NAME: Elliott Jönsson
FACE CLAIM: Bill Skarsgard
AGE & DATE OF BIRTH: 30 & January 11th, 1993
HOMETOWN: Stockholm, Sweden
TIME IN LOS ANGELES: 20 years
NEIGHBORHOOD: Beverly Hills
OCCUPATION: Music producer, CEO of Maroon Sound Studios
trigger warning: addiction, alcoholism, substance abuse, abortion
“Fledgling artistry, hidden behind a household name and a tower on the strip.” Such were the anecdotes of artists, business partners, and musicians alike. Of course, this was the late 90’s in L.A. A period infamous for the abandonment of rock and R&B, and the rise of Hip-Hop and streaming. The classic pop-rock powerhouse that was Jönsson Records was not cut out for the change. Did it have to do with the rise of illegal streaming, and the outmoded music production? Perhaps. But if asked, Elliott could date the moment of demise, and it wasn’t the day the Internet went mainstream. The trouble starts well before his time, with his father - Oskar Jönsson. A figment of wealth and sensitivity, the heir to Jönsson Records cared little for the minutia and rigour of business. Late nights turned into later mornings, and working hours spanned from 10-2. Indeed, it seemed Oskar was determined to live down his illustrious reputation. Whether it was old fashioned privilege, or a knee-jerk reaction to the mantle of power. The end result? A stagnant business, a family in disarray, and an ever-empty bottle of liquor.
If Elliott’s father was gasoline, his mother was a lit match. You’ve read about their love affair. It’s written into the heart and soul of Katerina Jönsson’s gold records. The famous singer of the 80’s was a whirlwind. A musical savant, heavy with her own struggles and hardships.But love in the time of hardship was a tricky thing, indeed. The young couple was barely three months sober when Oskar got down on one knee, and presented a four-carat Emerald ring set in a gold band.
A year later, they welcomed their first son - Elliott Fredrik Jönsson. Aptly born on Katerina’s tour bus heading for Seattle. He was eight pounds of pale skin, crystalline eyes, and Jönsson blood. Those who’d come to bend the metaphorical knee to the latest in Jönsson men shared a side-eye of contempt. Was he to be a mirror of his father, in achievement and struggle?
The answer comes barely eight years later. At the groundbreaking of the Jönsson family’s latest record deal, with a well-dressed Elliott quick on his feet. After an hour hunched over in his father’s private bathroom, placing a small hand on his back, and coaxing out the liquor. The verdict was in - he’d need to play the role of pappa. The young boy washed his hands, coaxed back his messy hair, and delivered an “utterly adorable and endearing” (to quote the LA times) speech on behalf of his “stomach-flu” ridden father. It was the first time, but it certainly wasn’t the last. His gilded childhood was that of responsibility and apprehension. Behind the mecca of wealth and privilege, Elliott spent his after-school days coaxing his mother out of bed and his evenings begging his father to leave the bar.
To this day, he can’t recall a single Thanksgiving that wasn’t spent in a constant state of repair.
Determined to be nothing like his father, he tucks away the antics and hardships by the time he gains admission into Stanford University. As far as his peers were concerned, his mother was just “passionate” and his father “fun-loving.” And if his parents appeared a mess, the same could not be said for Elliott. He came to school without a hair out of place, or a mismatched button on his shirt. Yet for all the ways he proclaimed to be nothing like them, his ear for music and talent for producing was unquestionably a birth right. A major in Business with a minor in musical theory, Elliott came to school with a vision and exited with a plan.
It’s somewhere between lecture halls and social events that he finds Brie Barlow. He’s always known her, of course. A figment of his childhood, and of LA’s social scene. She’s as familiar to him as the sound of a melody echoing from his family home. But it’s the first time they see each other, and the result is not unlike the legacy of his father and mother. Their romance is a whirlwind, swept up in adrenaline and uncontrolled euphoria. The type-A pair submit to the danger of love itself, and it amalgamates into a first love for the ages. If Brie Barlow was a song, she’d be his very first hit. At the time, he was certain she’d be his last. Before graduation, he drops down to one knee. Theirs was a song he’d sing forever.
Upon their return to Los Angeles, Elliott put himself to work. An ingenue at only 24, he by-passes his father’s sloppy management and claims the title of CEO for himself. Oskar happily steps aside. Who wanted to run a dwindling ship? But Elliott comes armed with a plan, and a rebrand. The relic that was Jönsson Records was renamed Maroon Sound Studios. A modern recording and talent management company, with great heritage. He invests in new artists, with a new sound. He invests in sound engineers and app developers from Silicon Valley, heavily buying into the digitization of sound. It works. By the time he’s kissing Brie on their wedding day, Elliott is everything he set out to be. A success, a husband, and a titan of the music industry.
There’s perfection, and there’s happiness - and for all he knew at a young age, Elliott never knew how to reconcile the two. Love, he believed, was meant to be a passionate battlefield. Wasn’t that his own parents’ marriage? And didn’t they produce something beautiful, in music and in life? Yet that perfection comes at a cost. The high-stress work that comes with running the studio, mixed with an accident accumulated in two pink lines. Elliott’s “recreational indulgence” in white powder and pills grows. It’s “part of the brand” his colleagues claim, yet Elliott finds his crutch evolving. It’s further emphasised by the reckoning of almost-parenthood, and the heartbreak of telling Brie it isn’t what he wanted.
At the time, neither could say that their marriage isn’t what they wanted.
But a crack in perfection is enough to evolve into a chasm. His exploits get bolder, his nights get later. It’s not until he wakes up one day after another bender, shallow eyed and itching for more, that he sees what he’s become. He’s become his father. He’s become vice personified.
The decision to leave doesn’t come easily. But when it does, it happens quickly. There are no suits to pack or Rolex watches to take with him. Not where he was going. No note, no word. Cowardice consumes Elliott, and he’s on a private plane to Stockholm before Brie could get back from work. A rehabilitation center nestled in the Swedish West coast. It’s unlike the hubs of New York or LA, a glorified celebrity hotspot. He spends his quiet days thinking, fishing by the coast, and looking for the one thing he’s yet to find - lasting peace. For a year, he keeps to this quiet routine. Very much outside the glitz and glamour of his life.
But his life inevitably calls back, in the form of a new record in desperate need of Elliott’s touch. There’s a life that waits for him, however ill-fitted.
And so, the prodigal son returns to the City of Angels clean as a whistle and determined to change.
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