The Swedish artist reflects on the influence of Stockholm's "BDSM party scene" and why indulging in "yourself and your sexuality" as a songwriter is just as valuable as heartbreak. A primary school music teacher by day, the artist was also a latex-clad purveyor of filthy pop. Tellingly, her second EP โ a self-assured slab of sexy, celebratory wonky-pop โ is self-titled. Clubs are closed at the moment. When I was a baby we lived in the city, and then when I was four we moved out to the suburbs โ and I always felt like that was wrong.
It made me very drawn to things that are a bit different, anything that felt a bit alternative. I always wanted to be a part of the big buzz of someplace else.
I met some kids at my school who were really into the scene. At that age, metal was the only place we could really go to be out with friends without getting into clubs. There was this place above a big shopping centre in the middle of the city, and on the top floor they used to have concerts every weekend.
I like the whole idea of punk culture โ being and doing whatever. This is a bit more self-assured. Much more joyful. I was writing it during the pandemic wishing for a better life.
We shot at her apartment โ and it turned out she was this crazy woman with a pole in the kitchen, and a swing in the living room. She filmed fetish cooking videos, too, and introduced me to all of these things.
