Ozzie Luz – Mumrik
Swedish recording artist releases the single “Mumrik” from her album, The Notepad, coming next year.
The Notepad is Ozzie Luz bleeding onto paper and calling it a track list. Torn pages of betrayal, relapse, and gaslit love, screamed one minute, whispered the next. Produced with Paola Pedranti, this is heartbreak as theatre — dreamy, jagged, unresolved art punk. No closure. No villain arc that sticks. Just a girl from Knivsta staring at the wreckage of a love she still can’t fully put down, daring you to read every page she almost burned.
Ozzie Luz, born Ozzie Bergman in Uppsala, Sweden in 1994, is more than a musician — they are an artistic, storytelling seer. Even their name carries intention: Ozzie meaning divine time, Luz meaning light. Now based in Knivsta, Sweden, Ozzie works across art-pop, punk, and spoken word, fusing raw, diary-like lyricism with theatrical, genre-bending production — part punk snarl, part torch song, part spoken-word confession. For Ozzie, art exists to break down humanity’s false facades and give a raw voice to the unspoken.
That instinct was born in silence. Non-verbal as a child, Ozzie found ways to say what couldn’t be spoken through painting, photography, acting, and music. Their connection to the keys took root during a childhood spent in a Scottish commune, where they first stepped onto a stage to play piano out of pure frustration with the silence around them — the keyboard and piano remain their instrument of choice to this day. Years later, their performance journey properly began at a feminist open mic in Amsterdam, growing outward into spoken word stages, jazz clubs like the Glen Miller Café, and their own visual art exhibitions.
Ozzie’s world is dark, artsy, punk and pointy — driven by sharp spoken word and confrontational textures. Having survived abuse, severe bullying, addiction, and loss, they use their history not only to heal, but to poke society in the eye. As a non-binary, LGBTQIA+ artist, their work is an unapologetic call for listeners to set boundaries and own their truth, blending spiritual sight, energy work, and high vibrations into music that acts as an intentional catalyst — designed to trigger, confront, and ultimately heal.
On their album The Notepad, produced and co-written by Paola Pedranti, Ozzie turns years of unfiled emotional wreckage into an eleven-track document of heartbreak, addiction, anxiety, and the long, uneven road toward closure. It is exactly what its title suggests: a page-by-page unloading of everything Ozzie couldn’t say out loud while it was happening, tracing a single, devastating relationship from its first cracks to its long aftermath — not as a tidy arc, but the way grief actually moves: circling back, contradicting itself, softening and then hardening again. “The Storyteller” opens the record as a dreamlike, confused overture to betrayal, while “Somewhere Between Edinburgh and Glasgow” turns geography into heartbreak. “Mumrik” drops the listener into relapse and emptiness with unflinching honesty, and “Breathing Heavenly” — recorded, Ozzie says, while they could barely breathe — becomes both a plea for peace and a demand to be left alone to heal.
The record doesn’t shy away from the uglier, more contradictory truths of heartbreak. “A Promise in May” sits with the surreal shock of a shared future that simply stopped existing. “Missed Smoke” deliberately strips itself down from a full page of lyrics into something lighter and more surreal, mirroring the numbness of dissociation. “Lessons Learned” and “You Didn’t Care At All” — the two tracks written and produced solely by Ozzie — confront gaslighting and manipulation head-on, transforming the experience of being cast as the villain into something closer to reclamation. Elsewhere, “Lately I’ve Been Thinking,” “There Is a Kind of Missing That Makes No Sound,” and “The Distance” — one of Ozzie’s own favorites, and a return to their musical-theatre roots — sit in the quiet, unresolved aftermath: not explosive, but heavy with the kind of grief that doesn’t announce itself.
What makes The Notepad distinct is its refusal to resolve. Ozzie doesn’t offer forgiveness as a finish line or anger as a final answer; they let both coexist, often within the same song. The production, shaped alongside Paola Pedranti, mirrors this instability — dreamy and theatrical one moment, stripped and confrontational the next — so the sound itself feels like it’s holding its breath between the past and whatever comes after it.
Ultimately, The Notepad is less a breakup album than a survival document: Ozzie Luz handing over the pages they once couldn’t read aloud, admitting that some of the wounds are still open — and that naming them, however messy it may be, is its own kind of lesson learned.
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