Image credit: Getty Images
Image caption: The Berglings want people to know that their son, Tim, is named after Avicii. Article information
On April 20, 2018, the world lost music superstar and chart-topping DJ Avicii when, aged just 28, he tragically took his own life while on holiday in Oman.
Klaas Bergling lost his son, Tim.
“I miss him every minute,” Klaas Bergling said in a candid and very personal video call. “Of course, I talk to him every day. But,” he pauses, “I'll admit, sometimes I get angry at him. Why did he do that? Why did he leave us?”
Avicii's rise to fame was as explosive as the bouncy synthesizers in his smash hit “Levels.”
The 2011 hit, which playfully samples the refrain of Etta James' “Good Feeling,” catapulted the then 22-year-old Swede to pop superstardom.
Over the next five years, as club dance music evolved into the ubiquitous, chart-topping genre known as EDM and Levels became its theme song, Avicii became its blond, high-cheekboned signature artist, reportedly earning $250,000 (£180,000) a night on tour.
But he retired from live performances at age 26. In a personal message to fans, he addressed his own mental and physical health without detailing the full extent of his struggles, which included anxiety, pancreatitis, alcohol and painkiller addiction.
Despite a period of recovery that included time away from the spotlight and making music, Tim continued to search for existential answers about his life and battle his inner demons. Two years later, darkness overtook him for a final, fatal moment.
Images/Photos: Björn Terring/Avicii Music AB
Now, his family wants Tim to be known beyond the stage lights, and is celebrating his legacy with a children's book, part of their efforts to spark conversations about the mental health crisis among young people through the Tim Bergling Foundation, which was established in his memory in 2019.
“I want people to know what Avicii was beyond his fame, which is why I named my posthumous album 'Tim',” explains Klass, who has collected photos spanning Tim's childhood to his life as a superstar.
Reflecting on the deep connection fans still feel, with thousands of letters and tributes posted on his website, Klass said: “Tim meant so much to young people – his music, his lyrics and who he was as a person.
“At first I didn't understand why, but then my fans told me, 'Tim is the real deal,' and then I understood. A lot of young people relate to his authenticity, his honesty and his struggles.”
Millennial Star
Tim rose to fame in a very millennial way, by posting songs online: He adopted the name Avicii in 2008, after a Buddhist hierarchy of hell, after realising his name was already taken on MySpace.
After winning a talent contest, he was briefly signed by BBC Radio 1 DJ Pete Tong and caught the attention of DJ Laidback Luke with a post on a forum.
But Tim suffered from anxiety from an early age, often had distressing thoughts and feared he had cancer, and his cannabis use led to fears of insanity, dissociation and derealization.
Klass recalls that Tim had “intense questions about his identity” as an adolescent. After a few appointments with a psychologist, Tim felt better, but touring made his anxiety worse.
A text message published in Tim's 2021 biography revealed Crass's concerns: “Hey Tim. I hope you're inspired enough for this massive tour with shows every day. Sometimes you need to stop and catch your breath, but that's your choice. Kisses and hugs. Your dad.”
The hectic schedule took its toll: Levels garnered nearly 20 million views on YouTube before its official release, and Tim's tour included performances in the US, New Zealand, Australia and Asia, often playing multiple shows in multiple cities on the same day.
Image courtesy of Cim Ek/Avicii Music AB
Image caption: Avicii's father publishes previously unseen photos in book
To calm his nerves, Tim turned to alcohol: “I found just having a couple of drinks before going onstage to be a magical cure,” he said in the documentary Avicii: True Stories. This addiction only grew stronger the more he traveled, telling GQ in 2013: “You're traveling a lot, living out of a suitcase, and you get to a place and there's free alcohol everywhere.”
In 2012, he embarked on a 26-date US tour, during which he developed alcohol-related stomach pains and aggravated pancreatitis that landed him in hospital and prescribed opioids, beginning a downward spiral of health problems and addiction.
The following year, while in Australia, his pancreatitis returned, but he refused a gallbladder removal to avoid further cancellations and was again prescribed opioids, eventually suffering a ruptured appendix, requiring surgery.
Klass stresses the need for systemic change in the music industry, but is careful to avoid placing blame on individuals.
“I still think so. [record] “Labels, tour people, agents and managers should have driver's licenses to show they are eligible. Artists should be treated this way,” he argues.
He acknowledges that there have been some positive changes since Tim's death, noting that “Swedish managers at major record companies have become more aware these days”, but stresses that more comprehensive measures are needed to ensure artists' well-being.
Survivor's guilt
Tim's health problems coincided with his (Grammy-nominated) commercial success: his debut album, True, introduced a country sound and spawned hits like “Wake Me Up” and “Hey Brother.”
By 2015, his mental health had deteriorated with substance abuse, angry outbursts and erratic behaviour. Though his second album, Stories, promised to be his magnum opus, his struggles led to delays, onstage nihilism and clashes with the paparazzi.
That summer, Klass and his management knew they had to do something. Working with therapists, they planned an intervention in Ibiza. In an interview with The Times, Klass said he felt he had betrayed his son. I asked him what he was trying to say and if his eyes were clear.
“You're dealing with a kid who has no idea what's going to happen,” Tim's distraught reaction was clear. “He knows something is being planned behind his back.”
Image credit: Getty Images
Image caption: Kuras speaks at a concert in memory of Avicii and to raise mental health awareness in 2021
But it was necessary, Klass said. “There's no question of doing it, but getting there is not easy.”
Tim, always stubborn, seemed perplexed that he was being criticized for working nonstop. After hours of resistance, he agreed to rehab, telling the class, “I decided hours ago, but I just wanted to test you out.”
Klass smiles, proud of his son's “courage.” After rehab, Tim struggled to escape “the Avicii machine” and stopped working with his manager.
Image courtesy of Hillergen Andreas/Aftonbladet/IBL Bildbyrå
Image caption: Avicii's parents Klaas and actress Anki Lidén stand behind him on stage in 2016
The documentary, Avicii: True Stories, completed before Tim's death, showed him lying on a beach after a tour, and the fact of his suicide had to be added in as a shocking postscript.
Klass acknowledged that his grief was compounded by the fact that “his wife, brother and sister were happy that he was getting better in many ways.”
“That may sound contradictory, but it was true. He was getting better.”
Klass explains that guilt is a “huge burden” for victims, who often ask themselves, “What did I do wrong?” He acknowledges that, as his therapist tells him, “there's often nothing you can do.”
“50 years of tradition”
The devastation of this loss highlights the universal impact suicide has on not only its direct victims but also those left behind. The foundation's funding has supported Sweden's new national suicide prevention hotline, as the Swedish government works to pass legislation to better investigate suicides. This is part of Klass' 50-year plan to cement his son's legacy.
At the memorial concert, Mr. Kurass promised to push suicide up the political agenda: “I tried to get as many young people and politicians together as possible,” Mr. Kurass recalled.
“One of the most impactful moments was when a large group of parents who had lost children to suicide came onstage. It was a very moving moment.”
Image credit: Private/Avicii Music AB
“The most important thing is to break down the prejudices young people face. [With] “I think we can be useful in the war-torn, unstable world that the next generation faces,” he says.
Following Tim's death, the Stockholm arena was renamed the Avicii Arena and continues to host “Together for a Better Day” concerts in his memory.
Reflecting on Tim's lasting impact, Klass says, “Even though he's not with us anymore, he's still with us.”
Avicii: The life and music of Tim Bergling will be published by Max Ström on June 13th.
