It took me twenty-six years to secure a major business deal in Sweden for my record label—something I took for granted in the UK and the U.S. where I could share my music with the world. Before this, all my music deals were UK-based.
In Sweden, there was complete silence. They don’t acknowledge you or even respond with a polite letter; they ignore you as if you don’t exist in the music industry here. At college in Philadelphia, I would send my music demos to all the major record companies, and the standard “Don’t call us, we’ll call you” reply would arrive a few days later. But in Sweden, you send a demo and there’s no acknowledgment of its receipt—no “yes” or “no” letter at all.
Back in the day, I was invited to New York to meet music legends like Ahmet Ertegun of Atlantic Records, Walter Yetnikoff and Mickey Eichner from Sony, and Joe Smith from Elektra Records and Warner Brothers. These were giants of the music industry who gave people a chance. But in Sweden, not one record executive invited me to their office until just two months ago—26 long years later.
The UK signed me when I was still a law student, so I often wonder how Black music executives survive in Sweden. Aside from Dr. Alban, the ‘It’s My Life’ star from the ’90s, there aren’t many others of significance. This country’s industry seems to operate on an apartheid-like system, deciding who is worthy of an opportunity.
The only reason I got a deal here is because I created a package specifically designed to break into the Swedish market, and it finally caught the attention of one company in Stockholm. But if you don’t have your own money, you’ll never get into the music industry in Sweden. Dr. Alban is a dentist by profession, and both he and I have used our professional incomes to finance our music businesses. This is wrong—very wrong—and it’s part of the systemic racism suffocating Swedish society.
