Toxe I started making music when I was really young—around 15. My brother got me Ableton back then and really pushed me to start. He was the one who initially got me into it, but after a while, he stepped back, and I was able to explore and discover things on my own. My latest album leans heavily into lyrics and singing, which is something new for me. But I’m not looking to stop with music itself; I’m always finding ways to build on it. I also recently graduated with a degree in architecture, and I think that mindset—of constantly adding layers and depth—applies to everything I do.

Courtesy I read that both your parents are artists, which, honestly, made me a bit jealous. 

Toxe They’re very local artists in Gothenburg, where I’m from—and actually, I’m in Gothenburg right now. My dad’s a sculptor, and my mom does a bit of everything, though lately, she’s been making costumes for theater. They both work a lot with scenography and public art projects.

Courtesy This feels like a very Scandinavian thing. In the Danish art scene, a lot of young artists I know are involved in public sculptures and similar projects. But in Germany, none of my artist friends or anyone from the scene here would ever do something like a town hall sculpture. In Scandinavia, contemporary artists take part in these traditions, due to the funding and cultural focus.

Toxe That’s probably true, I think for many public building projects here there is always part of the budget set aside for public art or something of a requirement. I like public art in the same way i like pop music, it’s for the people and more integrated into everyday life where it can really make big impact.

Courtesy There’s this Danish artist, Poul Gernes, who was a 1960s provocateur. He did a lot of school and hospital decorations, as well as some iconic public commissions. One of his most famous works is a building in Copenhagen called the Palads. It’s this pastel pink cinema right in the middle of the city—anyone who’s taken the train into Copenhagen would recognize it.The building itself is kind of controversial. It was originally an old station building, probably built around 1900 or earlier, and it had that classic architecture of the time. When it became a cinema, they decided to do this big PR stunt—they completely covered the building in construction materials so no one could see it and then commissioned Gernesto to transform it. He painted it this bold, almost garish pastel pink and many other off colors that looked absolutely wild. When they revealed it, it caused a huge stir. Something like that would never happen today in a Scandinavian city—they’d be much more cautious. But back then, it was a major statement. Now, they’re planning to tear it down, which is bittersweet. I’ve been involved in a project documenting the building for a book. I wasn’t doing traditional architectural photography, since that’s not my thing, but I was capturing portraits of the building.

Toxe You’re also a photographer, right?

Courtesy I do photography as part of my art practice, but not in the sense of being a photographer, if that makes sense. This project is an example of the kind of town hall or public art commissions that feel so distinctly Scandinavian. 

Toxe I hadn’t really thought about it specifically as a Scandinavian thing, but it’s probably true. Even though I’m very different from my parents in what we make and how it looks, I think they’ve definitely influenced me—particularly in terms of working with space and spatial ideas. They’re very sculptural and focused on things like architecture or engaging with existing spaces and places in the city. I think that influence really shaped me, more than anything else.

Courtesy Why did you study architecture?

Toxe When the pandemic hit, I thought, This is the perfect time to study. I’d always wanted to study at some point, but, you know how it is—when you’re DJing and working on projects, it’s hard to find the time to stop and do something like that. The timing just worked out. So, in 2021, I moved to Amsterdam to study, and I spent the last three or four years there. I just finished this summer. Did you study?

Courtesy I studied a few different things but didn’t finish most of them. I did complete a bachelor’s at the conservatory, though. Otherwise, I spent some time studying psychology and cultural studies— art history and similar topics—at a master’s level, but I didn’t finish. But it’s fine..You’re not gonna get many jobs from reading Judith Butler or Foucault.

Toxe It’s a good addition to what you’re making, similarly to the way I studied architecture. It wasn’t like a classic, technical school. It was more of an art school, you know? We read a lot about architectural theory, and people were exploring all kinds of things. It felt less strict—more like something you could add to any art practice, or even use if you wanted to be a writer or do research. It was very open in that way.

Courtesy I think one of the first art history books I read was Gombrich’s The Story of Art. It kind of ends up being the story of architecture and art: Since the Renaissance, all the artists were architects too. You can’t really talk about one without the other—the influence is so intertwined, with the same people designing buildings and creating art. So unless you go to a really technical school, those two things are kind of unavoidable—they’re just linked together.

Toxe Of course, totally—I fully agree. It feels like such a valuable thing to have studied. There’s so much interesting reading that really adds to how you see the world.

Courtesy How was it to write lyrics for your album?

Toxe Um, I think writing lyrics is probably the newest part of my whole music-making process. Singing and using my voice is something I’ve always done, even before this album. Like, I’m always humming or singing when I make melodies or harmonize—it’s just a tool I use when I produce. But this is the first time I’ve actually put my voice directly into the production, so that part felt more natural. The lyrics, though—that’s what’s really new for me. I didn’t originally plan for them to be in Swedish; it just kind of happened. I think there are a lot of sounds in Swedish that fit my voice really well. Plus, I have this strange, awkward relationship with the language because I haven’t lived in Sweden since I was 18. My Swedish feels very simple, very teen-like, and I actually like that awkwardness. It works for this kind of poppy, teeny-sounding record. The lyrics are simple and repetitive, and I really like how that turned out. I feel like this is just my first attempt, though, and I want to do more of it. I’ve always loved paying attention to lyrics when I listen to music, and now it feels like this whole new world has opened up. But yeah, lyric writing is definitely the most awkward part for me. It’s also what I struggle with the most, but I like that. I like when something feels a little awkward, difficult, or uncomfortable. It’s a good challenge. Did you sing or write lyrics before?

Courtesy I have an awful singing voice, so that’s never gonna happen. But this is the first record I’ve done with lyrics—not my voice, but still. When I started working on the album, I wanted to include lyrics, so I started paying a lot more attention to poetry. I was reading a lot and kind of absorbed that. I’ve had this idea for a while, though—that I wanted to collaborate with writers I know. Not songwriters, but friends who are art critics, artists with writing practices, or authors. This album felt like the perfect opportunity to make that happen. For example, I commissioned a text from Sofia Defino Leiby—she’s an American artist, a painter, but she also writes and released a book last year. I gave her a theme to work with, which was breadcrumbing. You know, when you’re dating someone or in a situationship, and they’re just giving you the bare minimum—little breadcrumbs—to keep you hooked. I had this idea for the first song, gave Sofia the concept, and she wrote a longer text for it. Then I worked with a Singaporean singer Sophie Joe, she’s this really technically amazing singer—and we edited the text together into the song. I did something similar with the Danish author Lucia Odoom. I asked her to write a song as well, and then I edited it down to fit. It was a really interesting process.

Toxe So they all kind of just wrote a whole text, and then you edited it down?

Courtesy They wrote a whole text, and then I edited it. I worked closely with the vocalists, recording them in my studio and shaping the final piece. Of course, I also wrote all the music. I did this with four different writers for the album, so you end up with these longer texts that sit somewhere between songs and poetry

Toxe There are so many ways to work with words and music—it’s really exciting. Even doing something like that, or writing for others, feels like it would be so much fun. It’s like this whole new world that’s opened up, and I’m really excited about it.But for me, compared to what you’re describing, the way I made my new album was pretty different. I just hummed nonsense over the songs first, like placeholder sounds, and then I translated that into words. It wasn’t this thing where you start with a full text and then shape it into a song, or chop it up and structure it. It was more about fitting real words into the nonsense sounds I was already making.

Courtesy What was the name of that beautiful Scottish band that used nonsense lyrics a lot? 

Toxe Cocteau Twins? Yeah, I mean, I guess that band just kept it that way—leaving it as nonsense sounds. But I think a lot of people’s process starts like that. You kind of just sing nonsense. For some people, it’s very much like, “I’m writing a poem, and then I’m putting it into a song,” or, “I’m freestyling words as I go.” For me, it was really hard to just freestyle words. I think it’s because I’m also thinking a lot like a producer. It makes more sense for me to hum things first, and then construct the words afterward. It’s kind of a mix: it’s intuitive because I’m just singing freely, but the word aspect feels very deliberate and organized—like a producer’s approach.

Courtesy Do you work very much in the grid as a producer? Like, in terms of 4/4 timing and the way you compose—how structured are your songs?

Toxe Yeah, I think so. My songs usually have a clear structure, but they evolve and change in different ways. I wouldn’t say I’m too rigid, but I’m definitely structured. I’ve never been the kind of person who had a lot of instruments around me when making music. I’ve always worked on my laptop, so I never really jammed with people or recorded live instruments. I guess that naturally makes my process more “griddy.” Adding a human voice does make things a bit more fluid, but in general, my approach is pretty structured. I did make a soundtrack for a movie once, though, and that was very different. It involved a lot of field recordings and creating ambiances, more about capturing moods than following a strict grid. It was for a small film my friend made and something I released on PAN Records a few years ago. That was the first time I really stepped outside of that grid-focused approach, but in general, my work is very laptop-based and structured. What about you? How do you approach it?

Courtesy No, it’s all over the place for me. I work with a lot of musicians, and it’s kind of complicated for them to work with the material I make because it’s so disjointed. Even for the singers, it’s probably a bit of a nightmare, but we figure it out in the end. I don’t really stick to a set grid, and a lot of the basslines aren’t in 4/4—like, they end up being kind of poly-rhythmic without me intending for it to be that way. It’s just what sounded good at the moment. The basslines, for instance, won’t be in 4/4, which makes mixing tricky for some dj’s. Some songs on the album, I think, sound really great like that, but it doesn’t always translate well if you’re someone like a DJ using the loop function to mix in. It just won’t work because everything is kind of going over an awkward number of bars. The length of the vocals or different instrumental parts doesn’t line up the way you’d expect, which makes it hard to mix in a conventional way.

Toxe I get what you mean—it’s not like I’m producing or making songs with the club or mixing in mind either, or even how it’s going to sound on speakers. It’s more about what feels right in the moment.

Courtesy And what about your new album, Toxe2?

Toxe It just kind of happened, really. I initially wanted to do a self-titled album because it feels like my first, and more personal”. But the title actually came about because of the artwork I created. I was really into movie logos and entertainment media—those flat, logo-style texts that capture the emotion and story of a film or game. So I started creating a logo for the album, just for the sake of having one, and it turned into something that felt right, which then became the album name. 

Courtesy It for sure streamlines questions of authorship! [laughs] I did an EP called The Violence of the Mood Board, which plays with the idea of authorship and critique. If you’ve ever seen mood boards—whether for fashion, a photoshoot, or some creative project—you’ve probably noticed how they often appropriate images from photographers, visual artists, and other sources without any credit. A friend of mine, an art critic, Jeppe Ugelvig, wrote an essay, which touches on how the fashion industry tends to appropriate images from artists and incorporate them into fashion mood boards or campaigns without giving credit. But the critique goes both ways: the imagery used in the EP  artwork from that record  came from Sofia Defino Leiby, a visual artist and painter who makes collages and sometimes appropriates imagery from fashion. It highlights this reciprocal relationship between art and fashion, where both sides borrow and recontextualize without clear ownership. In the context of music, particularly dance music, the conversation around authorship, sampling, and originality is always complicated. It’s an ongoing discussion that doesn’t really hold much weight, but it’s still something I find fascinating. Fashion, too, is full of contradictions—it’s a space where appropriation is widespread and accepted, yet often ignored. It’s all part of this broader critique I’m interested in exploring, not because I’m particularly invested in fashion, but because it’s a field that’s deeply messed up in its own way. I’ve worked with smaller brands that I’m friends with, where I made music specifically for them, and I consider those collaborations more artistic. Then there are the situations where I’ve been paid to have my music used in a fashion show or ad. But the worst part is when bigger fashion brands steal your music—they’ll use it in their shows, and when they post the video online, they’ll change the music just enough to make it hard to prove legally. It’s a really shady move, and unfortunately, it’s something that happens all the time. It’s just part of the gross side of the industry.

Toxe I’ve only had stuff where people buy my music for runway shows, not really commissions. So, I don’t think I have a deeper relationship with fashion in that way, not really.

Courtesy Yeah, I get that. It feels like fashion’s kind of stuck right now, especially with the big houses just doing the same thing—studio shoots with celebrities, no real creativity. A few years ago, there was more excitement around it, but now it’s like everything’s watered down, even from brands like Balenciaga, where it feels more like behind-the-scenes stuff than actual fashion. It’s only the small, up-and-coming brands that feel fresh and interesting, but the industry as a whole doesn’t seem to be pushing boundaries at the moment. I wanted to know—what did you end up writing the lyrics about? Just going back to that, what are the songs about? Anything in particular?

Toxe Well, I think the general themes are very much like love songs, and also just isolation and loneliness. A lot of it reflects that phase of my life where I was just alone a lot, especially in Amsterdam. I didn’t really have a private life there, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing because I like being alone a lot. But yeah, the topics really revolve around that—isolation and those feelings.

Courtesy Unrelated question, but do you like Dutch art? I recently fell in love again with the old Flemish masters, like Jan van Eyck, that’s why I am asking. I was at the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin recently, I go there often actually, and they have some great Dutch painters, along with Renaissance pieces, like the Italians and others. I really enjoy painting a lot. As for architecture, is there a particular architect or movement you’re into? I’ve been reading a book recentlythat explores architecture and politics in Germany from 1918 to 1945. It focuses especially on the Bauhaus movement and the Nazi response to it, and how architecture became so politicized in Germany. It’s really intense, especially considering recent events in Germany. But I love architecture because it can tell you a lot about a city. You can even see when a city was bombed, just by looking at how much modern architecture there is. You can also learn a lot about a city’s political history by which buildings have managed to survive.

Toxe It’s hard to say if I have a specific favorite architect or movement, but over the past year, I’ve been reading a lot of Beatriz Colomina, if you’re familiar with her. She’s an architectural theorist, and her work focuses more on the relationship between mass media and architecture.  It’s been really interesting, especially in terms of understanding how the two—media and architecture—interact and shape our perceptions of space. She talks about this a lot in her book Publicity and Privacy, where she compares the work of architects like Le Corbusier and Adolf Loos, analyzing their different practices. Later, she shifts focus to modernism and mass media, particularly the transformation of domestic space. She explores how buildings, once transparent and open, have become spaces that are now staged for representation, and how we’ve become experts in crafting our own public personas. Colomina dives deeply into privacy, examining how our intimate spaces—the home, personal life—have become increasingly public. We’re all constantly exposed to representations of other people’s private lives, especially in today’s digital age. For example, I can see your house in the background here, on Zoom, and we all now live in a world where our homes are often seen as a backdrop for our online selves. We’re more exposed to curated representations of spaces, like in movies or social media, than to the actual physical spaces themselves. What interests me most is how this affects how we perceive and interact with space. We live in an age where the domestic space is both staged for online consumption and yet made to appear intimate, personal. It’s like we’re living in a movie set, framing and presenting our surroundings for an audience, but at the same time, this display of intimacy can be flattened, reduced to signifiers—symbols of our lives rather than their true essence. It’s fascinating how the domestic becomes a kind of branding tool, where we curate and perform intimacy for an online audience.

Courtesy I just finished Understanding a Photograph by John Berger, and he explores this really interesting distinction between commercial photography and private photography. What’s fascinating is how these two have completely merged now, especially with social media. The purpose of both has shifted, and it’s so relevant today. His perspective really adds to how we think about the act of capturing moments and their meaning. It reminds me of Susan Sontag’s writings on photography as well. Both she and Berger, contemporaries in their time, were essentially in conversation about media theory and the staging of images. Like, photography has always been a performance in a way—there’s no such thing as an “authentic” photograph. Every image is an interpretation or edit of a moment. And that’s why I think it’s so uncomfortable to have my photo taken. It’s not just a snapshot of me; it’s someone else’s aesthetic or interpretation of me in that moment. It’s their perspective imposed on me, which is a strange and unsettling feeling. I think people often believe there’s some kind of inherent truth in a photograph that doesn’t actually exist. It’s more of a constructed narrative—every photo tells a story, but it’s never a completely accurate reflection of reality. It’s like every image has been filtered through the lens of someone else’s view.

Toxe Yeah, exactly. It’s fascinating how this has evolved. We’ve always been staging ourselves in some way, whether through portraits or still lifes in historical paintings, where possessions and settings were carefully chosen to present a certain image or status. But now, in the age of social media, it’s like that process is happening in real-time, constantly being updated and shared. The line between what’s real and staged is so blurred. It’s almost like authenticity is no longer a fixed concept—it’s become performative in itself. The act of presenting your life, your home, your possessions, and even your emotions online is a performance, but it’s also embraced as “authentic.” It’s not about hiding the fact that you’re performing; it’s about making the performance feel genuine, relatable, or aspirational. Everyone is curating their persona, but at the same time, that curation is seen as real, as part of who they are. It’s a strange paradox, right? The performance becomes its own form of truth. And in this digital age, we’ve all become experts at shaping and performing these narratives about ourselves.

Courtesy That shift in how authenticity is viewed is so interesting, especially in creative fields like music. Ten years ago, there was so much emphasis on being “authentic” or “original,” as if it was a standard to strive for. Musicians were expected to have their own voice, and if you weren’t presenting something unique or deeply personal, it felt like you weren’t really succeeding. But now, as you said, it’s almost like that concept has been diluted, to the point where it’s not even about striving for authenticity—it’s more about how you present yourself, the world you build around your art. Now, it’s about the whole package—creating a brand, a persona, a narrative that feels coherent, whether or not it’s “authentic” in the traditional sense. And I think that’s what’s made the music scene, and even creative industries in general, so much more about curation and perception than about the work itself. It’s like people are less interested in whether the music is original or authentic and more focused on how it fits into a larger narrative or how it can be consumed. The idea of “authenticity” in the traditional sense feels almost outdated in comparison. It’s less about what you’re doing and more about the image you project while doing it

Toxe It’s fun to surprise people. I totally get that thrill of proving people wrong, of having them think one thing about you, then completely flipping it.

Courtesy It’s really contemporary, though, because even when I started my record label, the last one, Kulør, we had this big record with what was considered fast dance music at the time. It resonated a lot with people who are now in their late 30s or so, and up until a year ago, I was still associated with that sound. But since then, I’ve explored a lot of different genres. My approach to music is very eclectic. Yet, I’d have people, particularly men, come up to me and tell me I wasn’t being true to myself, saying things like, “Be yourself.” It was like they had this one snapshot of me—this moment that captured a version of me and they wanted me to always be that person. But for me as an artist, that’s not interesting. If people are expecting me to stay in that one frame, they’ll always be disappointed, because I can’t be reduced to that singular snapshot or sound they want me to fit into.I think in the art world, especially in contemporary art, there’s more acceptance of evolution in an artist’s practice. But in the dance music community, there’s still a lot of resistance to change. Some people have very rigid ideas of what authentic music is and what’s “acceptable.” It’s definitely a generational thing. That’s why movements like the ones at parties, like the deconstructed club oneS Dan booked in Berlin, where there were DJs breaking norms and pushing boundaries, always upset people. That kind of music still pisses people off in the dance music community today. It’s like, once you challenge these long-held ideas of what’s “authentic,” it causes friction.

Toxe Yeah, exactly! It’s fun to pull people along, surprise them. When they start expecting too much from me, I just get this feeling like, ugh, I can’t breathe. It’s suffocating. But I totally get that thrill of proving people wrong, of having them think one thing about you, then completely flipping it. It’s a nice feeling, like breaking free from their expectations and showing them something unexpected.

Courtesy A lot of artists I like in visual art are really trolly as well. Do you think that this recent conversation about expectation, staging, and the distinction between the private, intimate, and public – and what is given to people for consumption – connects to the art of DJing or performing? I definitely think about the audience I want to play for. When I DJ, I mix different genres, blending experimental music with classic house tunes. I’m always considering the dance floor, but it’s not about playing what the crowd expects at that moment. I focus on what the future of the dance floor could be. It’s not about playing commercially functional music – I know that right now, hard techno is popular, but that doesn’t mean I’ll play it just because it works. I’m not interested in it. For me, it’s about being mindful of what works, but also not playing music I find boring, even if it’s effective. That’s really important to me.

Toxe For me, I feel like I’m a pretty bad DJ in the sense that I just play whatever I want to play. Of course, I’m mindful of the situation I’m in, but when I DJ, I see it more as an extension of the music I make. I’m just trying to create a context for people to understand what I’m into by embedding my music into that wider musical world. If it’s a party, I want to make people dance and have fun, of course. Regarding performance, I’m very much a loner. I make music alone, and I really prefer to keep the process private until it’s finished. I don’t collaborate much, and I don’t share anything until I feel it’s ready. So, going from that private, intimate space to public performance is a big shift for me. It’s about translating something deeply personal into a public spectacle, and that transition is interesting, though difficult and weird at times. It makes me feel somewhat detached from myself, as you become a product, especially when you’re aware of using your own image and being very public. But there’s still a distance, especially online, since I haven’t performed live in front of large audiences yet. Now, with this album, I want to figure out how to perform live, especially with singing, and be on stage more.

Courtesy I’m curious—do you enjoy hanging out with groups of people? Growing up, did you have a friend group, or did you prefer individual friends? For me, it’s definitely individual friends. I’m not a group person at all; a dinner with four people max is ideal, and anything more than that starts to feel stressful. Unless I’m at a party or actual club.

Toxe The idea of a large group dinner doesn’t attract me at all.

Courtesy It’s interesting because, for someone who performs, people often expect me to be more social, but I just don’t thrive in big groups. I collaborate a lot, but my collaborations are usually limited to a max of three people in a room—me and two others. That’s when it feels like a really beautiful dynamic, but I don’t want anyone else around. I do enjoy performing, though, because it’s different. When I’m on stage, I’m controlling the room. I’m the one guiding the energy of the entire space, and I find that really interesting. 

Toxe No, exactly. I’m curious about how this transition works, because DJing is one thing—you’re just controlling the room and the sound, and it feels more technical that way. But then when it comes to singing live, it’s a completely different experience. It’s much more personal, more exposed in a way. I wonder how you navigate that shift, from being in control of the energy through music to sharing something so intimate with an audience.

Courtesy How do you feel about microphones? Because they fucking scare me.

Toxe I don’t know yet. I definitely need to have some kind of rehearsal or something to get into it. I’m excited though because I like the challenge and the uncomfortable feeling, but yeah, it feels awkward for sure. Like, I haven’t really sung live much, maybe once or twice, so it’s all pretty new to me. I didn’t even consider it when I made the album—like, “Oh, I want to make a vocal album and perform.” It wasn’t part of the plan. Now, I’m trying to figure out how to do it in a way that makes sense for me.

Courtesy Any shows planned? 

Toxe I’m heading to the US now and will be in New York for the rest of the year. I think I’ll start doing live shows in 2025.

Courtesy What are you doing in New York? 

Toxe I’m planning to work there for a bit—I might have a job at an architecture studio. I’ll be doing that while working on music, preparing for my live, and traveling a bit. I might want to move there long-term, so it’s a bit of a trial phase for me. You’re in Berlin, right?

Courtesy Yes. Which is kind of like New York, like a kind of sad New York now. No jobs, but the same prices, almost like.

Toxe You’ve been there for a while, right? 

Courtesy I’ve been here for about eight years, so I’m kind of stuck here now, a little bit. I think it’s going to be the one, though. Yeah, I’ve built a family here now.

Toxe Do you have kids?

Courtesy Yeppp!

Toxe Whaaaat? Wow! 

Courtesy I have a daughter that’s three years old, so the moving around has stopped. 

Toxe It’s beautiful. Do you think motherhood affected your music?

Courtesy It’s really just about time management. I am in a way much more productive than before. Now, I don’t have the same kind of time, and it’s frustrating because your whole perception of time changes when you become a parent. A lot of people use it as an excuse to not make art, or they just don’t have the resources. But the reality is, you have limitations unless you choose not to spend time with your kid, which isn’t an option if you’re trying to be an active part of their life. You really have to prioritize and be efficient with your time. And when I do have those days where I can just work, it’s honestly amazing.I think some people can have the structure without it, but for me, it gave me the structure and motivation I needed to become a proper artist, instead of just kind of floating around. 

Toxe Yeah, that makes sense. Also because you’re not doing that just for yourself anymore.

Courtesy Exactly, I do it for her too.