Becky and the Birds - Only music makes me cry now
As I connect with Thea Gustafsson, the creative force behind experimental Swedish pop outfit Becky and the Birds, she greets me warmly, standing in what looks to be a bustling café. Her phone held aloft, she offers a small window into her world. Fresh from a performance at London’s iconic George Tavern, she exudes a sense of ease, grounded by the familiarity of her surroundings. Naturally, she is sporting her signature, tutorial worthy scraped back bun, not a hair out of place.
We speak on the brink of a major milestone, the release of her debut album, Only Music Makes Me Cry Now. A record that challenges any preconceived notions of what modern pop can be, as it blends ethereal textures with the smooth undercurrent of 90s R&B. Ambient and haunting, it resists easy categorisation, drawing comparisons to Björk or more recently, yeule’s 2022 release Glitch Princess, with its distorted vocal delivery and DIY production. Yet, Thea’s work is uniquely her own, a testament to her unconventional journey, both musical and personal.
Raised in a musical household, Thea absorbed a wide range of influences from an early age. Her father, an accordionist, introduced her to Klezmer, a blend of traditional Jewish songs and Jazz, but it was her older sister’s love of Tupac, Wu-Tang Clan, and R&B that left the deepest impression on her. “All of that is basically who I am,” she confesses.
Her first forays into music came through local orchestras and choirs, experiences that would eventually shape her approach to composition. “These early experiences impacted the way I make music, I think of it as creating soundscapes” she explains. Her almost sculptural approach to her art is evident throughout Only Music Makes Me Cry Now, where layers of vocal harmonies merge with distorted textures, forming an intricate, almost tangible sonic entity that immediately absorbs the listener.
Photo Credit: Becky and the Birds by Oscar Lindqvist
At eighteen, she left home to study music production in the north of Sweden, initially opting to pursue the art of songwriting. “I just chose topliner because that’s what all the girls were choosing,” she recalls, however, creative frustrations soon crept in. “I had a lot of sessions as a topliner but always found myself getting annoyed at the producer. I kept thinking, ‘I could do that so much better.’”
Emboldened by this realisation, Thea began producing her own music, unencumbered by any technical constraints or deficiencies in her knowledge, “I didn’t know a lot of rules or techniques, which I think was a good thing, it allowed me to work around them in new ways.” Her experimentation eventually culminated in the release of her debut EP, Becky and The Birds, a project which marked a new era of creative liberation. “I just felt so free, so connected to myself and the music,” she recalls.
However, this sense of freedom would soon wane as she got to work on her second EP and new pressures began to weigh heavy on her shoulders. “My second EP was a bit more of a struggle,” she admits. “I was trying to find my way back to that place of pure creativity, excitement, and freedom.” Though Trasslig retained her signature style, its polished production was a significant shift from the raw, DIY sensibilities that initially defined her sound and some soul searching would be required in order for her to reconnect to her creative roots.
Photo Credit: Becky and the Birds by Oscar Lindqvist
It would be her time in London that would help spark the beginnings of artistic rebirth. Immersed in the city’s vibrant and diverse music scene, Thea found herself encouraged to embrace the imperfections latent within her music. “Sweden is very good at everything polished,” she notes. “If you look at our fashion, the history of our music, we’re very good at keeping it neat and perfect.” In contrast, London’s Grime scene and the multidimensional landscape of electronic music inspired her to experiment with a more unpolished aesthetic, broadening her sonic palette.
“I’d describe it as collages, intuitive, very sensitive, and a little haunted,” she says, considering her recent record. In addition to its sonic evolution, the project also charts a time of personal transformation for Thea. Written during a tumultuous breakup, it chronicles a journey of self-discovery, “I was writing it as I was finding myself,” she shares. “I’d been in that relationship for most of my adult life. Coming out of that, I was like, ‘Who the fuck am I? Who am I on my own as a woman?’”
In the midst of this emotional upheaval, Thea turned to her music to find solace. “That was when I recorded myself a lot, when I was singing and playing,” she explains. This process became an intimate act of vulnerability, capturing the rawness of her emotions during these hard times. The decision to record herself, without the protection of polished production, adds a layer of honesty and immediacy to the record. This unfiltered approach lends Only Music Makes Me Cry Now a unique emotional depth, inviting listeners into a space of personal catharsis that feels both deeply private and universally relatable.
Now, following the album’s release, Thea appears to have entered a new chapter. Reflecting on these changes, she confides, “I feel way more confident in myself than ever before. I feel more confident in my art and in myself, and that has had a huge impact on music-making as I’m not questioning every aspect of my life. I’m in a way more peaceful place, and I feel very creative and free.”
This renewed sense of confidence radiates throughout Only Music Makes Me Cry Now, a record that stands as a bold declaration of artistic freedom and individuality. As Thea continues to embrace the unpredictable and the imperfect, Becky and The Birds offers a refreshing vision of what modern pop music can be: unbound, fearless, and profoundly human.
Only music makes me cry now by Becky and the Birds is out now via 4AD.
