Mola

In the organizer's words:

Mola - that's the dramatically charged last fag, that's intoxicated flying and intoxicated falling. Mola - that's snappy gutter pop earworms and heartbreaking soul ballads that smell of punk leather jackets, that's pathos-soaked Italo crooning in a thunderstorm, that's bittersweet symphonies from the indie rock rumble cellar. Mola - that's Isabella Streifeneder's sometimes crumpled, sometimes gloriously roaring vocal bows, that's catchy, barbed guitar riffs, squeaking synths and dusty drums, that's the unmistakable signature of the eight-armed multi-instrumentalist and producer Markus Sebastian Harbauer. Mola - these are either wistful, merciful or gallows-humorous hymns to crumbling dreams, escapades, the crappiness of things and life without a driver's license, these are brusque punchlines against the lies of adults, these are tussles with one's own heart, this is "all great or all the same". Mola - that's a red heart vomiting, monster-like creature with poisonous green eyes, that's radical friction, that's "Snow in Summer", that's "Love Brutal".

Price information:

plus fee.