Rebekka Karijord is a composer, musician, and playwright originally from Sandnessjøen, just south of the Arctic Circle in Northern Norway. Rebekka embarked on a creative career at the age of 12, when she began acting in film and television productions for NRK (Norwegian national television). At 18 she entered the Norwegian Academy of Music and Theatre in Oslo. Two years later, she accepted a place at the prestigious Stockholm Academy of Dramatic Arts.
Over the course of her early career, she developed her unique voice by experimenting as a musician, actor, playwright and composer, working alongside directors including Joachim Trier, Margreth Olin and Nina Wester. She also began recording and releasing solo records. Her first album, Neophyte, arrived in 2003, a collaboration between Rebekka, Mattias Petterson and Malin Bång, and was followed up in 2005 by Good or Goodbye.
In 2009 she made a conscious decision to devote her time to composing and songwriting, releasing the album The Noble Art of Letting Go. This led to extensive international touring and syncs with the likes of ABC, BBC and Cirkus Cirkör’s hugely successful traveling performance, Wear It Like A Crown (which has been staged over 400 times around the globe, and is based upon and named after the track of The Noble Art of Letting Go).
Alongside increasing demand for her commissioned work for film and theatre, Rebekka continued releasing solo material: We Become Ourselves (2012), Music for Film and Theatre (2014) and Mother Tongue (2017). Today she lives in the countryside just south of Stockholm, where she runs her own recording studio and continues creating. Over the course of her career, she has composed music for over 30 films, modern dance performances and theatrical pieces, as well as having penned numerous plays and short stories.
As a composer, Rebekka leans heavily into her experience as an actor and playwright. In her own words, “My solo songs have to stand on their own two feet. Film music compositions, on the other hand, are players in a greater orchestra. I see them as set pieces underlining the emotional thread, punctuating the unsaid, that fundamental tone resounding throughout the film. The music is supposed to capture that essence, sometimes pulling along with it, sometimes working against it, always enabling a deeper understanding and encouraging creative friction. Sometimes the music can be a manipulator, but in an empathetic way, softly resting a hand on the viewer’s back, whispering ‘This way. Follow me…’”