Scan Magazine
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Culture
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Columns
Space-themed Scandipop is taking off Whether it’s about righting the wrongs of space exploration in the past, or encouraging you to enjoy experiences that will leave you starry-eyed, Nordic pop music has seemingly been composed with a little bit of rocket fuel these past few weeks. By Karl Batterbee
There’s feeling detached from the rest of the world and then there’s being “up here in my UFO”. Swedish artist Patrik Jean’s new single UFO offers up some soul-searching soul music that’s as stylishly sparse as the cosmos itself. Danish trio Scarlet Pleasure have an on-repeat bop on their hands thanks to the clever creative call they made to pair their Nordic pop sensibilities with Southern European sounds and vibes. It just clicks. The title says it all, really – Festa Festa. Norwegian singer EMMY is out with a delightful concoction of Nordic folk meets Eurodance – all mashed up at just the right level of absurdity. Called Laika Party, it’s
a song pondering the possibility that Laika (the first animal to orbit Earth, when the Soviets used dogs to test the safety of space travel in the ‘50s) never died on her mission but in fact found a new life for herself on a distant planet. You might be hearing it a lot in May – EMMY co-wrote it with Irish songwriter Larissa Tormey, and it will be representing the Emerald Isle at the Eurovision Song Contest. Another tune you’ll probably be hearing a lot more of in May is Finland’s Eurovision entry – Ich Komme by Erika Vikman. As the German-language title alludes to, it’s a song that celebrates life’s pleasures; mirroring the rhythm of one pleasure in par-
ticular, by gradually increasing in tempo and building into a climactic finish so powerful, that the song literally cuts off mid-wail. You might need a cigarette afterwards. www.scandipop.co.uk
Monthly Illustration
Farmor’s diary My grandmother, or ‘farmor’ was an exceptionally poised woman whom I rarely saw without her lipstick perfectly applied or her brows neatly creased at the sight of us uncivilised grandchildren. She knew how to sit, how to dress and how to glare at people with objectionable manners. Although she was always kind, the gulf between us seemed unfathomable. I could never picture her young, which is why it came as a surprise when her childhood diary was discovered after her passing. More unexpected was its content. Farmor grew up in 1920s Stockholm, and – as it turns out – was not always so calmly composed. Rather, she went about town like a wild imp. Farmor played truant, hitchhiked (via horse and cart), lied and griped about school. She was sassy, bold, and set her sights on a boy when she was far too young, which led to some very familiar bouts of despair, bitter oaths to swear
By Maria Smedstad
been seen with another girl, and so now it’s OVER - also that her latest diet MUST start in earnest. But tomorrow. Whether she ever got around to it remains unclear, but five years later she married the boy, my granddad. And now I only wish that I could go back to the time when she berated me for being too audacious. I’d laugh and tell her that I knew she was exactly the same. Only worse.
off the ‘stronger sex’ and cunning plans to win him over. In other words, she was a teenager. She was me, when I was her age (although doubtlessly a whole lot cooler). It serves as a lovely reminder that often there is more that unites us than sets us apart, no matter the difference in countries and centuries. The diary ends with the revelation that farmor’s crush has
Maria Smedstad moved to the UK from Sweden in 1994. She received a degree in Illustration in 2001, before settling in the capital as a freelance cartoonist, creating the autobiographical cartoon Em. Maria writes a column on the trials and tribulations of life as a Swede in the UK.
March 2025
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Issue 176
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91