Ydegirl and the Surrealist Affections of Scandi Art-Pop
The surrealist affection from Danish-bred musicians seems to be transcending art-pop. This contemporary scene emerging from the country’s capital has a specific musical aura. Some have described it as “dream pop”, “alt-indie”, and compared the sound to the likes of 80s Cocteau Twins or Mazzy Star, but no description has quite hit the spot. The satisfaction of finding the perfect definition for this type of music is a somewhat arduous task, and comparing the scene to another in time doesn't quite satiate.
Dissecting why this is has led me to one conclusion that sets the scene’s success apart: its female forefront. The artists pushing Denmark’s avant-garde music are mostly women. Musicians such as Ydegirl, Fine or Astrid Sonne are smoothly soothing their surrealist experience of the world into our musical landscapes. Their sound is casual but confounding, and effortlessly resonates with the weirdness of modern womanhood.
Typically, as a major lead in pop-music production and distribution, music being created in Scandinavia can be saturated and predictable. But with this new female-led movement, Scandi-pop seems to be driving us into a fantastically dingy cave, where emotions are translating the musical experience rather than music translating the emotional experience. Each artist incorporates an idiosyncratic coolness to the sound by experimenting with dissonance and vocal tone that exudes an unusual ease when listening and lulls us, effortlessly, into their own mystified world – one that's relatable, soft and, well, a bit absurd.
Dissecting why this is has led me to one conclusion that sets the scene’s success apart: its female forefront. The artists pushing Denmark’s avant-garde music are mostly women. Musicians such as Ydegirl, Fine or Astrid Sonne are smoothly soothing their surrealist experience of the world into our musical landscapes. Their sound is casual but confounding, and effortlessly resonates with the weirdness of modern womanhood.
Typically, as a major lead in pop-music production and distribution, music being created in Scandinavia can be saturated and predictable. But with this new female-led movement, Scandi-pop seems to be driving us into a fantastically dingy cave, where emotions are translating the musical experience rather than music translating the emotional experience. Each artist incorporates an idiosyncratic coolness to the sound by experimenting with dissonance and vocal tone that exudes an unusual ease when listening and lulls us, effortlessly, into their own mystified world – one that's relatable, soft and, well, a bit absurd.
In popular culture, this “weird-girl” archetype was rarely celebrated. Constrictive record labels and algorithmic listening have homogenised music, and respectability politics have forced a lot of musicians in the 2020s into a very linear path of artistic growth. The solidarity of a stable image and sound is advertised as the key to becoming a successful artist, especially for those who are independent from labels. This type of branding has arguably left us with a stale relationship between consumer and subculture, killing the latter in the process. The landscape for subculture to exist within has been diminished with the commodification of personality – those that aren't good/don't want to commodify their identity rarely find success because communities aren’t as concentrated as before. With our inundated access to information, defining subculture has become almost obsolete, and the art of “tapping-in”, a jest at our unoriginality.
This is where the female frontier of Copenhagen's music scene is bound ahead. It seems as though they have rebirthed the art of subculture, not only through their music, but also through their collaborative interactions between the intersections of art, fashion, and culture. They have managed to conjure a community that cradles artists and celebrates a similarity of tone without erasing personal independence. The city itself seems to inspire much of that tone. Copenhagen’s sound is metallic; it is grungy in an effortless way. Maybe it's the coastal landscapes, or the harbour town essence, but music being produced there seems to send us, as the listener, adrift.
Ydegirl is the epitome of that. Ydegirl’s (real name Andrea Novel) name is borrowed from a young girl’s body that was found almost perfectly preserved after nearly 2000 years in a bog in the northern area of the Netherlands. It is believed that she was part of a sacrificial ritual in the Iron Age. Myth and mystery surround her existence, and local folklore swirls around her story ever since her excavation in 1897. Andrea observes the bog as a sort of limbo state between life and death, and through her music, explores the layers of limbo states that she herself was trapped in. Her melodies are wild and are sung comfortably with an ethereal breathiness. The beat most of her repertoire sits on is steady and traverses us forward, as if we are moving with the Baltic pulse of the city. Her lyrics are almost like an effortlessly surreal train of thought.
This is where the female frontier of Copenhagen's music scene is bound ahead. It seems as though they have rebirthed the art of subculture, not only through their music, but also through their collaborative interactions between the intersections of art, fashion, and culture. They have managed to conjure a community that cradles artists and celebrates a similarity of tone without erasing personal independence. The city itself seems to inspire much of that tone. Copenhagen’s sound is metallic; it is grungy in an effortless way. Maybe it's the coastal landscapes, or the harbour town essence, but music being produced there seems to send us, as the listener, adrift.
Ydegirl is the epitome of that. Ydegirl’s (real name Andrea Novel) name is borrowed from a young girl’s body that was found almost perfectly preserved after nearly 2000 years in a bog in the northern area of the Netherlands. It is believed that she was part of a sacrificial ritual in the Iron Age. Myth and mystery surround her existence, and local folklore swirls around her story ever since her excavation in 1897. Andrea observes the bog as a sort of limbo state between life and death, and through her music, explores the layers of limbo states that she herself was trapped in. Her melodies are wild and are sung comfortably with an ethereal breathiness. The beat most of her repertoire sits on is steady and traverses us forward, as if we are moving with the Baltic pulse of the city. Her lyrics are almost like an effortlessly surreal train of thought.
Emo Regulation, a collaborative EP between Ydegirl and RIP swirl, introduces us to a more “rocky” sound of her repertoire, mixing electric guitars with heavenly synths and bending vocals to add a dissonance to the mood. “Let’s Make Out” captures the contemporary art-pop persona perfectly. Lighthearted but grungy, the song reclaims the laissez-faire attitude of post-gendered sexuality that rejects structured love and embraces the exploration of desire. This is a common thread throughout her discography. “Stone Femmes” beautifully mimics the petal-like adventure of traversing queer sexuality. Angels and Trees epitomise two bodies, and we are pulled through the tension of exploring a partner intimately through the awkward suspense between delicacy and assertiveness. This is apparent in the visual language paired with the song's release.
The promotional images, as well as the music video for the song, are all related to chess. We become spectators in a chess tournament, getting glimpses of the players' faces, deep in thought about what their next move should be. The lyricism intertwines smoothly and, as they run through the streets of Copenhagen bearing sizable pawns and bishops, we are immersed in the excitement that comes with playing, not just the game, but with each other.
The emblem of chess is a clever choice for Ydegirl’s surrealist journey, as here, the game is synonymous with traversing queer relationships. Tensions of sexuality, intimacy and tenacity are empowering. It is an insight into the female and queer artists of Copenhagen who are playfully inspiring a whole aesthetic movement, one that empowers through the push and pull of awkward and cool. The song is a true affiliation with this Scandinavian subculture of weird-womanhood, ultimately weaving together not a shared experience, necessarily, but a shared sensibility instead; one that embraces vulnerability and sonic exploration.
With the new year, Ydegirl is releasing new music: One of the tracks, named “My Rider”, moves like a poetic monologue whose course is pulled along a punchy dream beat that treads the yearning-based story forward. It is exciting. Uplifting, in a tense way, as if she is talking intimately with us, the listener. Her new songs have a sound that seems almost anti-algorithmic. The tone of her voice is comparable to Caroline Polachek’s, using vocal flips and layering vibratos to move between chords in an unexpected way. Straight sounds are decentred. The essence of her upcoming release, “Emo Hero”, is almost watery as we wade through the song and the story, led by a simple acoustic guitar that her melody paces around. Parts of the instrumental have been echoed, reverberated, and reversed, and make the atmosphere gently spin, as if in a dreamlike state that we are lulled into by an ambiguous woodwind instrument, almost fairy-tale-like, but that of Grimm’s.
Copenhagen’s musicians aren’t trying to establish a clean-cut sound; instead, they are exploring the murkier sides of life. Artists like Ydegirl have really embodied this liminality with a clarity that feels new, and by doing so, have carved out a subculture that nurtures individuality. Through their music, we are reminded that music is, has been, and can still be a site of imagination – where mystery mixes with relatability, and lightheartedness transports us through a surrealist journey of desire and fantasy.
The promotional images, as well as the music video for the song, are all related to chess. We become spectators in a chess tournament, getting glimpses of the players' faces, deep in thought about what their next move should be. The lyricism intertwines smoothly and, as they run through the streets of Copenhagen bearing sizable pawns and bishops, we are immersed in the excitement that comes with playing, not just the game, but with each other.
The emblem of chess is a clever choice for Ydegirl’s surrealist journey, as here, the game is synonymous with traversing queer relationships. Tensions of sexuality, intimacy and tenacity are empowering. It is an insight into the female and queer artists of Copenhagen who are playfully inspiring a whole aesthetic movement, one that empowers through the push and pull of awkward and cool. The song is a true affiliation with this Scandinavian subculture of weird-womanhood, ultimately weaving together not a shared experience, necessarily, but a shared sensibility instead; one that embraces vulnerability and sonic exploration.
With the new year, Ydegirl is releasing new music: One of the tracks, named “My Rider”, moves like a poetic monologue whose course is pulled along a punchy dream beat that treads the yearning-based story forward. It is exciting. Uplifting, in a tense way, as if she is talking intimately with us, the listener. Her new songs have a sound that seems almost anti-algorithmic. The tone of her voice is comparable to Caroline Polachek’s, using vocal flips and layering vibratos to move between chords in an unexpected way. Straight sounds are decentred. The essence of her upcoming release, “Emo Hero”, is almost watery as we wade through the song and the story, led by a simple acoustic guitar that her melody paces around. Parts of the instrumental have been echoed, reverberated, and reversed, and make the atmosphere gently spin, as if in a dreamlike state that we are lulled into by an ambiguous woodwind instrument, almost fairy-tale-like, but that of Grimm’s.
Copenhagen’s musicians aren’t trying to establish a clean-cut sound; instead, they are exploring the murkier sides of life. Artists like Ydegirl have really embodied this liminality with a clarity that feels new, and by doing so, have carved out a subculture that nurtures individuality. Through their music, we are reminded that music is, has been, and can still be a site of imagination – where mystery mixes with relatability, and lightheartedness transports us through a surrealist journey of desire and fantasy.
Photography and Creative: Iris Luz
Styling: Calvin How
Movement: Ethan Samuel Jacobs
Location: Jake Empson
Props: Jacob McAlindon
Hair: Paula McCash
Hair and Makeup: Ruby Yu
Styling: Calvin How
Movement: Ethan Samuel Jacobs
Location: Jake Empson
Props: Jacob McAlindon
Hair: Paula McCash
Hair and Makeup: Ruby Yu