Ten years ago, Karen Marie Ørsted was one half of a Danish feminist anarcho-punk duo whose repertoire included a song called Pussy in Your Face. Starting in 2007, she and her friend Josefine spent five years crusading across Europe drunk, rousing riots in squats, making naff nu-rave-styled videos and shouting: “Fuck the government!” to anyone who would listen. In 2016, however, Mø is, by some measurements, the biggest pop star in the world. Lean On, her collaboration with Major Lazer and DJ Snake, was named last year as Spotify’s most-streamed track of all time, and has picked up 1.6bn YouTube plays. Her collaboration with Justin Bieber, Cold Water, ended Drake’s 16-week stay at No 1 earlier this year.
In her own right, however, she is a long way from becoming the biggest pop star in the world. On a Saturday night in early October, she is playing at Klub Stodoła in Warsaw, the first date of her European tour. Her voice is a little hoarse – a cold has arrived with impeccable timing. And for all her increasing profile as a mainstream pop star, she still seems torn between that and her past as a punk.
At home in Copenhagen recently, she went to see one of her favourite punk bands. “When I watched [the gig] I was like, ‘Woah! I love this so much. This is so me.’ But it’s been so long … It’s hard because I definitely have the pop in me. I love what I’m doing. I love mainstream music. But I also really fucking love super DIY hardcore punk. So I just love both things. It is hard to combine both things. It’s just something I’ve got to work on. I’ve got to work on putting it in there.”
That “it” she refers to is punk and politics. It’s something Mø is a little overwhelmed by at the moment, what with Brexit, Trump and the toxic re-emergence of the far right in her home country. But tackling those issues is tricky for her. Her music, muscular and melodic, is a hybrid of bouncy EDM drops and Scandipop on steroids. Her videos are often set in barren wastelands or deserts, as if to suggest an ambiguous global identity. Her lyrics are generally about coming together: unity, love and freedom. Then she adds a bit of angst. It’s all very vague, at least when you compare it with the specific notion of putting one’s pussy in another’s face.
This year has seen clear political statements on albums by Anohni, MIA, Beyoncé and Solange, but Mø recognises that it is easier for established artists to release something with a hard-hitting, potentially divisive message. “I have found it super hard: ‘Oh, I don’t want to upset anyone.’ But now, when all these things are happening, you have to start doing something,” she says.
On the other hand, she has the expectations of her anarchic old friends to consider. Josefine, for example.
“You know what? She was also in that activist environment, and I have a couple of friends I’m very close to from that time. I think they know that sometimes I have to compromise with some stuff that I wouldn’t have done back then, because of this weird collide with the total leftwing and mainstream pop music.”
Backstage at the venue, members of her band mill about in black bomber jackets emblazoned with the word Mø. Her stage name means “virgin” in Danish, and refers to her wide-eyed enthusiasm for the world, but is an example of how she subtly provokes from within the mainstream, too. Her second album is currently being written, and its leading track – the elephant-sized Final Song – became her biggest solo hit to date across Europe, Australia and New Zealand. Its video shows a polished version of the singer, unlike the one we were introduced to on her 2014 debut album, No Mythologies to Follow. Gone is the topknot and practical athleisure; in its place angelic blonde hair and a floral femininity.
Mø says she is terrible at saying no; how much of her true self must she compromise for the sake of success? “In my heart, I want to believe I shouldn’t give up anything to become a huge pop star. You have to dare to totally be yourself and go 100% with your heart and guts. And that’s what I think sometimes can trick you, because people say: ‘Oh, you should do this, you do that you should blah blah blah blah.’ And, really, I don’t think that’s necessarily a better way. Trust your guts. Seriously – I know a lot of big pop stars have been made, I am aware of that, but I’m not that kind of type. I mean I wouldn’t have been the one they chose in an audition because I don’t sing perfectly and I don’t look particularly great.”
On stage, Mø is a tornado. Her dancing is uninhibited and wild, as if she were in the audience rather than centre-stage. She is fiercely present, never vacant or going through the motions. She almost always ends up crowdsurfing or in the pit.
“It’s that urge to let something out. It is your place to express yourself and share it in the moment – and in a way it’s the most nerve-racking thing in the world. But it can also be the most relieving thing because you’re always [led by] control and schedule – which is great because I mean it’s the dream life I’m living, I’m so happy – but there are a lot of things where you’ve got to be controlled all the time.
“Once I go on stage I can just fuck up. And I love that. I love to be free and don’t think about if I look good or sing perfectly. It’s just ‘blaaaaagh!’ It’s so nice. Just watching that punk show – that was where I have it from. Just screaming and shouting and rolling on the floor. It’s the most fucking great thing to do. To just let go.”
That freedom translates less well when you’ve got three minutes to promote a single on prime time American TV, however. Before her big Major Lazer hit, Mø was a guest vocal on rapper Iggy Azalea’s track Beg for It. In October 2014, they appeared on Saturday Night Live to perform the track, but things didn’t go to plan. Mø was awkward and, because of technical difficulties, out of time. She was a strange gothic ghost weaving in between a pristine pop machine. In its aftermath, the tabloids declared it “a performance flub”. She cried for three days and felt down for a week.
“My attitude towards playing those big shows at the time? I was thinking: ‘Yeah, I don’t need to warm up for an hour.’ I’d always been like: ‘I don’t want to do a choreography. I’m going to go in and be myself and it really doesn’t matter.’ But it didn’t fit with their format and I was tapping into their thing,” she says.
“It was such a different world for me to suddenly stand there. I was sad that I didn’t know how to be myself in that and make it work. But you make it work for yourself. There have been a couple of things during my career where I’ve been looking back where I’ve thought: I shouldn’t have done that. But again, you learn from it and that’s a blessing in a way. A big blessing. Because I’m someone who needs to burn my hands to know.”
Her recent appearance on Jimmy Kimmel’s show suggests she has learned. The next challenge is finishing her upcoming album; an album that is surely weighted with the pressure to surpass the success of a Bieber-boosted hit and Lean On.
“I always dreamed about having a hit but I never thought it would happen so when it happened I was like: ‘Huh? Can I really be a part of this? How the fuck is this even possible?’ For the album, I want to have success but let’s say my next album’s going to fail. That will bring me something great again. It won’t be putting water on the fire, it will just put gasoline on it. Because I’ll be, like, fuck! I want to show them! Arrrrrgh! Which is a good thing. Of course I’m scared – don’t get me wrong – but it’s fine. It’s good fear,” she says, reconsidering, renegotiating. “I think it’s good actually. Yeah.”
Mø plays Glasgow ABC on 14 October, then tours the UK until 22 October. Details: momomoyouth.com
