Biography

The Long Story — A Journey of Passion, Lost Hope, and Rediscovery

The Backdrop

Thinking back, it all started in 1984 when I discovered Howard Jones. For a bullied tweenie with thick glasses and red hair, he represented the epitome of coolness with his incredible songs, appearance, and live performances behind a wall of synthesizers.

Of course, he wasn’t my only influence. Growing up in suburban Stockholm, the rule was simple: you either sided with hard rock and heavy metal or synthpop and new wave — never both. But to me, genres didn’t matter. The raw energy of the former and the melodies and melancholy of the latter had already captivated me equally.

My cassette tapes reflected this duality. One side could feature Kiss, Judas Priest, AC/DC, and Iron Maiden, while the other spun Eurythmics, Depeche Mode, Human League, and Duran Duran.

I plastered my room with posters and fantasized about being on stage with screaming fans. Yet, deep down, ridden by self-hatred and low self-esteem, I felt those dreams were as unattainable as waking up one day as Superman.

Except for one daydream: to become someone like Howard Jones. For some reason, that seemed faintly within reach — except for the minor detail that I didn’t know how to play the keyboard, nor could afford one.

Luckily, Santa saved the day. My mom gave in to my relentless nagging and bought me a Yamaha PSS-270 for Christmas. It was more of a kid’s toy than an instrument, but it got me started.

The First Baby Steps

I practiced relentlessly, learning by ear. With the addition of a second-hand Tascam Porta 05 multitrack cassette recorder, I began creating my own "productions."

Needless to say, they sounded terrible. It was time to take the next step.

Along the way, I had discovered producers like Harold Faltermeyer and Jan Hammer, and I dreamed about affording the gear they used, like the Roland Jupiter-8, LinnDrum LM-2, and Fairlight CMI. However, as the Jupiter cost about as much as a used car and the Fairlight the equivalent of a small house, I realized I had to face reality.

My parents borrowed me some money, and I settled for a Roland D-20: a digital synthesizer with a built-in 8-track sequencer and drum track.

Sonically, I was still light years from the commercial sound of the time. But that didn’t matter. To me, it was like going from black-and-white TV to color.

My musical taste was evolving, too. Bands like Sisters of Mercy, The Cure, Roxette, and Milli Vanilli all found their way into my rotation, influencing my creations.

The kindest way of describing those early recordings is probably eclectic. Hearing those tapes today would be a mix of hilarity and nostalgia, but sadly, they got lost on the way.

The Late ’80s Musical Landscape

My dance music experience at this point was limited to a bunch of Italo Dance hits and the never-ending stream of Stock/Aitken/Waterman productions. To set the scene: Madonna’s remix album You Can Dance from 1987 was defined as club music back then.

House music was still an underground thing, and since I was still underage, my accumulated clubbing experience consisted of one lucky night when I, surprisingly, was admitted to a Stockholm nightclub I can’t remember the name of.

On a side note: being 16 and hearing the Ben Liebrand remix of Phil Collins’ In The Air Tonight for the first time while being drowned in strobe lights was the experience of a lifetime.

Apart from that, the only dance music I came across at the time was 12-inch versions of the stuff they played on the radio.

But that was about to change.

The Awakening

In my last high school semester, graduation parties unlocked doors to nightclubs I couldn’t access before, and a new world unraveled.

House music had finally made its way into the mainstream, and we danced the night away to tracks like Guru Josh’s Infinity, KLF’s Last Train To Trancentral, and 49ers’ Touch Me.

The connection was as instant as it was deep, and I knew I was hooked for life.

There was only one problem: as connected as I felt to the music I listened to, as disconnected my productions were from what I envisioned. And, as all producers out there know, there’s only one solution to that problem: more gear.

By the time I could afford a setup that got me decent results (an ASR-10 sampler/workstation and Cubase), the Euro Dance wave had swept in with full force and taken everything to the next level. The music I loved was suddenly everywhere: in the clubs, on the radio, and on the TV.

During those years, life revolved around two things: partying and making music. And while I can admit that the memories are a bit hazy, my productions slowly but surely got better and better.

The First Record Deal

When I got back to college after a year of military service, I became friends what a guy in my new class that shared my passion for music as well as my lack of motivation for getting a proper education.

We began making music together, and before long we had formed a Euro Dance duo named Mirage. While I did most of the composing and producing, my buddy had a childhood neighbor that ran a small label called Free Music Records (FMR). One thing led to another, and a few days after our first demo drop, the phone rang.

We had a record deal!

Over the weeks that followed, I quickly realized how little I actually knew about music production. Luckily for me, Eskil, the label owner, turned out to be a great guy and he showed me the ropes and took me under his wings.

By the end of that summer, we had played a small festival, spent countless of hours in the FMR studio — and, most importantly — had a promo single waiting to be licensed and distributed.

The world was our oyster, and we made the mature decision to drop out of school for good and focus on the music.

Cold Showers And Decadence

As you probably expected, things didn’t play out the way we wanted them to. The demand for Euro Dance was declining, and as the euphoria subsided we began to suspect that we probably had missed the train.

When I realized that none of the singles we had recorded would be released, I felt utterly deflated. My buddy wanted to stick to the sonical path we were on, but somewhere along the way I had already moved on and lost interest in the project. Eventually, we parted ways and abandoned the project.

With a music producer career that had died before it even left the starting blocks and no money left, I had no choice but to scale up my side job as a cab driver to full-time.

I still spent a lot of time making music, but the fire had faded. The musical landscape had shifted toward rave music, and while I loved the style and spent countless hours immersed in it, I didn’t have the skills, synthesizers, or samples needed to produce it properly.

Meanwhile, life grew increasingly decadent, and I eventually came to the sobering realization that I was heading nowhere. Most of my closest friends had started moving on, trading the party scene for stable relationships and careers.

I decided it was time to follow suit. Time to let go of the dream and embrace a "real" job.

A Second Chance

Shortly thereafter, I ran into Eskil. When he asked me if I was still producing, I reluctantly showed him a couple of demo tracks I had been working on. To my surprise, he liked what he heard and suggested we start a new project together.

Under the name Belltree, we began creating tracks inspired by acts like Faithless and Sash! as well as the thriving rave scene of the time.

Juggling a new career as a software developer, a high-maintenance relationship, and a serious album production project was far tougher than I had anticipated. But the passion for making music was back, and somehow, I pushed through.

This time, the process went all the way. After six months of relentless effort and far too little sleep, I finally held a CD in my hand. With a little help from a friend, we landed a spot on the top-shelf section of the biggest record store in Stockholm, along with print ads in the subway. I was back in the game.

With my expectations more grounded this time, I wasn’t too devastated when the album didn’t sell as well as we had hoped. The experience itself was invaluable. My production skills had improved dramatically under Eskil’s mentorship, and another style of music was beginning to capture my attention:

Trance.

From Trance Dreams to Future Pop

By then, I had moved in with the love of my life, had a fully equipped home studio, and a burning desire to explore my creativity on my own.

Trance music was about to hit its commercial peak, but while I was whipping out new tracks, none of them were good enough to get attention from the labels I sent them to. With every rejection, my heart sank a bit.

Meanwhile, life moved on. With a baby on the way, a burgeoning IT career, and a newfound passion for snowboarding, music had began to take a backseat. I still dabbled in different genres, but the results felt uninspired. And the studio started to collect dust.

A few years later, I discovered Future Pop — an EBM genre that paired darker beats with deep male vocals. I had begun writing songs again, with dark lyrical motives fueled by my somewhat chaotic life situation.

While I usually sang on my demos to show potential vocalists what I was aiming for, this time I decided to actually sing myself for real. And when a friend mistook my demo for a new Covenant song, I knew I was onto something.

With zero expectations, I sent a couple of songs to a Swedish Synthpop label under the alias Reptile Mind. The day after, I was featured as the "demo of the month" on their website. And after a little back-and-forth, they agreed to release an album with 10 songs.

Though the project didn’t materialize due to creative differences, it reinforced my belief in staying true to my vision. Had self-releasing been viable back then, the story might’ve been different.

The Rebirth

Fast forward to September 2021. After years away from music making, an itch I couldn’t ignore pulled me back. There were still an abundance of choons within me waiting to come out, and too many lyrics yet to be told.

With a new studio rebuilt from scratch, I set out to rediscover my passion. After bouncing aliases off a friend, the theme "Fredlight District" came up as a reference to a decadent Stockholm that no longer existed. He suggested shortening it to just Fredlite, and it felt just perfect.

Sonically, I just let it rip. With the combined landscapes of classic Trance and the many flavors of today’s dance music as a baseline, I blended in everything I’ve loved over the years: the ‘80s gated drums of In The Air Tonight, the epic synth stabs of Jump, and powerhouse vocals like in The Rhythm of the Night.

Coupled with down-to-earth, storytelling lyrics inspired by country music and legends like Bruce Springsteen and Dire Straits, the songs took on a more mature and captivating quality — making the listening experience even deeper.

Three years into this journey, my passion burns brighter than ever. I’m driven not just by my love for creating music, but by the incredible support of listeners like you. I wouldn't be where I am today without all the love and appreciation I get from all of you who keep listening to my music.

Let's continue this journey together til the final sunset.

Hugs and kisses,
Fredlite