“The Noisy Got Noisier, the Dreamy Got Dreamier” — Trentemøller on His New Album and the Freedom to Experiment

Copenhagen is having a moment. Suddenly, everyone is talking about the Danish capital and its creative scene. The city has been drawing international attention from a new generation of Danish musicians, with a fresh, hard-to-categorise sensibility being brought to the alternative music world by artists like Smerz, Erika de Casier, Astrid Sonne and Fine. 

However, long before the city became a familiar name in indie music circles, Anders Trentemøller was already doing something that feels familiar today: moving freely between genres, refusing to belong to any particular scene, and making music on his own terms.

Back in the 1990s, Trentemøller played in indie rock bands in Copenhagen, but he never really felt part of the local music community. The scene was divided into camps: electronic music had no place in indie rock, and guitars and live drums were out of place in electronic music. He has maintained that outsider mentality ever since, resisting the idea of belonging to one genre.  Even with shoegaze, he sees it as a different source of inspiration, not a revival of the music he used to listen to in his younger days.

This openness is evident throughout his latest, deliberately untitled album. As he puts it, 'The noisy got noisier, the dreamy got dreamier, and the melodic got even more melodic.' The record evolved from 'Swerve', the first song he wrote for it, which steered him towards a heavier, more distorted sound. This was partly in reaction to the more melancholic atmosphere of its predecessor, Dreamweaver. For the first time, every track features vocals, with an eclectic group of collaborators bringing their own voices and lyrics to the music.

Among them is Midwife, whose music Trentemøller told me had helped him through some difficult times. The two began collaborating after exchanging messages on Instagram, and they continued to work together without having ever met in person. This is a working method that suits him; he prefers the solitude of his own studio and believes that singers should have the freedom to interpret a song in their own way, avoiding the strict delivery of someone else's ideas. 

As Trentemøller prepares to take these songs on the road — performing the entire album in its original running order for the first time — we sat down ahead of its release to talk about the Copenhagen scene he once felt shut out of, his relationship with shoegaze, and why he has never been comfortable putting music into boxes.

“I don't recall a specific moment where I thought, 'Okay, now this is shoegaze,' because I don't really care what it's called. It's more about the vibe of the music and what it does to me—whether it's shoegaze or just good dreamy, dark, sad music. I like that.”

Before becoming known as an electronic musician, you played in indie rock bands in Copenhagen during the 1990s. What do you remember about those years, and how did the Danish alternative music scene look back then? Because outside of Denmark, I feel like most people outside the country have zero idea what was happening.

What did the local scene look like? Actually, I couldn't say either, because I never felt like a part of any scene—I was always an outsider. Especially back then, it was a very closed and snobby scene and I was never invited to anything. So I was really watching it all from the outside. Also, because I had electronic elements, I was not part of the indie scene. And because I had indie elements with guitars and real drums on my stuff, I was not welcome in the electronic scene either, because things were very divided back then.

It wasn't like now, where young kids are just blending genres and don't really care. Back then, it was very much about either you play indie rock, or you play electronic, or you play jazz, or whatever. And that was a bit of a shame because I really liked back then—as I still do now—to blend those genres and not think too much about what box you put music in, but just try to make good quality music. Apparently, that was not very welcome back then.

So it was only later that I felt a little bit more at home in the Copenhagen scene, but I'm still a little bit outside of the whole thing, I think. I'm just not part of any specific sound or scene right now.

You previously spoke about how Danish musicians used to look toward British and American artists for inspiration. But right now, the Danish music scene is actually exploding with so many new artists coming out of Denmark. When did you notice that shift happening, and do you think Danish alternative music has finally developed a recognizable identity of its own?

I definitely think there's a lot of new stuff coming out, especially from the Danish label Escho—they have Iceage and a lot of other great artists. The only thing is, to be honest, I feel like some of it sounds a bit the same. It's that tendency to settle into one specific sound. Now people are talking about 'the Copenhagen scene,' and of course, it's great that Copenhagen is on the map now. But I think it's a weird thing to talk about a specific scene in one city—even though I know Manchester had its own scene and stuff like that. I still feel like it limits the music, and I've never really liked that.

So while it's great that Danish bands are getting out there now, I'm not really into all the hype surrounding a single scene. Five years pass and then a new scene gets hyped, so all that hype has never been something I really care for—it stops being about the music and becomes more about needing to sound a certain way. It's just my feeling—not especially about the Copenhagen scene, but I always feel it's a little bit scary when music journalists find a new city and then everything is Berlin, or Manchester, and now Copenhagen. Hey, come on—it's about the music, and you can make music in a little town out of nowhere and it can be amazing. You don't have to fit into a certain scene and sound.

It reminds me a little bit of what we talked about earlier back when I started: that you could only sound like one scene, and if it was electronic you really had to be super electronic, and if you did indie rock it really had to be with guitars and bass, but no synths. So I think it's a little bit scary sometimes, actually.

I'm super happy for the Danish artists who dare to just make their music, even if it's not being picked up by The Guardian or whoever. There's definitely a tendency to hype the Copenhagen scene right now, and while that's nice, it can also get to be a bit much, I think.

You've mentioned in previous interviews that you listened to Slowdive and Ride when you were younger. It's interesting that, after exploring so many different musical directions throughout your career, you've gradually moved closer to shoegaze. What is it about the genre that has kept drawing you back?

It was not only shoegaze, I was also listening a lot to The Cure, The Smiths, and those post-rock bands. I think it's just music that really talks to me because it has so many layers and that dark melancholic vibe. I don't know why, but it was also music that I listened to as a teenager, especially The Cure and The Smiths.

So I'm not seeing it as going back to anything. I'm just inspired by parts of it, trying not to be nostalgic, but seeing where I can take the music further now. I'm definitely using a lot of those elements more and more. And maybe the next album will be more electronic again or maybe more folk inspired—for me, it's always very open when I start working on a new project where the music will take me. I'm trying to be open about that, feeling that I'm starting from scratch every time on a new blank page, trying to not repeat myself.

I found it curious that you shifted away from electronic music. In one of your interviews you said that at some point, it all started sounding the same to you—or at least the whole club scene did—and you started missing songwriting. That's particularly interesting because it's usually the vice versa: people make guitar music and then shift to electronic music because they see more possibilities there. In your case, it was the opposite. Do you still feel like electronic music sounds all the same?

Not all the same, but back then there was a tendency with all that minimal techno and stuff—it was pretty much what I call copy-paste music. A lot of the stuff coming out back then sounded really similar, I felt. So I was super bored with that sound.

Now, I think it's a very different thing. I really love the bands that are blending indie rock with drum & bass or whatever club elements. I really love bands like Total Life and Full Body 2; they're blending beats and electronic stuff with noisy shoegaze guitars. That is really great. But back then, as I said, it was not really something that people did that much, so I didn't feel welcome in any genre. I just decided to do my own stuff and do my own thing.

So going back to shoegaze, do you remember the first time you heard it? Was there a specific song or album that made you realize this was a sound you wanted to explore yourself?

I don't remember specifically with shoegaze because, again, I was listening to a lot of different music. I think it was more post-rock stuff that I listened to—Mogwai, bands like that—and then early Slowdive and Ride.

So I don't remember a certain moment where I thought, 'Okay, this is shoegaze.' Actually, in the beginning, I didn't even know that it was called shoegaze—I just loved the sound of it. It was dream pop and that whole dreamy quality combined with the noisier stuff. Of course, all the classic bands like My Bloody Valentine, and also The Jesus and Mary Chain, which was a little bit more rock. I also knew Danish bands like The Raveonettes, whose early stuff I really loved. It had similarities to '50s girl group pop songs, but still with really cool beats and guitar sounds. That's also why I chose to work with Sune Rose Wagner from The Raveonettes again, because I've always loved his way of singing and that whole sound.

The Raveonettes were maybe the only band, especially in Denmark, that dared to mix different genres like that. They had programmed drums, but still with a lot of noisy guitars. So I don't recall a specific moment where I thought, 'Okay, now this is shoegaze,' because I don't really care what it's called. It's more about the vibe of the music and what it does to me—whether it's shoegaze or just good dreamy, dark, sad music. I like that.

Shoegaze has experienced a resurgence among younger listeners in recent years. What do you make of this renewed interest in a genre that first emerged several decades ago, and why do you think it resonates so strongly with young people today?

As we talked about earlier, I've never really been that focused on genres, and I don't see myself as a pure shoegaze artist. I absolutely love the sound of noisy guitars and synths, and the whole aesthetic that comes with it, but I've always been a bit wary of ending up in one particular genre box.

I actually think music goes through these revivals roughly every 30 years. Just look at fashion—it works the same way! I seem to have landed right in the middle of a shoegaze wave right now, but to be honest, there have been shoegaze elements on my last four albums. So yeah, personally, I've never felt like part of a shoegaze movement as such.

What those tracks probably share is a foundation of melody, darkness, dreams and nightmares, grief, falling in love. It's not really about belonging to a particular scene, I feel. It's more music about life—and about feeling things through your senses in a way. But you can say that about all music! Maybe that's simply something that speaks to a certain kind of person, whatever generation they're from.

What I find really exciting is the idea that this sound might inspire new artists the same way it has inspired me. But I only think it's interesting if you add your own take on it—and really stick to the whole DIY idea. No rules! That's basically what shoegaze is about, too.

Let's talk about your new album. If we strip away all the official information and the press kits, in your own words, what is this record really about? 

I don't know. I never know what my music is about, actually, to be honest. It's something that I really think is up to the listeners. I always have a hard time trying to analyze my own music, and I really try not to think too much about it when I'm in the creative process because that can very quickly confuse me. I try to be very intuitive and in the moment, and see where the music takes me.

I've never set up rules before starting an album, saying, 'This is the theme, and now I'm writing toward that theme.' A lot of other artists do that—and they do it very well with concept albums—but it's not really my thing. So I try to just make the music that feels right to me in the moment, and hopefully every album is different. It's like a snapshot of where I am in my life, I think, but I don't have a common theme for every album.

That was also why I actually chose to have this album be untitled. A lot of people ask me if it's self-titled, but I was thinking of it more as an untitled album—again, so as not to dictate what it should be about. I think it's very much up to the listeners to put in their own feelings and their own experiences, and then hopefully they can connect with some of the music on the album.

Because basically, I'm just making music for my own pleasure and for my own sake. If someone picks up on it and it spreads out, of course that's super nice, and it's also really nice to go out and play it with my band—I really love that. But the main thing about me doing music is definitely a very personal thing. I would make music even if nobody listened to it. I would still make music every day, I think, because it's a way of living for me. It's such a great way to express my feelings and relax, having that magical space that isn't about my daily life.

I also have two kids now, so everything is practical, and this world right now is also a crazy place. So I have this little sacred place in music that I really love to be in. Being able to not analyze it too much, not knowing what I'm doing actually and just trying to follow to see where the music takes me.

I really loved one thing you said—that an album is a snapshot of where you're at in your life right now. So the question is: where are you at in your life right now?

Right now, my whole life is about preparing the live show and arranging the songs for the band. We're going to meet in a month and start rehearsing because we're going on a European tour in February and March.

And the rest of my life right now is taking care of my kids—and I also have my girlfriend at home—and just mixing those two different worlds. Being in a family, and my kids are one year old and seven years old, especially with the young one, it's not possible for me to just be in the studio for 10 hours every day, because I really have to go to the kindergarten and pick him up and stuff like that.

So it's not something that you can hear in my music, because I'm not writing about my daily life. I'm much more into this magical world that my music gives me—it's a place where I can dream, and be in that place, and it doesn't always reflect my daily life. It's maybe the opposite, actually.

You describe this record with the phrase, “The noisy got noisier, the dreamy got dreamier, the melodic got even more melodic.” What made you want to push these different sides of your music further than before?

It was not something that I really planned when I started working on the album, but the first song that I wrote was 'Swerve,' which is the second single from the album. And that one is quite extreme. I wanted it to be very massive, to have this guitar that nearly scares you and this mix of distorted synths and guitars.

I think it was maybe a reaction to my earlier album Dreamweaver, because that one was more dreamy and more melancholic. I wanted something that kind of did the opposite in a way, but still had those elements in it—because this album is not only about hardcore noise, there are definitely also very dreamy, nearly ghostly-sounding songs.

So that first song, 'Swerve,' kind of defined the whole direction for me and the whole sound that I wanted to explore. I went to the extremes this time because it felt right. It was not something that I really planned, but just how it happened. Again, maybe because the former album was more dreamy and much more melancholic, I also wanted to show that change of direction and vibe in the album artwork—all my previous albums have been black and white, very beautiful, melancholic, and all that. So I wanted something that was much more powerful, in-your-face red and yellow, and kept it super simple. I felt like it was kind of a new direction for me making this album.

You said you were particularly ruthless while making this record, even using the expression “kill your darlings.” Was there something you were attached to but eventually had to let go of? 

It's something that I've always struggled with, especially when I started doing music: trying to chase something that's maybe not worth spending your time on because it's maybe never gonna work. Sometimes I could sit with a song for months and it never got better—I started overthinking and overproducing stuff.

So for this album, it actually felt a bit easier to do—though it's always hard work. All the time I'm not being a family guy, I'm spending in the studio. This album was also a bit faster for me to make because I was like, 'I don't want to spend time on something that I feel is not really good in the beginning.'

When I first started out, I used to try to force stuff that just made everything much more difficult because it didn't work. Now I've kind of learned to take a break, or say, 'Maybe this song is not good enough. I should just trash it and start on something totally new and different,' or go for a walk, or do something else.

I still have those moments of writer's block, where I'm afraid and thinking, 'Maybe I've totally lost it. I'm not inspired anymore, I can't do anything.' I still feel insecure sometimes in the creative process, but now I've learned that the best thing to do is actually to take a break and not think too much about it. Just move on and try working on something new instead of trying over and over again to save something that isn't savable.

For the first time, every song on one of your albums features vocals. What made you want to put the human voice at the centre of this particular record?

That wasn't something I had planned. I just started writing songs for the album, and from the very first notes of each one, I already had specific vocalists in mind. I was writing vocal melodies and could hear quite clearly who I wanted to sing them. I can't sing myself. If I had a good singing voice, I'd definitely do it, but it would sound terrible if I tried!

So I wrote one song with vocals, then the next one seemed to call for vocals too. Before I knew it, I had ten songs I was really happy with, and they all featured vocals. It just felt right. My previous albums have always been a mix of instrumentals and vocal tracks, but this time I decided to go with that idea. Again, it wasn't something I'd set out to do; it just happened during the creative process, and I followed where it took me.

I'm curious how that process happened. Did everyone agree right away, or did you have to convince anyone to sing on the record? I'm also particularly curious about how you ended up working with Midwife—I love her, she's one of my favorite artists.

I was very lucky that everyone I asked was up for it. They also listen to my music, so that makes it easier, of course.

Regarding Midwife, it was simply through Instagram. I'm a huge fan of her stuff—listening to her music has really helped me through some hard times, and I think it's something really special. So I've always liked her work, and then—I can't remember exactly how it started—I think I simply asked her, saying, 'I have this song, would you be up for singing on it and working on it together with me?'

And she was like, 'Why not?' So we did that. And as with all the other vocalists on the album, we actually never met in person—we just sent stuff back and forth over email.

And you never met them in person?

No. That's actually how I nearly always work, because I like to work on my own. I'm quite shy, especially in the working process, and I like to just be in my studio and fiddle around.

A lot of the artists I work with are the same way, because creating is a very vulnerable place. I want them to feel safe. Being in a studio together with me where it's like, 'Okay, now we have to record the vocals right now because we only have two days,' that can put on a lot of pressure. Now it's possible for everyone to record in their own house or a small home studio, and it still sounds fantastic. So for all the vocalists I worked with, I think it worked very well for them, too.

You can imagine Midwife is also doing her own stuff in a very intimate space—she records at home, too. I don't think she's renting an expensive studio to do it, because that's not her approach either. So it made total sense. We send stuff back and forth and we talk about it, but nowadays it's so easy—you can be on FaceTime or send big files via WeTransfer and stuff like that.

So I actually prefer to work that way. Of course, I've also met up sometimes with vocalists, especially Danish ones, because working with people from the UK or the US is also difficult when you have to travel. I'm based in Copenhagen and she's based in the US, so that was the perfect way for me to work.

Did working at a distance allow the singers to bring something more personal or unexpected to the songs?

Exactly, and that's the whole point—because for every song except 'Coyote,' all the vocalists were writing their own lyrics. So it's not me dictating what a song should be about.

I really hope that when I send a song—most of the time, the track is about 90% finished, produced, and everything—it's very much up to the vocalist to hopefully be inspired by the music and come up with lyrics that feel like they're coming genuinely from themselves.

I think recording vocals like that still fits my vocalists very well, because that's how so many artists work now. It's now possible to work with just a laptop and a sound card, and you can make a whole album in your bedroom. Even big bands are doing that now: sending files to each other, and then sometimes they meet up, which has its own magic, that whole band thing.

But since this isn't a traditional band feeling—it's just me and the vocalist—it gets more honest, maybe.

You said that you're planning to perform the new album in its entirety from beginning to end. And this is the first time you're doing it. So what's your vision behind it?

It was an idea I got when the album was finished. As I always do with my albums, I spend a lot of time finding the right running order, drawing curves of the dynamics and where each song should go. It's almost like writing a story or watching a movie—it's really important to me that the whole narrative works, and I felt that this album sequence could actually work as a setlist, because I'm really happy with the running order.

So I thought, why not play the whole album for the first time? I really wanted to play all the new songs live. We will still play a lot of my old stuff as well—some of the old songs in new versions—but the first part of the show will be this album from the first song to the last song.

Some of the songs will also sound different from how they sound on the record, because I like to do different live versions and extend things. Very often when we get together as a band—we're going to start rehearsing next month—the musicians bring their own input and ideas. Maybe the drummer says, 'Could we speed up the tempo for this song? I think it works better,' or the guitar player comes up with a new riff that's even better than what I did. So it's very much about testing things out, and I hope it will work.

I like to occasionally step a little bit outside of my comfort zone—still in a safe space, but doing something I haven't done before. And this just feels like the right moment to play a whole album.

What would you like people to take away from listening to this record in full? 

It's really hard for me to say because it can be so different for everyone, but hopefully they can identify with some of the songs—that they can feel the same emotions I had when I was writing the music. That's the biggest thing for me: if people can connect to the music.  Maybe not all of the songs—some songs are maybe a little bit more demanding to listen to, and some songs might be too boring for someone. But hopefully people listening to my album can have a little glimpse of where I am in my life, and be in that dream world for 40 minutes or so. Beyond that, it's very much up to the listeners. I don't have a grand goal for this album—it's more like a little story that I want to share with people, and with myself.