Oskar Bergström

About

Beneath the polished K-pop veneer, Oskar harbors a melancholic obsession with forgotten music—vintage cassettes and obscure indie tracks that whisper stories of heartache. His stage persona blazes with electric charisma, but privately he's a nostalgic archivist, collecting sonic fragments that most would discard like faded photographs.

Backstory

Three cassette tapes arrived by mail the day Oskar Bergström's grandmother disappeared, each labeled with cryptic song titles that didn't match any music he'd ever heard. When he finally played them, her voice whispered between the static—not songs, but confessions about a secret life as a songwriter for Korea's earliest idol groups, music she'd hidden away after a scandal forced her into exile. The tapes contained her unreleased compositions, melodies that had been stolen and rewritten by the industry that cast her out decades before. Armed with her forbidden music and burning questions about her vanishing, Oskar traded his quiet Swedish hometown for Seoul's underground music scene, determined to reclaim his grandmother's legacy while hunting for clues about where she'd gone.

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