Tove Styrke has never been one to rush her art. For the Swedish pop auteur, good things take time—and four years after her last record, the wait is finally over. Much has shifted, both in her personal world and the chaotic landscape we all share.
Living through the present moment often feels like standing in an unceasing downpour of global noise. It is relentless, inescapable, and—whether we acknowledge it or not—it leaves its mark on us. Tove channels this exact collective anxiety into her fifth studio album, I thought this story wasn’t about me. Set across a single night, from dusk until dawn, the record captures a profound cultural shift. As Tove puts it, “I think there’s a collective feeling right now that we, as a society, are moving towards an inevitable ending or rebirth.”
Listening to the album, you will fall in love with its wonderful variety of sounds and influences. There are electronic elements, experimental moments, playful melodies and unexpected changes in mood. Some songs feel intimate and almost fragile, while others take you somewhere completely different. It is a record full of little details, and you can hear how much thought, curiosity and love have gone into making each track. Working with analogue synthesizers, live drums and electric bass, Tove and her collaborators have created something that feels both carefully considered and wonderfully free. “I found that I could think more creatively with fewer choices,” she explains.
“I decided to let go of all control, which led me to make the most personal project of my 16-year career.”
Music has been part of Tove’s life from an early age. Growing up in Umeå, Sweden, with a musician father and a family surrounded by music and dance, she was introduced to creativity long before beginning her own career. Of course, growing up in an artistic environment doesn’t automatically make someone a talented artist. But Tove has developed a musical language of her own over the years, and this new album shows just how much she is willing to explore and experiment with it.
What makes I thought this story wasn’t about me particularly interesting, however, is the personal journey behind it. What initially began as a story about someone else gradually became a confrontation with her own memories, fears and feelings. “I’ve spent my entire life running from my feelings, always focusing on the next thing, never looking back,” she admits. And perhaps that is one of the most interesting things about art: sometimes we discover something about ourselves that we weren’t even looking for.
In our interview, we talk about the strange times we live in, why she decided to let go of control, the creative freedom of working with limitations, and the curious story behind a voice recording made while lying on a studio floor. We also talk about how motherhood and biodynamic gardening have changed her perspective, the things she hopes to pass on to her daughter, her political rock band Året Var, and why she would rather discuss life and death than her craziest afterparty memories.
photography by Frida Marklund
Hey dear Tove, first of all congratulations to your 5th studio album “I thought this story wasn’t about me”.
“I feel like we are living in a strange phase of our time, and the album reflects what that does to a person.” are your words about the album. I think I know exactly what you mean, but could you tell me a little more about how you perceive this strange phase we are living in? And when did you become aware that your new album would grow out of these thoughts?
Thank you so much! I can’t believe it’s finally time to share this album, which means so much to me, with everyone. Inner and outer worlds colliding completely at last.
I think there’s a collective feeling right now that we, as a society, are moving towards an inevitable ending or rebirth. And that this affects everything we do and how we feel about our lives. That’s part of the reason why I chose to let this story play out chronologically over the course of one night, from sundown till dawn, with the threat of dawn drawing closer every minute as a metaphor for that ending or rebirth.
Ultimately, though, the album is also very much about your own life, inner conflicts and deepest fears. It touches on repression and the inability to truly face yourself. Would you say that working on this album was also a way for you to really encounter yourself? And what kind of inner conflicts and fears did making this album bring to the surface for you?
Exactly. I think it forced me to. I’ve realised that this album is part of a much bigger emotional journey I’m on. I’ve spent my entire life running from my feelings, always focusing on the next thing, never looking back. But you have to look back, look at where you’ve been, to understand who you are. I’ve always kept a healthy distance between myself and my work, never letting it get too personal. But this time around, I decided to let go of all control, which led me to make the most personal project of my 16-year career.
“I thought this story wasn’t about me” came together over several years. Was it a conscious decision to give yourself so much time to work on it, or did it simply evolve that way?
I’ve noticed that there’s always that much time between my albums. I have to let that part of my brain rest and make room for other things in between big musical endeavours.
“I’ve spent my entire life running from my feelings, always focusing on the next thing, never looking back.”
I’m listening to “Save me” right now, and it’s such a beautiful song. Could you tell me a little more about it – how it came about and what it is about?
Thank you! I love that song. It’s the last song on the album, with the ending folding into the beginning, making the story go on and on forever. The track seamlessly loops back to the intro. It starts with an acoustic guitar, as if someone at an afterparty is playing it while the first rays of sunshine make their way over the city skyline. You turn your face towards that new day, and it’s your choice what to do with it. It’s your choice how the story ends.
Originally, the album was supposed to be called “The Afterparty”, until you realised that the main character in the story, whom you thought you were observing, was actually yourself. Hence the new album title. Where did the title “The Afterparty” come from in the first place? What did you initially think the album was going to be about?
I felt like we’re living in the afterparty phase of our time, and part of the story could be taking place at an afterparty. The original title wasn’t bad; the problem was rather that it was too good. Because an afterparty could be part of the story, but it’s not the core of it. And the title kept getting in the way of the underlying themes. It’s not just a concept album taking place at an afterparty; it’s a metaphor, and the layers in there are important to leave some room for. I didn’t want to answer questions about my “craziest afterparty memory”. I wanted to talk about life and death. (laughs)
You had a wonderful team of artists working with you on this, including Magnus Larsson, with whom you co-produced it. You also decided to completely avoid samples, working exclusively with analogue synthesizers from the 1970s and 1980s, live drums and electric bass. So everything was either created live in the studio or with the help of analogue machines. How did this way of working influence or change your songs? Especially since you already had such a clear vision of what you wanted the album to sound like.
My meditation teacher once said that “structure gives you freedom”, and I find this to be so true. By creating a framework to work within, I eliminate a lot of choices that would otherwise tend to put the creative flow on pause. When you make music today, the choices and possibilities are endless. I found that I could think more creatively with fewer choices. It also kept the sonic palette cohesive, which was important with this album, as it’s really meant to be listened to in its entirety, from beginning to end. All the songs go together as a cohesive story and need to feel like they’re part of the same world.
Magnus originally comes from electronic music, and this also influenced the production process in certain ways. For example, you paid attention to giving each sound its own development and evolution, something that is quite common in electronic music but less so in pop. Could you imagine creating songs that move even further in an electronic direction?
Definitely. I loved this way of working. It’s a more intuitive process than the kind of building-block-y approach to arrangement that’s often used in pop. I like being able to glide in and out of different moods more smoothly, and I like that the changes can be really subtle. I also loved using longer instrumental parts to build up and break down the music before or after certain moments in the songs.
“I found that I could think more creatively with fewer choices.”
In “Sitting in the Fire”, a male voice talks about a strange dream in which he finds himself on a spaceship and sees himself as a child. Was this based on an actual dream of your own?
This is an interesting one that stands out from the other tracks on the album. I wanted a disruptive mood to creep in before we moved into the ending. I chose to collaborate with someone whose voice and delivery were really different from mine. My friend Paul Adamah improvised that whole part. He was lying on the floor in the studio, fishing this recollection, fictional or not I don’t know, out of himself. I like the ominous quality to it. I like the presence in his voice. I like that it can feel both silly and meaningful at the same time. Yeah, haha.
“Sunflower” is a song for your daughter, something you only realised afterwards because your partner told you. What are the most important things you hope to pass on to your daughter as she makes her way through life?
To be fearless, to be kind to herself and others. And to have fun.
Becoming a mother and reconnecting with nature also played an important role in shaping this new creative chapter of your life. You trained as a biodynamic gardener, and you mentioned that the album might not even exist without these two experiences. There is this idea of everything being connected, of everything having its own place and rhythm. Did you actually find yourself coming up with lyrics or song ideas while gardening? Or does the inspiration tend to come later, once you’re back in the studio, with gardening being more of a way to completely switch off?
The reconnection with nature and becoming a parent have changed my way of living and, in turn, changed my way of making art. Those two things might be the most life-altering events so far in my life.
Together with your partner, Sanna Sikborn Erixon, you also founded the political rock band Året Var. How political do you think art should be? And isn’t there also a risk that you might stand up for what you believe is the right side, only to realise later that perhaps you were wrong?
It’s your job as an artist to express your perspective. Your point of view is unique, and it’s the only perspective of value that you can offer the world, because it’s the only thing you can talk about from an honest place within yourself, where you know what is true. I’d be very surprised if solidarity with others, caring about our planet and wanting people to come together, which is what most of our songs are about, would ever be considered “the wrong side of history”. Well, maybe in a fascist state. And in that future, I’d rather be on the “wrong side” of power.
If you could go back in time, what advice would you give your younger self at the beginning of your career?
Care less, do more.
What did you want to be when you were a child?
A psychiatrist. (laughs)
Happiness is…
Not everything, and not always where we tend to look for it.
