholically at the sun minutes later.

Beams of sunshine drench every track on Wallflowers, their debut EP (out June 2nd on Luik Records). A mix of candour, lucidity, bluntness, and post-adolescent cynicism, pervading Audrey’s half-crystal-clear, half-jaded vocals, and that can be found in Australian artist Courtney Barnett or Californian duo Best Coast.

The gang was initially made of Audrey (vocals-guitar), Charles-Antoine (Mountain Bike’s hard-hitter), and Vankou (Animal Youth, Black Sheep). The happy little posse recorded its debut EP in a pony club nestled in the Hainaut province. Mountain Bike’s Aurélien stopped by to add a layer of shimmering guitars, which give Wallflowers its “beach bitch” vibe. A recent reshuffling saw Charles-Antoine hand over drumming duties to Alexandre De Bueger (Alaska Gold Rush) and Valérian’s arrival as second guitarist. The band’s now ready for the coolest stages of the country (Botanique, Vecteur, Atelier 210,…).

S O R O R

S O R O R was created on a foggy day as only Brussels can make them. Three women were cooking exquisite pies (well actually two of 'em, the other one was just eating) when suddenly a car crashed in the kitchen and a drunk ex convict got out of it. As the four of them met, a nuclear fusion happened and a sound full of sweat and taste came out of their armpits.

MILK TV

The power trio feeds on playground nostalgia, cheep TV programs and a good dose of post-Reagan cynicism to bring some jerky and raucous pieces of rock music that feel like Devo, Wire, Sonic Youth & Deerhoof ain't standing too far in the rear mirror. And you're driving your old cousin's shitty Honda Civic, but you wish it were a DeLorean flying under the milky-way.