Swede smell of success

Swedish pop singer Robyn. (Universal Music Canada)

The creation of a pop diva is a process similar to the methods by which food scientists produce new candy flavours. Shrouded in secrecy and founded on esoteric formulas, it entails shaping otherwise average girls into exaggerated cartoons. The perfect pop princess is to the aspiring female performer what Cherry Blasters candies are to the tree-grown fruits they emulate; stickier, sweeter and more cherry-ish than any cherry could ever hope to be.

All of which is to say that when a wannabe diva diverges even slightly from the mould, success becomes harder to come by. Such is the case with 28-year-old Robyn, the Stockholm-born sensation who, at one point, was seen as Sweden’s answer to Britney Spears. Robyn started performing in her early teens, and was a protégé of super-producer Max Martin, the man behind hits like Since U Been Gone and Spears’s ...Baby One More Time.

“I don’t think I even know half of what Max Martin does, but being around [him and his team] has been very important to me,” says Robyn in a recent phone interview, reflecting on her early apprenticeship with the King Midas of bubblegum pop. “I’ve learned about how, when you write a song, it’s about letting it go instead of moulding it into something you want it to be. That can be the most difficult part of songwriting, realizing that it’s about not staying in control of the whole process.”

This week, a revamped version of Robyn’s self-titled 2005 album hits North American stores. (It was originally released independently in Europe and only available here as an import.) North Americans are most familiar with Robyn from her 1997 single Show Me Love, an effervescent if generic ditty that made it into the top 10 on the Billboard charts. Based on an exuberant chorus, a watered-down dance-pop sound (it evokes a peppier version of Paula Abdul’s Rush, Rush) and banal lyrics, the hit connected with international audiences.

Overwhelmed by her sudden fame, Robyn took a break from performing, citing “exhaustion.” Her next album, 1999’s My Truth, was darker and more ambitious, out of character for a performer who’d cut her teeth on cookie-cutter commercial pop. While hooky enough to score hits in Europe, the album’s edgier tone (it addressed controversial topics like abortion) dissuaded her label from releasing it in the States. To be fair, Robyn’s defiantly androgynous look and quirky esthetic has always placed her on pop’s fringes.

Still a star at home, Robyn became a footnote on this side of the pond. In 2003, Robyn bought her way out of her major label contract to found an indie label, Konichiwa Records, which is how she released her self-titled album in 2005.

Robyn performs in London, England. (Jo Hale/Getty Images)

Then something weird happened: it became a hit. The album includes the cheeky, cocky, bizarre Konichiwa Bitches, as well as the awesome, electro-tinged single Who’s That Girl, an ’80s-inspired proto-feminist anthem that sounds like Cyndi Lauper fronting Swedish synth-pop duo the Knife (who produced the track). But the disc wasn’t just embraced by fans of commercial pop; it also struck a deep chord with cynics in the left-field indie world. The caustic but influential critics at Pitchfork voted Robyn one of 2005’s best albums. All of a sudden it was, like, cool for hipsters to like Robyn.

“I think it has to do with all of us growing up around the same time,” the singer suggests, trying to explain why alternative tastemakers are suddenly getting her music. “People between 20 and 30, we share a lot of references and we grew up in the ’80s and ’90s, when pop music was interesting. That’s when you had artists like David Bowie, Kate Bush, the Police and Cyndi Lauper, who were making pop music while keeping their integrity intact. Because of that, the concept of making commercial music without sacrificing a critical edge isn’t so foreign to these tastemakers today the way it was, say, 10 or 20 years ago.”

Last year, Robyn’s single With Every Heartbeat hit No. 1 in the UK. A collaboration with club-friendly producer Kleerup, the wistful dance-pop ballad featured Robyn’s airy vocals atop a cushion of keening strings and OMD-style synthesizers. The popularity of that track — which is included on the North American reissue of Robyn — and the support of the indie crowd likely played a part in securing the Swedish singer an international licensing deal.

In conversation, Robyn is sharp and savvy, offering frank, eloquent answers with few digressions. As she takes charge of the interview, it’s easy to understand how she’s managed to sustain a career of such longevity and integrity where so many of her peers have faltered. While adamant about maintaining creative control, she acknowledges that she’s made certain concessions at the behest of her industry partners. One example: She recently contributed vocals to a bombastic remix of the Snoop Dogg track Sexual Eruption (the R-rated version of his bump-and-grinder Sensual Seduction).

“Of course, there’s a clear R&B/hip hop perspective on [Robyn],” she says. “That’s something I’ve done very consciously — that’s the music I grew up with, and it’s been [a particular] influence over the past couple years. And my American record label said that was the perspective that makes the most sense in [the United States]. [Playing that up was] a way to get more people on board and interested in my music. So they asked if I’d be interested in working with a rapper and doing vocals.

“I just said, ‘Don’t make me work with some sucky rapper like Akon,’” she laughs. “I said I’d work with more gangsta guys like Snoop or Mims or Method Man. And when [Sexual Eruption] came up, I thought it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up, ’cause [Snoop]’s been a big hero of mine for years. Usually, my collaborations are much more organic. With this, files were sent to me, and I sat down with [producer] Klas [Ahlund] and tried to figure out what would work.”

The influence of ’80s and ’90s hip hop is one of the delightful surprises on Robyn. On some tracks, her slightly lisping voice bounces over muscular beats reminiscent of Salt-N-Pepa and TLC; the foul-mouthed bravado of Konichiwa Bitches, Should Have Known and Handle Me are straight outta the gangsta-rap handbook — or the comic-book version of it, anyway.

That brazen attitude is refreshing coming from a female pop star, especially because the trash talk doesn’t hinge on skanky hypersexuality (à la Christina Aguilera’s Dirrty). Robyn’s drive to invest commercial pop with a critical edge and strong messages was inspired by her parents, who worked in Sweden’s independent theatre community when she was growing up.

“At a time when other theatre groups were very political, they were always interested in the human condition and what happened to people within larger political movements,” she says. “They were interested in how people communicated, in the art of telling a story.

“That’s something I’ve been very influenced by, the idea that something can be commercial or very democratic without losing its ability to tell a story. I think I’ve always worked in the meeting point between those contrasts.”

Robyn is in stores April 29.

Sarah Liss writes about the arts for CBCNews.ca.

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