Sassy 009’s green eyes peek out from the darkness of her Oslo apartment. Dark is the norm in the faraway Scandinavian city where night makes up most of the “day” in January. But the gloom doesn’t particularly seem to phase Sassy 009 — Sunniva Lindgård — who is chippily explaining her distaste for “happy music” while wearing oversized headphones. “I have a really big issue working with major scales,” she says, holding a smile. Behind her hangs a black and white photo of a stern-faced farmer. “I’m just like, ‘This is absurd.’ How can anything be that happy?”
Despite the Norwegian singer and producer’s positive demeanor, her music is defined by nerviness and a simmering disquiet. Alternative pop that’s at once danceable and brooding, this unique blend is audible on her 2017 debut EP, Do You Mind, when Sassy 009 was a trio with Lindgård’s childhood friends Johanna Scheie Orellana and Teodora Georgijevic. In 2019, Lindgard reformed Sassy 009 as a solo project and continued to develop her sharp-angled pop music, nabbing collaborations with Clairo and Frank Ocean-affiliate vegyn.
As Scandinavian pop has taken the world by storm, led by the watercolor sonics of peers like Smerz and Erika de Casier, Sassy 009’s music offers a harder, more jagged perspective. It’s vivid, austere, and uniquely thrilling. On January 16, Lindgård released her official debut album, Dreamer+. Like recent projects from her Scandinavian peers, one wonders if 2026 will be her breakout — even if her debut album almost drove her into the creative wilderness.
“[The record] took me basically 4 years. It could have become an eternal process,” she sighs. Eventually, a government grant and a proper push from family, friends and colleagues compelled her to finally finish the album. “It's a gift to get this money and have the time to make it, but you also lose some of the urgency. This [album] was my opportunity to really prove that I can make this insane project.”
Lindgård’s passion for music came as a surprise. Growing up in Oslo, her parents, both string instrumentalists, enrolled her in violin, cello, piano and flute lessons, though nothing seemed to stick. Instead, after being enrolled in a sport-focused high school, she had dreams of being a pro-snowboarder (her skills are on display in the 2021 music video for “Mystery Boy”). Eventually, a high school music production course melted away her athletic ambition and inspired her to begin making beats and writing songs. “I just wanted to sit in my room, make music and do nothing else,” she says of those early days.
Sports still impacted her musical craft, though, which is populated with sharp sonic turns and sounds that feel to be in a state of perpetual propulsion. She cites MGMT and Miike Snow, as well as childhood favorites like Linkin Park, as early musical influences. And then there’s her parents, who, in addition to being string players, also used to make pop music together. “I grew up hearing them constantly rehearse,” she recalls.
[The record] took me basically 4 years. It could have become an eternal process. This [album] was my opportunity to really prove that I can make this insane project.
On Dreamer+, Lindgård sought to pair her sonic ambition with a new narrative one, writing an entire folk tale. (When asked about it, she relays a labyrinthine story that includes a magical forest, a biker lover named Jakob, and a realm where “thoughts become reality”). The album spans sounds and styles, from slow-going bits of cloud pop to up-tempo musical sucker punches, but it consistently expresses Lindgård’s feelings of malaise and isolation.
“I thought for almost all my life that I was quite joyful and peaceful mentally,” she says. “The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized that I’m a lot more vulnerable than I thought. I’m the oldest sister. I grew up fast. I always wanted to remain strong.”
Lindgård went fully independent after the release of her 2021 album Heart Ego and wanted to make her debut album without co-producers or features. The independence was empowering, and isolating. With no one to serve as a sounding board, she had free rein to explore her mythic musical world, but she had few guardrails to keep her on mission.
The longer the process dragged on, the more disconnected she became from the music she had made. “I lost my compass,” she recalls. “The project was always inspired by that blurry line of understanding or not understanding reality,” she says, referring to the narrative she crafted which involves a heroine who is mourning the loss of a “soulmate” she can no longer remember. “It makes sense that I sort of lost my mind during the process of making a record called Dreamer +.”
It makes sense that I sort of lost my mind during the process of making a record called Dreamer +
Other creatives eventually came in and helped thaw the icy barriers she trapped herself within. Elias Tafjord’s ferocious and unpredictable drumming became a hallmark of the record. She relented on the “no features” piece as well; Irish producer yunè pinku, Dutch artist BEA1991 and Blood Orange (Dev Hynes) all found their way onto the project.
Together, they made a record that expresses that liminal feeling between rearing to go and being mired in a mind loop. The music’s gritted teeth, clenched fist quality, can be a balm or blade depending on your mood. Or like a dream, it can be an escape or a trapping. Or maybe it's both. It’s plus.
