An Ethnography of Escapism: Copenhagen’s Alternative Scene

By Lola Nam de Giorgio

Out of the plasticky pretense of Copenhagen chic that seems to dominate our perception of the city, emerges a new community of artists fighting against the current in order to showcase their connection to the capital. You may have heard of Elias Rønnenfelt, the frontman of Iceage who has now gained even more traction as a good friend and frequent collaborator of Dean Blunt. Or maybe the song ‘You got time and I got money’ by Smerz has taken over your algorithm. Yet this doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface or encapsulate the variety of sounds that seem to trickle out of Copenhagen. Consider this an introduction of sorts, an invitation into the vast and varying junctions of Danish music. 

Beyond the perfect rows of Nyboder houses, and the immaculate cleanliness — there is also a push to escape, to return back to the countryside in search of clarity. For those who grew up in Copenhagen, summers were marked with car trips to the summer houses outside of the city, smacking down on the gravelly sand with the wet soles of our feet, ending the day with card games in the garden and the echo of crickets that don’t cease until the early morning. Idyllic in its wholesome charm, there are artists like ML Buch who wish to capture this return to the countryside in their music. Suntub especially, captures this vast space, the filtering of natural light into the landscape through these drawn out sounds on the keyboard, mixed with a sound of synth that almost bounces off of the album. The opening track ‘Pan over the hill’ captures this well, and when Buch’s voice comes in and a schism happens between the present listening experience and the world around us. It feels reminiscent of Gary Numan’s work in the eighties with synth and electronica – perhaps a less dark version of Numan that reads like an open call to the world beyond city life. Moreso, how time seems to stop and fragment itself once we remove ourselves from the urban landscape. Buch has not released anything since 2024, her latest single being ‘getting to know each other’, a three minute track that encapsulates her style: repetitive, reflective, and mildly somber. When I first came across her work, I struggled to understand how she managed to contain this wildness and love for the world beyond the city into something as ambitiously tight as Suntub. Each song filters through as a continuation of the other, acting reflexively into the next (although this is a feat in itself). 

Perhaps then, escapism is the core feature that seems to unite the fast-growing world of the new alternative music scene in Copenhagen. For Buch there was a dissatisfaction in the city (she mentions having to leave in order to find her voice) and the noise that came with it - explaining why her music has situated itself in a more minimalist, yet everlasting sound. But for others, the notion of escape comes through other means. I would classify the works of Astrid Sonne, Smerz and Clarissa Connelly as trying to breach a coldness that comes with the urban world. There is a warmth to their respective discographies - it feels more playful, with each artist taking different directions in translating the importance of intimacy and connection. Connelly’s music transcends into a long ode to Nordic mythology, taking influence from her Scottish heritage and Scandinavian upbringing. Think: string plucking, choir-ish vocals, and a lot of layering. History becomes sewn into the fabrics of the songs, and it becomes kind of fascinating to see the way that mythology permeates and persists into the present. This all goes to show the diversity within the artists emerging out of Copenhagen – all pushing the boundaries of music, taking and splicing the past into something new and dynamic, which is all to say that the music movement is reflective of the essence of Copenhagen in its ability to play around with the idea of transformation. It retains its historical sentiment but consistently pushes the boundaries of arts and culture. 

To wrap up this indulgently praiseful piece, some attention should be turned to Elias Rønnenfelt. Beyond his work with Dean Blunt, Rønnenfelt highlights what it means to survive fame and to keep on going. As the frontman of Danish band Iceage and various other projects, Rønnenfelt has been in the spotlight since the early 2010s, but it feels like he has only just come into his own with his latest album, Speak Daggers (released in mid-October this year). With a thirteen-song tracklist, Speak Daggers takes on a completely different direction: it feels gritty and glamorous but riotous as Rønnenfelt references the likes of Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth in ‘Kill Your Neighbour’ and makes further references to the death, and containment.  “This generation’s not free” he muses on the second track off of the album, ‘Love How It Feels’. These are by no means groundbreaking or original topics to explore, but there is a universality in the music that Rønnenfelt puts out. Much like Yung Lean’s Jonatan, Rønnenfelt’s work is more contemplative, exploring the repercussions of the fast life. 

This should hopefully highlight the vastness of the music emerging out of Copenhagen, pulling on history and the cultural effects of the growing interest in the city. The music scene remains fastidious, personable and at times playful. There seems to be no bounds that artists in this cultural hub cannot break through.