Inside the mind of Loney Dear: From basement recordings to artistic liberation

Emil Svanängen, better known as Loney Dear, emerges from a journey that embodies the essence of DIY music culture and artistic evolution. Starting in the early 2000s, tucked away in the basement of his parents' home in Sweden, he began crafting music with nothing more than a mini-disk microphone and a home computer. His debut album, The Year of River Fontana, was a humble self-release distributed through homemade CD-Rs and sold exclusively at live shows and through his website. Yet, through sheer word of mouth, his music resonated deeply, sparking a quietly burgeoning fan base that set the stage for what would become a remarkable career.

Fast forward through years of prolific creativity and self-expression, marked by the release of multiple albums independently in Sweden, and Loney Dear's talent eventually caught the attention of Sub Pop Records. 

Their reissue of his album Loney, Noir in 2007 served as a pivotal moment, introducing his introspective and emotive sound to a broader international audience. As his discography expanded, so did critical acclaim, with accolades from prominent music critics and publications like The Guardian, BBC, and Pitchfork, among others, recognising his distinctive blend of melancholic melodies and poignant lyricism.

Today, the artist, writer and multi-instrumentalist speaks to Headliner not as an artist striving for mainstream recognition, but as a seasoned creator who has found fulfilment in the act of making music itself. It's a journey that resonates with authenticity and artistic integrity, embodying the essence of a musician who has transcended the need for external validation, finding strength and inspiration in the purity of his craft. 

He explains why he’s taking production back to basics, why he no longer craves that acceptance, and how he’s gone from making music in a basement using basic tools to a professional studio using cutting-edge music production technology, Steinberg’s Cubase 14.

Your journey began with self-released albums recorded in your parents' basement using basic equipment. How did those early experiences shape your approach to music production and creativity?

My recording career started in quite a fussy place, technology-wise – using everything at the same time, in the spirit of ‘the more, the merrier’, and trying every colour possible. Looking back over those 25 years, I can see how things have narrowed a bit, in the sense that I’ve come to understand it’s more about simplifying rather than constantly adding.

I started working with my colleague Emmanuel about 10 years ago, and that’s been a big part of how I learned to take things out instead of always putting more in. I think it was the Ramones who said something like they would hear music and think they could add more, but instead, they decided it was a good place to stop. That’s an exciting idea – and I feel like I’m just starting to get close to that.

I used to think you could keep adding more, more sonic sub-qualities and textures, but now I’m realising that when you add something, it can just end up hiding something else. Being more minimalist is probably the best way to describe it.

Your first album, The Year of River Fontana, spread purely through word-of-mouth. What do you think resonated with listeners back then, and how did it feel to see your music connect in this way?

It was a different time. ​​The biggest difference compared to today is that there wasn’t unlimited access to music. If someone heard about your work, they had to actively add it to their collection because only a limited number of albums were available. These days, it's more about finding a reason to release music at all, or to add more of it into the world.

Back then, I think it was simply my love for music that came through in what I was making – and perhaps that’s what drew people to it. The circles were probably quite small, too – it might’ve just been me telling people about my music. I was the word of mouth!

In the early 2000s, word-of-mouth and live performances were crucial for exposure. Today, it’s social media and streaming. How has this shift impacted the way you share and promote your music?

That’s such an interesting question because I think social media is already starting to change shape. When I look at my Instagram and see I haven’t posted anything, I mostly just feel proud of myself. 

At the same time, I wonder if that’s the best way to run a record label... But it’s also a reminder that I’m making music, and in the long run, I don’t think it really matters whether I talk about it online or not. I just try to focus on what feels important to me.

A colleague of mine – Michael Colson, a brilliant composer – once shared an idea I liked: that you just need to be the best cobbler in town. It’s a lovely thought because it means you don’t have to be the best in the world. You just need to do a good job and keep going.

Right now, I’m really proud of focusing on what I want to do artistically – and sticking with that, without worrying about who’s going to listen. 

In the Western world, we’re so often consumed by the idea that we need to be constantly visible or that everything we do needs a practical purpose. But it’s liberating to imagine another way. What if we think about what will make us happy in the long run, simply from making music?

In what way?

We’re like painters or artists – we create things that aren’t strictly necessary. They’re not made for a specific purpose. It’s about the music itself. 

Making a living from music feels a bit like asking how a bumblebee manages to fly – because technically, it shouldn't be possible. And yet, people do it. I’m proud to have chosen this small, narrow path of working. It’s a fascinating thing.

Your early work was lo-fi, intimate, and home-recorded. Would you say your sound has evolved since then in terms of production quality and musical ambition, or have you stayed true to the quintessential Loney Dear sound?

Going back to my colleague Emmanuel, who also produces, he’s interesting because he doesn’t try to inject himself into the process. He’s just genuinely curious to see what might happen.

For the album we’re working on now, he told me: “Make music the way you used to – feel free, go bananas, stay up all night and record.” So this record loops back to what I was doing 15 or 20 years ago – a slightly more chaotic, “mad hat” approach.

At the moment, we start with a lot of chaos in Cubase. I throw things in, then try to shape them into just a few stems. When I’ve got it down to maybe four or five stereo tracks, I send them to Emmanuel, who sits five metres away, and he edits, gives feedback, and we go back and forth. We’re starting to find our rhythm.

These days, you're using something much more sophisticated to craft your music, Cubase 14, the most recent version of the software. How long have you been using Cubase?

Since 1999! Buying my first copy of Cubase was such a special day – it felt like I was doing it for real. I loved that first version. That time was full of joy – getting the software, watching it evolve, trusting it, getting support and seeing your ideas come to life. I’m a proud Cubase user.

What specific features of Cubase 14 do you find most essential to your current music production process?

What I enjoy most isn’t particularly modern – I love customising key commands. It’s almost like a hobby – finding the most efficient way to do things. I suppose I treat Cubase a bit like an accountant might approach numbers – I want to make the process as elegant and clear as possible.

The software is reliable – it all just works. But what’s special is the closeness to the development team, being able to request features and actually see them added. Cubase is an instrument in its own right.

I also really enjoy being able to change keys quickly – whether microtonally or by semitones. It’s an old feature, but I’ve never seen it done as smoothly or sound as good in any other DAW.

Can you walk us through your current process in Cubase 14 when starting a new track for the new album? Where do you usually begin – melody, harmony, rhythm, or sound design?

Traditionally, everything – recording, producing, arranging, mixing – happened all at once. I’d lay down a keyboard part while singing a scratch vocal, then build on top of it, often in a not very structured way. It was maybe interesting, but not always helpful!

This album is different – it’s more about making blueprints. Seeing whether an idea has potential and then deciding if we should build it further in a different studio environment.

On the last two albums, we barely used a click – we just made crossfades. It’s similar to how symphony orchestras are recorded now – you record the parts separately. We even recorded piano and vocals together, with full mic bleed – so you couldn’t really edit the vocal. That limitation actually felt quite freeing. I’d recommend turning off the metronome to anyone looking for new creative energy – see what happens when you use your own tempo.

How big are your Cubase sessions getting these days? Do you find yourself working with large arrangements and layers, or do you still keep things relatively minimal?

They always grow when I’m being creative. But now, we try to create stems quite early on – making decisions we don’t need to revisit later. So, ideally, the projects are smaller.

You’ve said that after all these years in the music industry, you have now reached a stage where you are “not striving to be loved, to be big, or to be recognised”. What has led you to this realisation, or does this come with age, experience and being content?

I’m living in that space where you’re no longer a debutant. When you’re just starting, people listen. And after that, you’re always chasing the feeling of being new, but you’ll never be new again.

So now, it’s about staying committed to what I believe in and not worrying too much about how it’s received. Just trying to be the best version of myself.

If you could go back and tell young Emil in his parents’ basement something about the journey ahead, what would it be?

I’d tell him to start learning classical piano, which I’ve only started in the last five years, and it’s one of the most fun things I’ve ever done. And I’d also say: don’t overwork things. When something feels finished, don’t keep going – it won’t get better. Just keep creating things you love and are proud of. That’ll take you far.

The new Loney Dear album will be released in January 2026.