Janosch Troehler

«We met before, right,» Camiel Meiresonne asks on the other end of a video call from his hotel room in Budapest. «It was backstage at a picknick table, right?» The moment, the frontman of Dutch indie-pop sensation Son Mieux recalls, lays way in the past:

It was their first show abroad, at a small open-air in Switzerland in 2016.

«I do remember that gig. We had a little event for our crew and management about a month ago. We had a pub quiz, and there was a question about our first-ever gig abroad.»

Today, almost eight years later, Son Mieux are in a completely different place. In their home country, they sell out huge shows. Their second studio album, The Mustard Seed, was awarded an «Edison», the Dutch equivalent to the Grammys. Shortly after, they released the single Multicolor, which remained the number one spot for most airplay for eight weeks.

Son Mieux currently tours through Europe with concerts in major cities—also in Zurich's Exil club on February 22. Time to catch up before the show.

It has been a while since we last spoke, and a lot has happened for you and the band. Looking back, what are the most significant aspects?

The main thing is that we've actually truly become a band. Back in 2016, everything felt like a solo project. We had the live group, but I was writing and recording the songs. The records we've made and the shows we've played for the last couple of years we have been making as a group where everybody found its place.

Collaborating as a group also has evolved the music. Where things, in the beginning, were more acoustic stuff with electronics around it, now the sound is formed around the people that make up the band. We've been taking our time to find the right sound, the right stories, and the right people. If I look back now, we were not rushed to make it. Step by step, we found the place where we felt comfortable but still excited.

You already touched on the evolving sound. You have developed a certain vintage vibe, a lot of disco feeling. What is it about this sound that fascinates you?

We always look for ways to give our songs a twist. Most of the songs that we write are still folk songs. They are even a bit sad if you play them on an acoustic guitar or a piano. Their themes are not always only positive.

About two years ago, I wrote a piece about Spotify and the power of their product regarding design, where I compared the streaming primus with Apple Music. The conclusion then was easy: Spotify has simply the better experience.

However great the product might be, I still dislike the company. The decisions they have made in recent times are at odds with my values as a music enthusiast. Their payout model is abysmal. And yet, as someone writing about music and curating playlists, there is no way around the green goblin.

Also, as a music writer, I already pay for many music subscriptions: Spotify Duo (for my personal and Negative White’s account), Apple Music, and YouTube Music (bundled in with YouTube Premium). They amount to about $60 monthly—not an insignificant amount.

Having this arsenal of streaming services at hand, I once again started the journey of switching my primary service: Goodbye Spotify, hello Apple Music. It has been about a month, and here is what I learned.

Almost exactly five years ago, Moyka entered my life and playlists and never really left. In March 2019, the then-21-year-old Monika Engeseth released her debut single, Colder. After that, the Norwegian artist became a frequent subject in Negative White's reporting: eight times I featured one of her tracks in Weekly5—more than any other artists.

But in all those years, I have never been able to accurately capture my fascination for Moyka in words. Rereading the short reviews, they only scratch on the outer layers, unable to crack the code and bust open the door to reveal the answer.

The blame may fall onto the music itself: Moyka produces pop music, and that is precisely the opposite of what I usually love. However, between these addictively catchy melodies, there is a pinch of melancholy, even sadness, and a cinematic quality to her songs, coated with a Nordic frost.

Zurich, 8th of February. The day has finally come: It is Moyka's first concert in Switzerland. Marking the end of her first European tour, she would bring her sophomore album, Movies, Cars & Heartbreak (2023), to the stage.

After writing concert reviews for years, I still struggle, even dislike them—especially if the show was great. I believe people have a lifetime quota for superlatives in writing, and I have already used mine. You try to capture the vibe, and sometimes you succeed. But that is more often pure luck. A writer's happy accident.

And there is this other danger lurking: Anticipation. For months, I have been looking forward to the show; for years, I listened to the songs. What if the concert crumbles under the weight of imaginary expectations?

But I had a mission that night: Find the deeper roots of my fascination for Moyka.

There is something inherently unique about small-scale concerts. Around 30 people found their way to X-Tra Musikcafé that night—a relatively small crowd barely filling half of the already tiny venue. But each and every one wanted to be there.

The show started. Already Gone. Already goosebumps. 

The evening defied all challenges: The sound, light, and setlist were exceptional. It lasted an hour, but somehow, Moyka's meandering voice took us into a different dimension where time did not exist. Framed by two men on synthesisers and drums, she delivered a mesmerising, otherworldly vocal performance.

However, it was in between the songs that the pieces finally fell into place. «This evening is a space for big emotions,» Moyka told the audience.

Understanding Moyka means appreciating the duality of music and its inspiration. The Nordic crystalline sound of her ethereal pop creates a reserved distance. These angelic hymns seem larger-than-life, reducing one's existence to a tiny spec of dust in eternity. But underneath this cathedral-sized sound, undiluted emotion builds the foundation and pulls you back into the most profound definition of being human.

Once this connection bridges the gap, it all makes sense: We are capable of fiery love, despairing sadness, and profound gratitude. Moyka sounds large because our feelings are overwhelming. Her music becomes a catalyst for recognising and accepting these moments of emotional excessiveness.

I know you're holding your guard up
And I know that you think you're bad luck
But darling, that's not who you are to me
—Moyka - Rear View

Moyka led by example: There was no filter, no stage persona clouding her authenticity. She not only accepted but invited and embraced vulnerability. She spread pure joy. When two people in the audience kissed, her eyes lit up so bright they could convert the devil to a saint.

And we followed. We danced in tender escalation, closed our eyes and dreamed, revelled in delight, escaped reality and received catharsis.