In recent years, the band Ão has made a strong mark in Belgium and across Europe with their enchanting blend of electronica, art pop, saudade, and alternative Latin. The quartet has shaped a boundary-defying sound that slips through any genre label. Their varied backgrounds and influences weave together naturally into a hybrid musical identity, much like Stromae, Rosalía, or C. Tangana before them.

Frontwoman Brenda Corijn, who draws from her Mozambican-Portuguese roots, sings in both Portuguese and English. Her warm voice mingles with Siebe Chau’s southern-tinged guitar, layered electronics from Jolan Decaestecker, and the eclectic percussion of Bert Peyffers.

In 2023, the quartet released their acclaimed debut album Ao Mar, earning glowing reviews, a MIA nomination, and extensive airplay. On stage, they quickly built an impressive reputation, touring widely at home and abroad.

Their second album, Malandra, is a fiery and captivating follow-up—more layered, rhythmic, tender, and forceful. The songs move between embrace and threat. The sound feels broader, more sensual, playful, and raw; the breath deeper; the rhythm more urgent.

The title—malandra, in Portuguese—resists easy translation. Its meaning is as ambiguous as the record itself. A malandra is a woman who moves through life with humor, intelligence, and charm, always following her desires and bending the rules to her will. Alongside her playful freedom lies a cunning, deceptive, sometimes manipulative side—but she remains unfailingly true to herself.

Each track on the album takes on a face: a character who inhabits the artwork and the music videos. The thirteen songs have gradually taken shape as personas that accompanied the band over the years. There is Orgulho, steeped in pride and melancholy; the rousing uncertainty of Talvez; Cinza, a critical portrait of suffering in a landscape of ash; or Cada Vez, which escapes on fickle milonga steps. The sleepless, ecstatic pulse of Aren’t You Tired sits alongside the faithful Volta, patiently asking you to return. The album opens with the “drums of judgment” in Me Condena, where the malandra puts herself on trial: “Condemn me,” she says, inviting the listener to judge her as she does herself throughout the record.

Malandra was shaped on the road—between tours, between countries, between versions of who they were. The creative process within Ão is never linear: songs arise from forgotten chords, hidden jams, scraps of text, accidents, iPhone recordings… They remain hungry for new sounds, which leads to rich production and the introduction of instruments such as charango, bandoneon, tiple, horns, synths, and cuica. The foundation remains serendipity and emotional impact; and like the malandra, the band stays true to itself. With this new album, they craft an ode to complexity, multiplicity, and the many forms of searching—a dedication to shame and shine, chaos and calm, love and escapism.

Live, Ão delivers a captivating and electrifying experience that mesmerizes audiences across Europe. Their dynamic sound—from fragile, intimate melodies to dance-driven beats—pulls listeners into a world of percussion, electronics, and intricate guitar work, illuminated by Corijn’s radiant voice. Nothing ever feels predictable. This singular atmosphere brings them to a wide range of festivals and clubs: from electronic and rock stages to pop, folk, and jazz festivals.

In 2026, Ão will present their new album on an international tour with stops in Italy, Germany, Austria, Luxembourg, Switzerland, France, and the Netherlands, among others. In Belgium, they will perform at Ancienne Belgique.

Ão is pronounced like meow without the me—[ɐ͂w̃] for the phoneticians. It means nothing and everything at once: something beautiful [aaw], something sad or painful [oww], a feeling of wonder [auuw]. But in this bio, it mainly means: something you’ve never heard before.