Lioris

Lioris doesn’t just sing – he exhales melodies like whispered confessions, spilling stories that dissolve into the night air like the last drag of a cigarette.

His voice is both a caress and a wound, rich with longing, dipped in midnight blue. Born into the hush of late-night vinyl and neon-lit solitude, Lioris never studied music – he let it stain him, seeping into his marrow like old lovers and unspoken truths. His debut album, Undressed Soul, is a journal written in sound, a collection of undone bow ties, warm sheets gone cold, and the heavy hush of a room once filled with someone else’s breath. His presence is a slow-burning film noir scene – trumpet sighing in the distance, upright bass humming beneath fingertips, brushed drums ticking like the pulse of a moment slipping away.

His music is for the sleepless, for the ones who drink their whiskey slow, for those who dream of lips they can no longer touch. Lioris is not here to be seen. He is here to be felt.